Mystery of the Sassafras Chair

by Alexander Key

  “O.K.” Timor drew a deep breath and plunged into the story of Wiley’s visit.

  Nathaniel did not interrupt. He leaned over the showcase, resting on his elbows, his long fingers locked together and slowly tightening. “So,” he murmured finally, “that’s how it was.”

  Timor nodded silently.

  “And he told you to come and see me right away?”

  “Yes. He said the only way to find out what happened is to get everybody’s side of it.”

  Nathaniel unclenched his hands, then clenched them again. He seemed deeply moved. “Bless old Wiley! Why did I doubt him? He’s trying his best to help—and right now I sure need it. He—he told you he’d be back tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then maybe we’d better—” Nathaniel stopped abruptly, his eyes on the doorway. Timor glanced quickly around.

  In their absorption over Wiley and the chair they had been paying little attention to the occasional car that turned in at the Forks, nor had they been aware of approaching footsteps. But now there was the crunch of gravel outside, and someone moved past the window and swung up to the doorway. Timor recognized the stocky deputy with the protruding chin he had seen briefly in the sheriff’s office.

  Brad James said casually, “Mornin’, Nat.” He came inside and leaned against the doorframe. His hard marble-blue eyes fastened on Timor. He seemed amused. “So you’re the young feller that found the chair, eh?”

  Timor swallowed, suddenly uneasy and resentful. Had the deputy been listening outside before he entered?

  Nathaniel snapped, “What’s on your mind, Brad?”

  The deputy grinned. “Just wanted some information. I met Rance Gatlin over at Grosser’s a few minutes ago. Miss Hamilton, this kid’s cousin, was there. She was tellin’ about the chair that was found last night after Rance was out there. You hear about it?”

  “Tim just told me.”

  “Well, the Hamilton girl said it had old Wiley’s key on it. Mighty peculiar. Rance was wonderin’ if either of you could have any idea who put the chair in the cabin?”

  Nathaniel shook his head. “Tim doesn’t know any more about it than I. What difference does it make?”

  “Makes a heap of difference.” The deputy scratched his protruding chin with a thick forefinger. “Never seen anybody more slippery than that Wiley. He was runnin’ likker for somebody, but we never could make him talk, and we never caught him with nobody. But it stands to reason that the feller that had his key to the Hamilton place is the one we’re after.”

  “Is that good reasoning?” Nathaniel said wryly. “What sort of person would bother to bring the chair and leave the key?”

  “Then why didn’t he bring the chair openly if he had nothin’ to hide? Look, Nat, Rance has it doped out that the feller who brought the chair may’ve been helpin’ Wiley the night you was robbed. Get what I mean?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Nat, you seen Wiley run that night, didn’t you?”

  “I saw a man run after I was hit. But I was too dizzy to recognize who it was.”

  “Well, I seen ’im. Drivin’ off like mad in his truck. An’ I seen your tin box when he throwed it out later after we chased him. Rance an’ me are both thinkin’ that Wiley knowed just where to throw that box—that there was a feller waitin’ there to get it. See it now? Help us find the feller Wiley was dealin’ with, an’ we’ll find that box of stones.”

  Timor opened his mouth to speak, but closed it as he felt the warning pressure of Nathaniel’s hand on his shoulder.

  “Brad,” Nathaniel said, “I’d like to check over this whole thing with you if you have time. Where’s Rance Gatlin?”

  “He had to go on over the Gap an’ serve a summons on some feller. I just met him at Grosser’s to give him the paper.” The deputy cocked his head, and a corner of his mouth twitched. “What’s got into you, Nat? This boy been tellin’ you things?”

  There was a sudden silence. Nathaniel’s mouth hardened. “Tim’s trying to help. He’s got me thinking. Brad, I never had a chance to talk to you about this. I passed out after you reached me that night, and it was all over before I left the hospital. But something’s wrong.”

  The marble-blue eyes narrowed. “Yeah?”

  “I’ll show you how it was,” said Nathaniel. “Let’s go into the back room.”

  The small crowded room behind the partition contained a workshop on one side, and living quarters on the other. Timor’s quick glance took in the barred window flanking a door in the rear, then followed Nathaniel’s pointing finger to the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet. It was here that the tin box had been hidden.

  “I didn’t have my safe here at the time,” Nathaniel was saying. “So I stuck the box in there behind some papers, just before I went to the diner. I’d worked here most of the day getting the doors hung and the locks fixed, and I had about an hour before my gem buyer was due to meet me. It was a clear night, and before I hid the box I took a look out the back door to make sure no one was around, then locked the door and turned off the light.”

  Brad James grunted. “I remember how clear the night was. Funny you didn’t spot Wiley when you looked out, because he musta watched you through the window right afterward.”

  “Someone certainly watched me,” Nathaniel said quietly. “But there wasn’t a soul in sight when I looked out.”

  “There were those gravel trucks parked out there. Wiley could have slipped behind one of ’em.”

  “How about the drivers of the gravel trucks?” Timor asked. “Where were they?”

  Nathaniel shrugged. “Home, I suppose, Tim. The road department was working up your way at the time; they always left the loaded trucks here at night so there wouldn’t be any delay in the morning. Anyway, here’s what I’m getting at: the box was too big for my coat pocket, and I didn’t want to be seen carrying it. That’s why I left it here. But when I went out, I found that I couldn’t lock the front door. At the moment I thought the lock was jammed. I was in a hurry to eat and get back and I didn’t realize till a minute or two later, after I’d gone into the diner, that I must have got the keys mixed up. You see, the keys for both doors were supposed to be duplicates, but only one key would work both doors. So I hurried back to the shop to try the other key—and that was when I heard a noise in here by the filing cabinet.”

  “So you come tearin’ inside,” said Brad James, “an’ Wiley clobbers you.”

  “Somebody did, but it happened too fast to make out who it was. I saw only that my box was gone, then something hit me and I blacked out for a few seconds. When I managed to get up, the back door was open and I could see a man running outside.”

  “Wiley,” said the deputy.

  “Yes,” Nathaniel admitted. “Though I didn’t recognize him at the time. I wobbled after him, yelling for help, and you and Rance Gatlin came. I managed to tell you I’d been robbed, then I blacked out again and woke up in the hospital.”

  The stocky deputy stood scowling a moment. “I know all that. Rance an’ me was just goin’ in the diner when we heard you yell. What’s the catch?”

  “I’m coming to it. First, before you heard me yell, I want to know whom you saw, either in front of my place or the diner.”

  “Didn’t see nobody over this way. Everybody was at Grosser’s.”

  “You sure?”

  “’Course I’m sure! It was a bright night, an’ all the lights out front was on. Rance an’ me had stopped by Grosser’s to have a look ’round. Thought Wiley or somebody might be tryin’ to sneak in some likker. While I went into the store, Rance checked the cars outside. We met in front of the diner about a minute after you left, ’cause I seen you leave it when I come out the store.”

  “Who was in the diner when you got there?”

  “Just Mrs. O’Grady an’ her girl—an’ Sammy Grosser.”

  “You didn’t see Sammy enter?”

  “Wasn’t paying no mind to Sammy. But he’d just gone in. I remember he
was closin’ the door when I got there an’ met Rance.”

  “Then where was Sammy before he went into the diner?”

  “How should I know? You accusin’ him of anything?”

  “Certainly not. I’m trying to clear up something. Brad, I want you to describe what you saw Wiley throw out of his truck when you and Rance were chasing him.”

  The deputy was becoming irritated. “Why, it was just a plain tin box. Saw it for only a second before it fell in the brush below the road, but it sure shone bright with the light on it. What’re you getting at?”

  “That it wasn’t my box you saw. I didn’t realize it before, but I’m almost certain now that Wiley wasn’t carrying anything when I saw him running. And the box was too big to fit in his pocket.”

  Brad James was plainly angry now. “If you was too dizzy to recognize Wiley right off, you sure wouldn’t ’a’ seen what he was carryin’. Anyway, what was he runnin’ from? To hear you tell it, only three people was near enough to have snagged your box—me, Rance Gatlin, or Sammy Grosser.” He glared at Nathaniel, then demanded, “Which one of us are you accusin’?”

  Nathaniel shook his head. “None of you. I’m simply trying to find a few answers.”

  “Phooey! You want answers, mebbe this crazy foreign kid can get ’em from that talkin’ chair he found. That oughta give you some real answers!”

  Brad James spat and stalked from the shop.

  5

  Second Visit

  FOR LONG SECONDS after the stocky deputy had gone, Timor stood with his small hands clenched, his mouth tight with fury. Suddenly he burst out, “He heard us talking about the chair! He came up and stopped by the window, and heard every word!”

  Nathaniel made a growling sound, then touched him reassuringly on the shoulder. “Don’t let it worry you. We found out a lot, Tim, and he didn’t like it either. You know, Brad’s related to the Grossers. Sammy’s his nephew.”

  “No wonder he was mad!” Timor drew a deep breath. “Do you think they had anything to do with robbing you?”

  “I doubt if Brad did—and it certainly wasn’t Wiley. Let me show you something.”

  Nathaniel rummaged through a packing crate. He found a small carton, opened it, and drew out an enameled tin box, half the size of a shoe box. It was painted black and green, and had been carefully rubbed to a dull finish.

  “No one knows I have this, Tim. It’s a duplicate of the box that was stolen. Do you think it would shine brightly with the light on it?”

  “It—it couldn’t.”

  “Well, I’m sure Brad was telling the truth about what he saw. That would clear him. You see, if he’d known what the box looked like, and wanted to blame it on Wiley, he wouldn’t have described it the way he did. He honestly believes Wiley was guilty.”

  “Then that leaves Mr. Gatlin—and Sammy Grosser.”

  “Yes.”

  Timor had a momentary vision of Mrs. Grosser’s burly son. Of the three Grossers, Sammy was the biggest, and more secretive than even his mother.

  Nathaniel frowned. “Rance Gatlin comes from a tough family. They’ll all skin you if they can. They thought they had the Connors skinned on that mine deal, until … Sammy Grosser is another matter. Sammy was in the shop that afternoon; he wanted to look at the Connors’ gem, so I showed it to him. Tim, did you ever see a bronze sapphire?”

  “A bronze one? I thought all sapphires were blue!”

  “A bronze sapphire, Tim, is one of the rarest gems on earth. They’re found only in this area. Most of our sapphires, you know, look like worthless pebbles until they’re cut. This one was not only large, but when I cut it, as I told you, it had a star. Bronze with a star! When Sammy got his big hands on that star sapphire, he was so hypnotized he could hardly put it back in the box.”

  “So he knew what the box looked like. Did it have a lock?”

  “Oh, yes. I had the box on top of the filing cabinet at the time. It was about the only piece of furniture in here. Now here’s the strange thing:

  “After I hid the box in the bottom drawer, and went to the diner and came back, hardly two minutes had passed. Sammy wasn’t in the diner when I was there. If he’d just gone in when Brad saw him, he must have come from this direction, possibly from the back of the shop here. But, if he’d stolen the box, what did he do with it? There wasn’t time to break it open or hide it—and he certainly wouldn’t have carried it into the diner.”

  “He must have hidden it somewhere,” Timor argued. “Unless—unless it wasn’t Sammy.”

  “Then let’s put Rance Gatlin in his place. You see? There’s the same problem. What was done with the box?”

  Timor shook his head. “Let’s go outside and—and sort of look around.”

  They went out the back door. Timor peered curiously at the neat graveled area surrounding both the shop and the diner. The diner, he realized, was a full sixty feet away.

  “If you’d just finished building,” he said, “there must have been some scrap piles and things around. Maybe—”

  “No,” said Nathaniel. “I’d cleaned the place up and had it graveled. It looked exactly as you see it now.”

  “What about the trash can?” suggested Timor. “Your robber might have dropped it in there, and picked it up later.”

  “No. The trash can was inside, full of wood scraps for the stove. It was chilly, and I was keeping the stove going.”

  Suddenly Timor remembered something. “What about the gravel trucks that were parked out here?”

  Nathaniel looked thoughtful. “I’d forgotten about those. H’mm. That may be the answer, Tim. The trucks were parked close together, over near the diner. Anyone coming from the back of the shop would have passed right by them. And of course everyone knew they wouldn’t be moved till morning.”

  “Then that’s it! The box was thrown into one of the trucks.”

  Nathaniel nodded slowly. “It would have been safe there for hours. Only—who did it? And where is the box now?”

  Timor wet his lips. “Maybe,” he said quietly, “maybe Wiley can help us there. Tonight I—I’ll ask him.”

  The black eyes met his. “I want to see that chair. I was thinking of driving up today to look at it, but now I—I’d rather wait till tomorrow morning. Thanks for coming here, Tim. I don’t know where this is going to lead, but you’ve restored my faith in a lot of things.”

  Odessa was waiting impatiently when he returned to the station wagon.

  “Well!” she began. “You should have been in the store! Did that deputy with the big chin—what’s his name?—”

  “Brad James. Yes, he came over to the shop and told us what Mr. Gatlin thought.”

  Odessa’s eyes were bright. “It was really funny—before those deputies came, I mean. I couldn’t get a thing out of the Grossers at first. Such people! They’d make a clam seem like a chatterbox. Mrs. Grosser waited on me, and old Fritz and that big ape of a Sammy sat in a corner and watched. Then I mentioned the chair Wiley had made for you, and how strange it was to find it in the cabin. It was as if I’d dropped a bomb. Timmy, I wouldn’t have believed it, but they’re terribly superstitious. Mrs. Grosser actually asked me if I wasn’t afraid to have a chair like that in the house!”

  Timor laughed. “If she could have seen Wiley—”

  “Please, Timmy. You don’t have to—”

  “You still don’t believe me,” he accused.

  “Maybe I do. I—I don’t know. You didn’t tell Mr. Battle, did you?”

  “Yes, I did,” he admitted.

  “Timmy! I told you not to. What will he ever—”

  “But he wanted to know, so I told him—and he didn’t even question me. He was awfully low when I went in, but he felt a lot better when I told him, and he said, ‘Bless old Wiley!’”

  “I’m surprised. Just the same, I wish you hadn’t let it out. I can’t help it, but I feel tida senang about it, as if something awful could happen.”

  Timor, remembering how Brad James had
listened, felt equally unhappy.

  “You were telling me about Mrs. Grosser and the chair,” he said. “What happened next?”

  “Well, I looked around, and there was Deputy Gatlin, taking it all in. I didn’t even hear him come in the store. That man! He gives me the creeps, the way he stands looking at you and chewing on a match. Anyway, I had to go over the story again for both deputies. Now, what do you think of Rance Gatlin’s idea that another person was involved, one of Wiley’s friends?”

  Timor wrinkled his nose and pinched it between his fingers. “That’s what I think of it. Nathaniel proved that Wiley didn’t do it. We’ve figured out how it was done and we know it had to be either Sammy Grosser or—or Mr. Gatlin himself.”

  “Timmy! You’re not serious!”

  “That’s how it looks.”

  Odessa’s mouth tightened as he told her about it. She was silent for a moment. Suddenly she said, “I don’t like this. Frankly, Timmy, I think we ought to tell Daddy about it.”

  “Not yet. You know how he is. Besides, we—we don’t really know anything for sure.”

  “But, Timmy, you’ve started something. From now on, you’ve got to be awfully careful. It isn’t Sammy Grosser I’m afraid of. He’s just an overgrown lout—the sly kind. But Rance Gatlin.… Don’t you see? If that match-chewing deputy did it, it makes things far worse. He not only injured Mr. Battle seriously, but he pursued an innocent man afterward, which makes him responsible for his death. One could almost call it murder.”

  A little chill crept over Timor. He hadn’t considered that side of it.

  “So,” she added, “I believe it would be only wise to keep Daddy informed.” She turned on the motor. “What do you want to do next?”

  “I don’t know. I—I’ve got to think things over.”

  “Well, let’s get back and have an early lunch. I’d like to get started on my painting.”

  After lunch he helped Odessa carry her equipment down to the creek, and set up her folding easel in an area of tumbled rocks below the bridge. This was their favorite spot and ordinarily he would have been eager to spend the afternoon sketching with her. He did, in fact, attempt a drawing, but his pencil refused to work. Questions played tag through his mind.