“Okay, go on. What happened to the man breaking into the bookstore?”
“This big man, the one I think was Sledge, came up, and they started fighting, like I said. Then Sledge took this guy’s gun and hit him on the head with it. He went down in the water. It was about knee high. And before anything else could happen, we saw the red lights on the Coast Guard truck. When I looked again, there was no one there. No Sledge. No stranger. But the Coast Guard did find a dead man near the bookstore.”
“The same man?”
I thought before I answered. “I think so. It was hard to tell with all the rain and wind. They asked us to identify the body, but of course, we couldn’t.”
“You’d never seen him before?”
“Nope, but he was foreign looking. At first, I thought he was Hispanic, but I decided later that it was more of an Arabic look. Like the guys who run the 7-Eleven near my house. They’re from Pakistan. He was wearing a white shirt and black pants — no identification. The authorities in Padre told me they would let me know if they identified him. They had to send his body to Austin.”
Minnie’s wide eyes grew until they were pools of brown. “Do you know what they actually send to the crime labs? I read that . . .”
“No, no.” I stopped her. “Janie has already told me, and I think you are both wrong.” We sat in silence broken only by Janie’s laughter as she enjoyed the comedy she was watching.
We both made a groaning sound as our imaginations carried us into a crime lab investigation. We laughed, and Minnie said, “Time for a subject change. Tell about Harry.”
“Hmm, how do I describe Harry? I’ve told you what he looks like. And he’s older than I am.”
“No, you didn’t mention that. How much older?”
“About ten years, I think. And he is from England. You knew that. And he comes from a wealthy family. He didn’t ever say so, but when he would talk about his past, it was always about posh stuff. Not bragging, mind you, but more like this was just his way of life.”
“Why on earth was he at the ends of the earth on South Padre Island then?”
“He said it was because he wanted to get away from it all. Minnie, I didn’t ask many questions. That was before Janie dragged me into the inquisitive way of life. I just drifted through life; you know. I liked him. We had this — well, this affair thingy — and that’s about all I knew. Oh, and he has this limp. Not a bad one. From an injury when he was in the Royal Navy. That’s why he retired early.”
“Still, to come to the States and South Padre Island. That’s about as far away as you can get from civilization and still be in it. You say he was on good relations with his family, so it couldn’t be them.”
“I’m not following you,” I confessed.
“Honey, it’s perfectly clear. Harry was running from something or hiding from someone. Think about it.”
I thought about it.
I thought about it through the rest of the flight. Thought about it until the flight attendants woke us up with warm wet towels to refresh us. Thought about it through the landing at Gatwick. Thought about it as I slapped the straw hat on my head as we deplaned.
Looking alike was not such a bad idea after all, I concluded as we wound our way among throngs of people into the holding area of the Gatwick Airport. After walking down a final ramp, we entered a cavernous room that would have held three of the jumbo jets we had just flown in on. At the end of the room, an array of customs desks forced passengers to form lines for entry into the U.K. Janie wound up in another line, but I could find her by the red rose on her hat, and she kept waving our way to let Minnie and me know she had us in sight, too.
I clutched my passport in my hand, ready to verify that I was indeed who it said I was. I don’t know why it is that people feel so guilty when faced with official inquisition. “Just imagine, Minnie, this is how it must have been at Ellis Island for the immigrants.”
Minnie looked around at the shoving strangers who all had business to get on with in London. “I don’t think so,” she said. “These people all look too affluent to me. You know what’s wrong with air travel nowadays? When I first started coming to Europe with my folks, we all dressed up for the flight. Now you find people in their bathrobes making the trip. I’m a great believer in comfort, but air travel sure has taken a low-profile road.”
“We’re no prime example for the fashion industry ourselves.” I smoothed the wrinkles out of my denim dress and straightened the collar on my maroon jacket. “If they are letting people in based on clothes, we’d all wind up being deported.”
“Speak for yourself,” she grinned. “They love leather here.”
We inched forward in line, and I bumped into Minnie’s back, the fringe on her brown leather vest caught me in the eye, causing tears to blur my vision. I looked like I was crying when it was our turn to approach the official. He was so bored with his job that I don’t think he would have cared if I was bleeding from the nose.
“Pleasure or business?” the customs officer asked when it was our turn at his desk.
“Business,” we both replied.
“Welcome to the United Kingdom, ladies.” And he gave us a stamp of entrance on our passports.
“Now to find our luggage.”
“That’s it? We’re in?”
“Yep, we just get our bags and go through that line that says Nothing to Declare.”
“What if I was smuggling something? How would they know?”
“That’s what I like about you, Honey, always thinking of the devious angle. Believe me, these guys are trained. You just look like a lost tourist to them. They hope you’ll spend a great deal of money while you’re here and perpetuate the legend of the kingdom.”
“But what if I really did have something illegal on me?”
“Well, if they suspected it, they would pull you aside and do a search. You don’t have anything dangerous with you, do you?”
“Just Janie.”
“You told that officer that you were here on business. I didn’t know you called hunting for a missing fiancé business.” Minnie laughed as we made our way to the luggage carousel.
“It’s not,” I replied. “But the work I’m doing for Constant Books over here is. Reckon I forgot to mention it. I called them because I remembered that before I gave up my route, I had seen a flyer asking if there were any book reps traveling to England this summer. Constant has just taken on a new line called Dragon Flight; a sci-fi/fantasy publishing house based in London. I ’m representing Constant in welcoming them to the fold.”
“Won’t that cut into your sleuthing time?”
“Nahh, all I have to do is meet with these guys at a book fair and say, ‘Welcome to Constant Books.’ It’s more of a PR kind of thing. And I’m getting paid. Not much, but it beats ‘one hash brown, scattered and smothered.’ Look, there’s Janie. She made it through customs, too. Guess the British don’t think she looks dangerous.”
“Who’s that with her?”
With her red rose a bobbing, Janie greeted us in triumph at the carousel. “Honey, Minnie, I want you to meet Matthew Haney. Mr. Haney was my tenth-grade biology teacher in high school. You remember I told you I saw him back there in tourist class sitting right next to Sledge Hamra!”
Minnie and I surprised the gentleman from Texas by swiveling our heads as if we were possessed by demons as we searched the Gatwick Airport for the elusive Sledge. “That big man that was next to me? Oh, he’s already gone. Pushed by everyone and was the first out the door. I ‘m sorry you missed him. Is he a good friend?”
“Good question,” I answered.
TWENTY–FOUR
Well, wouldn’t you know it? One minute I’m standing at the train track outside Gatwick Airport, waiting for the express to London, and the next minute I ’m kidnapped.
I had bent over to pick up the damn hat that had fallen out of my carry-on bag, and when I stood up, two men had me by the arms, guiding me away from the train platform and into an
old blue car.
“Am I being deported? I swear I ‘m here on business, but pleasure, too. I could have said pleasure. Do I have to have a green card to work?”
All I got for an answer was a rude shove into the back of the car. As it sped away, I looked back to see Minnie and Janie laughing together as the train for London arrived. They didn’t even know I wasn’t with them. I raised my hand to signal them, but the man beside me pulled it down and twisted it to hold me in the seat.
I was so scared I thought my nose was going to bleed. “What? What? What?” I kept asking. The whole thing was very disorienting. The man I thought was the driver turned around in the front seat. God, I thought, we’re going to be hit by another car. Then I realized the driver was in the other seat. Right-seat drivers, wrong-way traffic. I tried to get a grip. “Who are you? You’re not official, are you? I don’t have any money, honest. It’s all in Mexico with Bondesky.” I was cursing myself for not having put the English pounds in traveler’s checks as Minnie had warned me to do. At the time it had seemed like a lark to be carrying around foreign money. Oh, lord, if they searched me, they would find the fanny pack full of pounds under my dress.
I was trying to decide if I should just give them the money before they strip-searched me, when the guy in the front seat said, “We don’t want your money.” He spoke in a low voice; in an accent I didn’t recognize.
“I don’t have anything else. I’m just a tourist, see? Oh, lord love a duck, what on earth do you want?”
“Harry Armstead. We want Harry Armstead. Now, little Miss Tourist, tell us where he is.”
The man beside me bent forward and hissed in a garlicky breath, “Yes, tell us now or we will kill you.” The wicked switchblade he pulled from the pocket of his black jacket would certainly be able to do just that.
“Harry? This is about Harry? How did you know I know Harry? And if you know that, you know I don’t know where he is, either. Who are you? You don’t look British to me, and why do you want to find Harry?”
“Slow down,” the front seat passenger said.
“I’m talking as slow as I can,” I responded. “Harry? This is about Harry?” I drawled out my words, trying to speak slower, but I realized as I repeated the questions that the man was talking to the driver. The car slowed to a normal speed and all three men looked out the windows to see if anyone was following or had noticed anything unusual.
The thug in the front seat grunted, “That is better, Masud. We don’t want to be caught for speeding.”
Oh, no, I thought. Not when kidnapping and murder are such better charges.
I was afraid but curious, too. Who in the world would know that I knew Harry? I looked just like any other tourist from America to me. Well, maybe the hat was a little much. “Where are you taking me?”
The driver spoke for the first time, “For the last ride of your life, if you don’t tell us where to find Harry Armstead.”
It was getting stuffy in the car. All three men smelted like old food and unwashed bodies. “Can you roll down the window a bit?” I asked.
“Harry Armstead,” the man beside me demanded.
“Do you work at my 7-Eleven? Is that where you know me from?”
The long blade of the knife grazed my cheek. If it drew blood, I was too numb to notice, but I got the point.
“Okay. Okay. No reason to get so excited. I don’t know where Harry is. That’s why I’m here in London. To find him. We are in London, aren’t we? I have his dog and I have the key to his bookstore, but I don’t have Harry. That’s why you look familiar. You’re the one who got killed during the hurricane. Oh, I don’t mean you, I mean someone who looks like you. Do you know Sledge Hamra? Is he the one who set you on me?”
This time I felt the blade of the knife on my cheek. “I didn’t kill your friend, honest. Sledge did” I didn’t feel the least bit guilty squealing on Mr. Hamra. If I was going to be killed, it wasn’t going to be for a murder I didn’t commit.
The car lurched to a stop.
The driver turned around slowly and faced me. He was a thin-faced, dark-skinned man with a mop of black hair that fell into his face. Even through the mane that covered his heavy-lidded eyes, I could see the serious intent of his words. “The man who was killed in Texas was nothing to me. A hired hand, that is all. He was worthless. Harry Armstead killed my brother, and it has taken years to find him. Like the coward he is, he hid away from us, but we found him in the United States, and we will find him again. I will have revenge for my brother’s blood.”
“You must be mistaken. Harry wouldn’t kill anyone. He likes books. And he has a dog. He has me.”
“And you are going to take us to him, are you not?” He reached one hand toward me and stroked the cheek that had received the knife cut. Blood covered his finger as he pointed it at me. “We are going to watch you very carefully, you with the sweet name. And when you find Harry Armstead, so will I. And if you go to the authorities, I will know it. And if you make one mistake, I will know it. You will be very lucky to make it back to the States alive.” He continued to caress my cheek. “Ah, but we do not want you. We want Harry Armstead, but if we do not find him soon, I will take great pleasure in killing someone he cares about.”
And he hit me.
I’ve never been hit before. Ever. And it hurt.
He hit me in the face. I fell backward into the seat. Involuntary tears sprang to my eyes. Before I could gather my bearings, the man beside me got out of the car and dragged me into the street. He handed me my purse and my carry-on bag, then slammed the straw hat on my head. He, too, reached out and touched my bloody cheek. Slowly he raised his finger to his lips and licked it. Then he smiled and got back in the car. It drove away at a legal pace, leaving me standing on a curbside in London.
“There she is. I told you she would find a way here. Honey, you missed the train ride to Victoria Station. I loved all those little houses we passed. Every single one of them had a rose garden. I’m going to love London. Minnie was worried about you, but I knew you would be okay.”
I turned around to see Janie and Minnie standing beside a black London cab. The sign above the door of the building we were by read The Selfridges Hotel. I started toward them in a daze.
“Honey? Honey?” Janie was almost hysterical. “Your nose is bleeding.”
TWENTY–FIVE
The fuss that they made.
No, I didn’t need a doctor. No, I didn’t need the police. I especially didn’t need the police.
I told a lie to the worried concierge; some friends had picked me up at the airport as a surprise, and we had had a small collision on the way into London. I had hit my nose on the back of the front seat. That was all.
We were a pretty ragged bunch to be checking into The Selfridges Hotel. Talk about your low-profile tourist!
Minnie led the parade to our room as Janie and I tiptoed past tea tables and vases of flowers taller than any of us. She distributed pound notes to everyone she met and ensured that the occupants of suite 537 were going to have privacy and extraordinary service from the staff. I knew I had wanted her on this trip for some reason.
As the hotel room door closed on the last of the bellmen — we had more bellmen than bags — Minnie turned to me and said, “Now what in the Sam Hill is going on? Who hit you, and who do I have to kill?”
“You’ll have to stand in line, Minnie,” countered a snarling Janie.
“Has the bleeding stopped?” I took the wet cloth the concierge had given me away from my face. “And does anyone have a Tylenol? I have this headache.”
Both of my friends gasped, and Janie welled up in tears. “Your face! You’re going to have a black eye. I am going to call the hotel doctor; I don’t care what you say.”
I put my hand over hers as she picked up a telephone. “Don’t,” I pleaded. “Just get me some Tylenol, please. Is there anything to drink? Get me something to drink, and I’ll tell you what happened and why we can’t call anyone.”
Minnie took the phone away from Janie and dialed room service. Janie rummaged through her purse and came up with a pain reliever. She also found the small refrigerator and announced, “It’s fully stocked. There’s orange juice and some red stuff and some beer.
“Forget the orange juice,” said Minnie. “I’ve ordered a couple of pots of tea and coffee, but until then, this is what she needs.” And she whipped out a silver flask of what turned out to be scotch. It went down as smooth as silk.
Minnie took a drink herself and passed the flask to Janie, who also downed a slug.
They clucked like mother hens until I took a quick shower and got into bed. When the tea tray arrived, we all three sat cross-legged on my bed, drinking and eating wee sandwiches like we had never eaten before.
“Finger sandwiches,” declared Janie. “Thank God they sent so many of them. I’ve never eaten a real cucumber sandwich before. Not bad.”
Minnie scoffed two down at a time and said, “In England, it’s not half bad. Means good”
Janie picked up on the saying quickly, “Well, these cream cheese sandwiches aren’t half bad, either.”
When we got down to the grapes and sinful slices of chocolate gâteau — which turned out to be chocolate cake — Minnie finally demanded answers to my distressed state.
I hesitated.
“Oh, no you don’t!” she roared. “This is where it all hits the fan, remember? You can tell us the truth. We’re the good guys. The ones in the white hats. Well, maybe tan hats, but just the same, Honey Huckleberry, Janie and I deserve to know and want to know what’s going on!”
The scotch, the Tylenol, and jet lag all chimed in together in my head and told me I just wanted to sleep, but Minnie was right. If I was in danger, so were Janie and she. “There were these guys . . .” I began.
The Complete Honey Huckleberry Box Set Page 45
