by Howe, A. E.
“I own most of the warehouses down at the river. We store the cotton and load it on the trains. Used to all go out by steamboat down the river to Apalachicola in my father’s day. Now we put it on the train.”
“There used to be a little dock down there,” Josephine added.
“It’s still called Cotton Dock. Lots of gambling used to go on down there back in the day,” Thomas said.
“And other things,” Sarah said cryptically.
“A couple of the old bars are still standing, but they’ve been flooded a couple times since they were abandoned.”
“Funny, I remember my father talking about those bars. He said that’s where Mr. Erickson got his start,” Josephine said.
Thomas nodded. “I first got to know him when I was buying one of my warehouses. He sure had some stories about the heydays when the boats would come in and all the wild times at the docks. Said the sheriff practically lived down there, between breaking up fights and making sure the drunks didn’t drown in the river.”
“That was old Sheriff Griffin. Logan took over after him,” Josephine explained to Blasko.
“Rumor is that Griffin retired when most of Cotton Dock shut down after Prohibition. Figured if the drinking, gambling and… other things couldn’t go on down there, then he wouldn’t be able to run his protection racket anymore.”
“He should have held on. He could be runnin’ ’shine and making more money than ever.” Josephine smiled.
“You’re about right there.”
“One thing about Sheriff Logan, he’s honest,” Josephine said. “But I think he’s got his hands full with this murder.”
“Seeing Mr. Erickson last night, I can’t help but wonder who could have committed such a brutal crime,” Blasko said.
“Some hobo. Probably rode in on the rails yesterday and was gone by the time they found the poor man,” Thomas said, not looking up from his plate. Sarah’s head nodded slightly in agreement.
It would appear they see eye to eye about that, at least, Blasko thought. Aloud he said, “But why would a… hobo… want to kill Mr. Erickson?”
“How would I know? A lot of them aren’t right in the head. We get them wandering into the warehouse all the time. They always say they’re lookin’ for work. A handout is what they want. Stink of liquor, most of them. When you tell ’em to go away, they get mad. Maybe Erickson didn’t give some guy a handout and the creep followed him home and killed him. Wouldn’t put it past most of them. A year ago, one of my guys found a bum down by the tracks with a knife buried in his gut. Stiff as a board.”
“Thomas!” Sarah rebuked him.
He looked over at her. “Yeah, sorry. Guess that isn’t very polite dinner talk.”
“You said you’d met Erickson when you bought the warehouse? I think my father was involved in that transaction,” Josephine mentioned.
“He was. I always appreciated his help with my business.”
“Of course, I went to school with Mandy,” Sarah said, rather out of context. “She was one of my best friends.”
Was? wondered Josephine. “Was Clarence in school with you all?” she asked.
“He was several years ahead of us,” Sarah answered. “We didn’t really know him then.”
“He played baseball. I think that’s all that kept him in school. Not really the intellectual type,” Thomas added.
“That’s not fair.”
“But true. You know it,” Thomas said stiffly.
Blasko carefully watched Thomas and Sarah, observing the coldness between them. Was it simply a normal husband-and-wife issue, or something deeper?
“There is nothing wrong with Clarence,” Sarah said with an edge to her voice.
“I didn’t say there was. I was just pointing out that he had different… priorities. You wouldn’t have given him a second look before Mandy started dating him.”
“I don’t give other men a second look,” Sarah said with heat.
Josephine could almost hear Thomas grinding his teeth. “What are you saying?” he asked.
“I’m not saying anything,” Sarah muttered.
The Kellys looked up to see Josephine and Blasko watching them. They both blushed.
“Sorry. This murder has shaken us up. Can we just not talk about the Ericksons?” Thomas said.
The rest of the evening passed awkwardly with the central topic on everyone’s mind having been declared off limits. After another hour, the Kellys finally went home, assuring Josephine they’d had a good time and should do it again soon. Josephine promised they would. No one was being honest.
“I sensed a little tension there,” Josephine said as she closed the door behind them.
Blasko chuckled darkly. “More than a little. I wish we’d seen them before the murder. How much of the current attitude between them stems from recent events?”
Josephine shrugged. “She sure seemed jealous of Amanda.”
“I don’t remember there being any distance between Clarence and Amanda yesterday.”
“Maybe Clarence doesn’t know.”
“Or maybe there isn’t anything to know. Your sex has a tendency to see infidelities everywhere,” Blasko said haughtily.
“Not just my sex, pal,” Josephine shot back.
“True. I’ve met men who could be jealous of a tree,” Blasko agreed.
“Jealousy has certainly led to murder before. Though it wouldn’t make much sense to kill Mr. Erickson.”
“And it couldn’t be an error. You don’t mistake an older man for a middle-aged woman when you’re attacking them at close range with a blunt object.”
“True.” Josephine sighed. “So did our evening of awkward moments get us anywhere?”
“We have more information about the relationships surrounding the murder, which should help us going forward.”
“You’re really serious about solving this, aren’t you?”
“Why are you surprised?” Blasko looked at her with arched eyebrows.
“I don’t understand why you care,” Josephine said.
Blasko shrugged. “I don’t like having a killer stalking around my home.”
“Home?”
“I could make a joke about home being where the coffin is.” A faint smile crossed his lips.
“Please.” Josephine rolled her eyes.
“Obviously, I have secrets to keep. It’s better not to have unsolved murders across the street.”
“And, unfortunately, your secrets have become my secrets.”
“I appreciate you asking the Kellys to dinner, but you don’t have to help with this… investigation anymore.”
“Didn’t I just admit we share some of the same secrets? Besides, I’ve always had a problem with my curiosity. That’s how I got stuck with you.”
“Fine.”
“So what’s the next step, Holmes?”
“I want to know more about Clarence and Amanda,” he said, ignoring the reference.
“Don’t forget Carrie and Lucy.”
“Lucy is a curiosity.”
“You don’t think she could be involved?”
“I don’t know what I think of her.”
“She’s going to inherit the estate.”
“True. And there was some tension between her and Mr. Erickson.” Blasko went on to tell her about the argument Matthew had described, being intentionally vague about where he’d heard the story.
“I can see that. Erickson was pretty miserly while she is a bit of flash. Not sure what he expected as a rich widower getting married. You’re bound to attract the gold diggers. I say that, but they both seemed content with the arrangement. The real question is what’s going on with Amanda’s and Clarence’s marriage.”
“If I could be out during the day, I’d take your car into Clarence’s garage. That would give me a chance to talk with him.”
“Do you even know how to drive?”
“No, and that’s not the point,” Blasko snapped, slightly embarrassed that he lacked the s
kill to drive a car. It hadn’t escaped his notice that almost everyone drove in this country, with only a few horse-drawn wagons still out on the streets. It was nothing like his home in the mountains where the cart still ruled.
“The viewing is tomorrow night. We can go after dark,” Josephine suggested.
“Yes! An excellent opportunity to observe them with the corpse present.” Blasko sounded positively giddy at the prospect.
“You know how wrong that is, don’t you?”
“Admit it. You’re excited too,” he said, moving in closer to her.
Josephine looked into his eyes. Is there a soul there? she asked herself.
“I think excited would be a bit of an exaggeration. But I do believe you’re right. Something is going on in that house, and I’d like to know who’s involved.”
Blasko reached out and took her shoulders in both his hands. For a moment, Josephine thought he was going to embrace her, and she had no idea how she would react. Instead, he patted her upper arms awkwardly.
“Well, enough of that for the moment. I’m going to go out for a while,” he said, turning away.
“What do you do when you go out at night?” she asked his back.
“Nothing. See the town. Feel the fresh air. Get a little exercise,” he answered as he took his hat and coat from the rack by the door.
“Fresh air and exercise. That makes you sound… normal,” Josephine said with an edge to her voice. Josephine didn’t understand her own reaction. Was she angry because he’d never invited her to join him on one of his walks, or was she suspicious of what he was doing all night long?
Blasko turned and stared at her. “You think I’m some sort of monster? You think I don’t need a little normalcy? I’ll remind you that it was you coming into my home that led to my involvement in your normal life.” His eyes had hardened into black points.
“Oh, let’s not go over that again,” she said, and then couldn’t stop herself from rehashing the old argument. “I came into your… castle looking for shelter. After your bodyguard killed my companion, I might add. And what did you do? You attacked me.”
“Attacked? Darling, if I’d attacked you, you’d be… Well, you wouldn’t be standing here berating me,” Blasko said indignantly.
“You tried to chew my head off! You only stopped because I bit you!” Josephine couldn’t believe he had the gall to suggest otherwise.
Blasko waved his hand as though swatting the suggestion away. “None of that matters now. What is done is done.”
“You drive me crazy. You know that?” Josephine said. “Go on. Go on your walk.”
“I do not need your permission,” he said, turning his back and walking out the door.
“That man is crazy.”
Josephine jumped a little, turning to see Grace standing in the doorway to the kitchen.
“He’s going to kill us all in our beds. I done tol’ you that.”
“He’s irritating, but he’s not crazy.”
A quick eye roll made Grace’s opinion very clear. “I’ve finished up the dishes.”
“Thank you,” Josephine said, meaning as much for staying with her as for the dishes.
Grace hung her apron behind the kitchen door. “I’m goin’ up to bed now,” she said, walking past Josephine. “But don’t think I’m not lockin’ my door and puttin’ a chair under the knob.”
Chapter Thirteen
Blasko walked out into the cool night air, glad that the heat and humidity of a southern Alabama summer were behind them. Shaking off the frustration of his conversation with Josephine, he set off with a purpose. After talking with the Kellys, he was interested to see the cotton warehouses Thomas owned. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew he needed more information about the people in Samuel Erickson’s circle of acquaintances.
Unfortunately, Cotton Dock was several miles outside the Sumter city limits. He’d need some transportation. Stealing a horse didn’t seem practical. Why haven’t I bought a horse? he wondered. Because I’d need to build a stable, that’s why. The town didn’t have a working livery anymore and the Nicolsons had long ago turned their carriage house into a garage for their automobile.
In need of help, Blasko found Matthew sitting in a dark corner of the cemetery.
“I used to come here and drink. Made me feel better being with my family.” Matthew nodded toward a couple of small headstones. “My mother and father. Mom died while I was overseas and Dad died of the Spanish flu two months after I got home. For all I know, I might have brought it with me. Live with that for a while. And now I can’t even drink,” he said morosely. “Don’t think you did me any favors.”
“Say the word and you can get lost in a bottle again,” Blasko responded dryly.
Matthew looked up, trying to focus on Blasko’s face in the faint glow of the half moon. He opened his mouth, willing himself to say yes, but nothing came out.
“If you are done feeling sorry for yourself, I need a ride.”
Matthew chuckled. “You need a ride? What do you think I can do about that?”
“I think you can borrow a car and drive me where I want to go.”
“You’re a piece of work, you are. I haven’t had a friend who’d lend me a car in ten years.”
Blasko thought about this for a moment. “Fine, follow me.”
“I’m not going…” Matthew began, but Blasko was already headed back in the direction he’d come. “Damn it!” Matthew got up and followed the retreating figure out of the cemetery.
They arrived back at Josephine’s house to find that most of the lights were off.
“Wait by the garage,” Blasko told Matthew, who shrugged and wandered off toward the back of the house.
Blasko took the stairs to the second floor two at a time. He rapped on Josephine’s door, hearing the sound of Fats Waller singing “Ain’t Misbehavin’” coming from the radio.
“Who is it?” Josephine’s voice asked from the other side of the large oak door.
Blasko thought about yelling back his name, but he hated being on the wrong side of a door. Instead, he turned the knob and walked into the room, only to find it empty.
“Who’s out there?” Josephine called from the bathroom.
“It’s Blasko,” he answered, striding across the room and opening the door to the bathroom.
“What are you doing? I’m taking a bath!” she shouted at him, sinking farther into the water even as she grabbed for the towel draped over the radiator.
“Don’t bother to get up.”
“I wasn’t going to. We’ve had these discussions before. You can’t just barge into my private space without waiting for permission,” Josephine scolded him.
Blasko waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, very sorry,” he said without an ounce of sincerity. “I need to take the car.”
“Wait one minute!” Josephine desperately wanted to stand up so she could confront him, but there was no way she could without leaving herself in a highly vulnerable state. Instead, she settled for fighting him with logic. “We just discussed this. You… can’t… drive!”
“I have someone to drive me,” he said, turning to leave as if that could be her only objection.
“Who? You don’t… You don’t have any friends,” Josephine stammered. “Hey!” she yelled to his retreating back and was answered by the slam of her bedroom door.
Josephine sighed and sank back into the warm water. “Fine. Take it. What the hell.”
“Where are we going?” Matthew asked as Blasko opened the garage doors.
“For a ride in the country,” Blasko told him. He pulled the cord for the electric light, revealing a large, burgundy four-door sedan.
“A Chevrolet,” Matthew said admiringly. “’32. Nice. I saw Mr. Nicolson driving this beauty once.”
Blasko handed him the key.
“Wowsers. I’ll pull it out,” Matthew said, wanting to drive the car more than he’d wanted anything other than a bourbon bottle in a
decade.
Once the car had eased out of the garage, Blasko gingerly got into the passenger seat.
“You’re going to have to tell me which way to go,” Matthew said, not sounding like he cared. He eased up on the clutch and the big car rolled down the driveway.
“We’re going to Cotton Dock,” Blasko said, his tone nervous.
“Cotton Dock? At this hour? Why the hell?” Matthew said, putting on the brakes.
“Please, just drive,” Blasko said, reaching out and bracing himself against the wood-and-metal dashboard.
“Whatever,” Matthew said philosophically. He eased the car out of the driveway, gaining confidence until he was cruising comfortably. “Man, I haven’t driven a car in years!” he exclaimed over the wind blowing through the open window. “I forgot how much I loved it.”
“I’m not loving it. Slow down,” Blasko growled.
“That’s because you’re not driving,” Matthew said, speeding up a little. “I’ll teach you sometime.”
The road was bumpy and the headlights cast their glow only fifty feet in front of the rocking automobile. It took them almost half an hour to cover the seven miles down to the river and the little settlement of Cotton Dock.
“What’s over there?” Blasko asked Matthew, pointing at a building off to the right. There were several cars parked out front and a mule hitched to a post around the side.
“That’s the Dock. A juke joint.”
“What?”
“A place for the blacks who live down here and work in the warehouses. They got crazy music and, as long as you know the right signals, you can get some hooch.”
“Why doesn’t the sheriff bust it up?”
“There’s a boy up on the roof. If he sees the law coming, he pulls a string that rings a bell inside and all the sweet grain gets poured out on the floor.”
“You been in there?”
“Oh, yeah. Anywhere in the county you can get a drink, I’ve been there.”
They passed the Dock and were soon driving by several rows of shotgun shacks.
“Those are the houses where the workers live. Thomas Kelly owns some of them too. He rents them to the workers.”
