by Howe, A. E.
“He didn’t kill Erickson, and he’s… probably not dangerous,” Josephine said, with just the hint of a smile in her voice.
“This ain’t funny,” Grace said. “There’s a murderer on the loose.” If possible, she stared even harder at Blasko.
“Exactly! That’s why I’m trying to find out who the killer is,” Blasko said, joining in on the staring contest.
“Grace, the baron has some law enforcement experience and he wants to find out some things about the Erickson household. We thought you would be the best person to ask.”
The compliment caused Grace to retreat a little from her defensive posture. “I don’t gossip,” she began, then relented. “Now Myra, she does talk.”
“We just want to know if there’s any… tension in the house,” Josephine said.
“Oh, there’s some tension.” She paused. “At least that’s what Myra says.”
“Clarence and Mr. Erickson didn’t get along?” Blasko asked.
“Myra says Mr. Erickson said that Mr. Clarence was a disgrace to the family.”
“Why would he say that?” Blasko followed up.
“I guess ’cause he didn’t like havin’ a son who was more interested in tinkerin’ with those old cars than runnin’ all Mr. Erickson’s other businesses.”
“What did Clarence think of his father?”
“Called him an old skinflint. He wanted to move out, but Miss Amanda doesn’t want to move until their house is finished. They’ve had some real arguments.”
“What does Myra think of Clarence?”
“She says there’s something funny about him. ’Course, she wasn’t his wet nurse. Mamma Rose nursed him after his mother died. Now Rose was old when I was young, so she’s gone to sit with the good Lord now. Myra liked him a little better after he married Miss Amanda. Maybe Myra just likes Miss Amanda.”
“Myra get along with Lucy?”
“Myra and Mrs. Erickson are on the same side sometimes. Like once, Mrs. Erickson wanted to hire another woman to help with the work, but Mr. Erickson put his foot down and that was the end of that, no matter how much Mrs. Erickson asked him to.”
“Did anyone get along with Mr. Erickson?”
“I don’t know ’bout get along, but him and Miss Carrie are cut from the same cloth. They got the same temper and miserly ways. However, they sometimes butted heads. Miss Carrie was against buildin’ the house and buyin’ that garage for Mr. Clarence. I don’t know if she was jealous of his havin’ a wife or just didn’t want to see the money get spent.”
“What did Myra think when she saw Mr. Erickson’s body?” Blasko asked.
After a long moment, Grace fixed her eyes firmly on Blasko and said, “She thought it was some maniac that come in and killed him.”
Blasko waved his hand dismissively. “You know I don’t go out during the day.”
“I know that’s what you say,” Grace shot back.
Josephine stepped in. “If you wanted to find out more about what was going on in the Erickson household, who would you talk to, besides Myra?” She was being drawn into the mystery in spite of herself.
“I guess I’d talk to Mr. and Mrs. Kelly. They’re over there more than anyone else.”
“The Kellys? Really? I didn’t realize they were such good friends with the Ericksons.” Josephine thought they would make an odd mix. The Kellys were considerably younger than Samuel and Lucy Erickson, and not quite as well off.
“Mrs. Kelly and Miss Amanda were in school together. They were best friends then and that ain’t changed.”
The room grew quiet as Josephine and Blasko mulled over all this information.
“I got work to do,” Grace finally said.
“Of course. Thank you, Grace,” Josephine said.
“I know the devil done it,” the maid mumbled as she turned and left the room.
“Querulous servant,” Blasko muttered at Grace’s retreating figure.
“You better be grateful to Grace. She’s kept your secrets better than most would have.”
“Can you arrange a meeting with the Kellys?”
“Like having them over for dinner?” Josephine asked, a little horrified as her mind brought forth the frightful image of Blasko trying to question them. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“We need to find out what was going on in that house.”
“Maybe the sheriff will catch whoever did it.”
“Hah! That man is an imbecile. He’s out chasing an imaginary vagabond ax-murderer.”
Before Josephine could say anything else, there was a loud knock at the front door.
“What in the world?” Josephine hastened to see who it was, easily beating Grace to the front door. “I’ve got this,” she told Grace, who shrugged and headed back to the kitchen.
As if summoned by the very mention of his name, Sheriff Logan was standing on the front porch when Josephine opened the door.
“Can I help you?”
“Where’s the foreigner? What was he doing questioning the Ericksons? They thought he was working for me or some such nonsense.” Logan was literally dancing from one foot to the other. If it had been someone of less social standing blocking the doorway, he would have simply pushed his way past, but manners demanded that he wait for an invitation.
“Perhaps there has been some confusion,” Josephine said, backing up and giving Logan room to come through.
Once in the parlor, Logan fixed Blasko with a cold stare, but the foreign man pretended not to notice, frustrating the sheriff even more. Josephine stood back, unsure of which tack the unpredictable Blasko was going to take. Finally, he turned and looked at the sheriff, breaking into his most engaging smile and tilting his head a little to one side.
“I am sorry if there has been some… misunderstanding.” Blasko’s accent was suddenly much stronger. “My English is not always so good. As an officer of the court in my land, it is a privilege to be observing a man of your experience on such a case,” Blasko said with so much honey that Josephine was surprised bears didn’t bust into the room and lick him to death.
“Oh, well, sure,” Logan stammered. “I was just taken by surprise when the Ericksons said you’d been questioning them.”
“I am so sorry. I never meant to… How do you say it? Step on your toes,” Blasko said, his face a picture of innocence.
“No harm done,” Logan assured him.
“How is the manhunt going? Have you caught the villain?” Blasko asked, leaning forward as though he expected the sheriff to entertain him with an exciting story of a desperate pursuit and shoot-out.
“We’ve searched the freight train and the box cars that were in the yard. One long-haul freight got away, though. We sent word down the line to detain the train and anyone on board. Soon as we hear anything, I’ll head out that way. Should be able to stop it short of Mobile. Of course, the killer could have jumped from the train anywhere between here and there.” Logan enjoyed talking about his police work. He liked a chase a lot better than a mystery, probably because he was a lot better at chasing criminals than detecting them.
“You still think the killer was a stranger?” Josephine asked.
“I do. Can’t imagine someone from around here doing anything this cold-blooded.” He paused and then added, “Don’t get me wrong. We got some mean drunks. They get lickered up, they’re liable to do anything. Poor Mrs. Hopkins. I pulled her husband off of her a couple months ago. The woman’d been beat half to death. Floyd Hopkins is harmless until he gets a snoot full. Prohibition hasn’t done shi—” He stopped himself, remembering that Josephine was present. “…Anything to stop the drunkards.”
“This was no drunk,” Josephine said, thinking of the crime scene that Blasko had described, not to mention the stealth and nerve that was required to pull it off.
“You’re right there. Gonna be a madman. Someone like the Axeman of New Orleans, I’m thinking.” The Axeman had made national news with his penchant for slaughter and jazz.
“I would be honored if you would allow me to observe your handling of the case. I’m sure it will be quite instructive,” Blasko said politely.
“Sure, I guess. ’Long as you don’t mess with any evidence.” Logan was puffed up from the compliments Blasko had lavished on him.
The sheriff said his goodnights and Josephine and Blasko walked him to the door. They followed him out onto the porch and watched him walk across the street and through the crowd that was still gathered outside the Erickson house and gossiping.
The night was cooled by a gentle breeze. In the distance, just over the murmur of the gawkers across the street, Josephine could hear the call of a great horned owl asking: Who?
Who indeed? she wondered.
She looked over at Blasko, who was holding his chin high as though he was sniffing the air for clues. Hell, maybe he is, Josephine thought.
Though she hated to admit it, there was something about Blasko’s military bearing that drew her to him. She couldn’t help feeling something deep within herself when she looked at him. She wanted to dismiss it as just their inadvertent blood bond, yet there seemed to be another type of attraction entwined with her emotions. She almost reached out and touched his arm. Stop it! she commanded herself. All I’m feeling is whatever sorcery his blood has worked on me. I will not be drawn closer to him.
Blasko turned toward her, looking into her eyes as though he’d read her thoughts. It was a long moment before they broke eye contact.
“Can you believe what’s happened?” came a high, grating voice from the darkness. The figure of Evangeline Anderson appeared in the soft light cast by the house’s windows. The woman was thin with narrow eyes that were constantly looking for something to gossip about. She was only a little older than Josephine and had a son that she smothered. Her husband worked as much as he could at the lumber mill still owned by his father, no doubt in an effort to spend as little time at home as possible.
“Evening, Evie,” Josephine said, trying to make her voice as neutral as possible. Her neighbor was a notorious busybody.
“Oh, is that the baron with you?”
“Miss Evangeline,” Blasko said, acknowledging her with a slight bow.
She had been stalking the house ever since Blasko had moved in. Even he’d become tired of her popping over whenever she saw him moving about. At first he’d been flattered by her fascination with his title and foreign mannerisms, but it had quickly become tiresome. More than once, Josephine had had to shoo her away from the basement windows. Of course, Evie always had an excuse. Usually she had one of her tasteless pies in hand, claiming that she had made two and wanted to give one to Josephine for her guest. But no one was fooled.
“They say he was beaten to death in his own bed,” Evie said, sounding more excited than scandalized.
“Yes, it’s very sad,” Josephine said, hoping that Evie would go away. The odds on that were long at best.
“I bet the daughter did it. She’s mean as a snake,” Evie said, clearly referring to Carrie.
“I doubt that. Carrie has her rough edges, but I can’t believe she’d kill her own father,” Josephine said, annoyed that she felt compelled to defend someone who she personally thought might be capable of murder.
“Had you already met the family?” Evangeline asked Blasko, who’d been trying to ignore the woman.
“Not before tonight,” he said, finally turning to look at Evangeline and giving her the full power of his stare until she quickly turned away.
“Did you just get up?” Evie asked, undaunted by her defeat in the staring game. Along with everything else, she’d developed an unnerving interest in Blasko’s personal habits. His explanations about his sun allergy had not done much to quell her curiosity.
“No. I’ve been up since the sun went down. I always get hungry at sunset,” he said, trying to catch her eye again. Josephine had warned him not to tease Evie. The goading just made her more determined to spy on him.
“Sheriff Logan thinks the murder is the work of a homicidal maniac,” Josephine said, which was true. “He said that everyone should stay in their own homes until the killer is caught,” she added, which was certainly not true.
“Oh, I don’t think…”
“We’d better get back inside,” Josephine said to Blasko.
He looked back at her, clearly weighing his options. For just a second his eyes shifted to Evie. “Yes, you should get to the safety of your own home. The killer could still be in the area,” he told her.
“I’m sure Cyril must be terrified,” Josephine added.
At the mention of her overgrown man-child, Evangeline glanced around nervously. “Perhaps you’re right. I probably should go check on him.”
The boy had recently turned eighteen and the rumor was that he’d just stopped sucking his thumb the year before. At one time, Josephine had thought the jokes at the boy’s expense were cruel, but as he had become older and even more childish and petulant, she’d quit trying to defend him. When does a child become responsible for his own behavior? Josephine wondered.
“You shouldn’t bait her,” Josephine said to Blasko as they watched Evangeline disappear into the dark.
“I have to have some fun,” he answered dryly.
“At least it doesn’t look like anyone is pointing their finger at you for the murder.”
“We’ll see,” he said, knowing that she was trying to stop him from doing any more investigating and also knowing that he had no intention of stopping. Not now. “I’m going out for a while,” he said, heading down the steps from the porch.
“Don’t go out tonight.”
“I’ll be back before sunrise,” he said, knowing he was irritating her.
“You’re just going to bring suspicion onto yourself,” Josephine said to his retreating back.
“Leave this to me.” He turned and insolently tipped his hat to her.
“Ugh,” Josephine groaned to herself, half wanting to follow him but knowing that it was impossible. If he wanted to lose her, he could. She’d actually tried to keep up with him one night shortly after they’d arrived from Europe, but in a matter of minutes he’d disappeared into the darkness. Through their blood bond she always had a sense of where he was, but it wasn’t enough to follow him. Just let him go, she finally told herself and went back inside.
Chapter Ten
Blasko moved through the darkness with ease, his night vision as good as that of any predator. Even as he’d lost his ability to move about in daylight or to survive without drinking blood, he’d gained other powers. For decades he’d fought against the reality that he had become a creature of the night, but now he embraced it. Men do their worst at night. Through the centuries, he’d been able to use his unusual skills to defend himself and his people. The thought of his homeland was painful. They abandoned me long before I left them, he told himself.
During his nightly excursions, Blasko had gotten a feel for the town of Sumter. It was a quiet place, made up of working men and women who turned in early so they could rise before the first light of day. The town was only a dozen blocks wide and twice as many long, making it easy for Blasko to also wander the woods and countryside surrounding it. This land was so gentle compared to the rocky crags and hard-scrabble farmland of his ancestral mountains. Walking the woods and country roads of southern Alabama had become one of the real pleasures he’d discovered since moving to this new world.
Blasko was looking for someone—a man he’d talked to several times, someone that he knew might be useful someday. He knew he’d find Matthew Hodge somewhere near the stores downtown. Matthew was a homeless alcoholic whose only meals came from the scraps the stores threw out before closing. Sure enough, Blasko smelled him from a block away.
Matthew was lying in the alley behind the bakery, leaning against a wooden fence and snoring lightly. Blasko looked down at the man. He was forty years old, wearing an old suit long gone to rags. Beside him was a brown wool blanket made into a bundle tha
t held his few possessions.
“Wake,” Blasko said in a normal tone of voice.
At first it didn’t appear that the man had noticed, but slowly one eye opened. Then the other flew open and Matthew peered at Blasko, trying to get a good look at him through the fog of drink and the dim light cast by a distant street lamp.
“Mr. Baron, that you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, now. What an honor.”
Matthew tried to stand, but his left leg was asleep and his equilibrium was still lost in the last bottle he’d drunk. He would have fallen if Blasko hadn’t grabbed his arm.
“Easy.”
“Thank you. One old soldier to another, huh?” Matthew mumbled.
“Come with me,” Blasko said, picking up the man’s bundle with one hand while using his other to half carry Matthew up the block to Main Street. There was a horse trough there and he eased the man down beside it. “Clean yourself up.”
Matthew looked at Blasko for a moment, then he stripped off his coat and shirt. A quick wash and the cool night air helped, if not to sober him, then to at least make him more conscious.
“So what’s up, Shadow? That’s who you remind me of, the Shadow. ‘Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men.’” Matthew stumbled over to a bench and sat down heavily, looking up at Blasko.
Blasko watched him with studied interest. “I need your help,” he finally said.
“Damn, you must be in trouble if you need my help,” Matthew said with a laugh, almost falling over in his seat.
“There’s been a murder.”
“Come on, don’t make fun of me. I was just joking calling you the Shadow. Let’s just have a nice talk like we have before.”
Blasko had spoken with the man on several occasions during his explorations of Sumter. Matthew had shared a little about his life and service in the Great War. He’d told Blasko about his regiment’s fight in the Belleau Woods and how, when he’d returned home, he’d found that his wife had run off with a sailor.
“Mr. Erickson has been murdered,” Blasko blurted.
