Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazine #2

by Gary Lovisi

  “Okay, Frank. What are you doing here?”

  “I don’t have to answer your question, but because I’m a good guy, I will. I work here. I make sure the wrong people don’t wander onto the Henrys’ property.”

  “Where are Mr. and Mrs. Hen—”

  “No,” Frank interrupted. “You may be a PI, like your card says, but now I’m askin’ the questions. Brandy look lost to you?”

  “Her owner says she was,” I offered. “How about we arrange for Brandy’s owner and Mr. and Mrs. Henry to join us, get this thing straightened out?”

  “Don’t know if that’s a good idea, Mr. Mason.”

  “Look, Frank. I started the day with a hangover. Now I’ve added a whack on the head. I just want to finish this job and go home.”

  Frank thought a moment. “Okay, let’s see what we can do.” He walked out of the room. I held the ice pack to my head with my left hand and reached out to pet Brandy with the other. She wagged her tail. She wasn’t wearing a collar.

  Frank walked back into the room. “No dice, Mr. Mason. You’re going home.” I adjusted the ice pack on my head. “You can take that with you, complements of the Henrys.”

  “I wouldn’t want to leave before saying goodbye to Mrs. Henry. That would be rude.”

  Frank smiled and chuckled. “You’re funny. And you’re going. Let me help you off that couch.”

  A woman walked into the room just as Frank was reaching down to help me off the couch. Her face suggested she was in her mid-fifties, but she’d kept a youthful figure. When the face had been youthful, I imagined, she could have been mistaken for Lauren Bacall. She was immaculately dressed in charcoal-gray slacks and a pink silk blouse. Her black hair was put up in a bun and she wore a strand of pink pearls around her neck.

  Frank straightened up and backed a step away from the couch. I sat up.

  “Ma’am,” said Frank.

  “Mrs. Henry, I’m Mike Mason.”

  “I know who you are, Mr. Mason.”

  “Your daughter knew, too. Must run in the family.”

  She looked at me impassively, as if she were studying a beetle pinned to specimen board. “What do you want here, Mr. Mason?”

  “At the moment, I’d like to understand why your daughter would ask me to find a lost dog that isn’t lost.”

  “Why is my family’s business any concern of yours?”

  “Why did your daughter hire me to find her dog, Mrs. Henry?”

  She turned to Frank. “Mr. Mason can leave now.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Frank.

  Mrs. Henry left the room. Frank looked at me. “Will you need help leaving, Mr. Mason?”

  “No, just show me to the door.”

  Frank took my wallet and .38 off the table and handed them to me. I put the gun in my shoulder holster and the wallet in my slacks pocket, then handed him the ice pack. “I don’t need this. The bump on my head will do fine as a souvenir.”

  Frank grinned and led me to the door.

  As I walked down the driveway, I considered my next move. I’d have to let Samantha Henry know her dog was alive and well at her parents’ house. Then I realized I hadn’t eaten since dinner yesterday. I made it back to my car, drove into town, and found a diner. It was one of those places built to resemble a railroad dining car—long enough to accommodate the counter and necessary number of booths; only as wide as it had to be.

  Inside, the diner smelled of coffee, hot grease, and stale cigarette smoke. An elderly man sat at the counter, a cup of coffee in front of him, reading the paper. A man and woman sat at a booth, food and beverage on the table, eating and talking. I took a booth. Someone had used duct tape to repair a rip in the red plastic seat cover. The table top was white Formica that had yellowed with age. I heard the clatter of dishes and silverware from the kitchen. A waitress came from behind the counter and brought me a menu. ‘Mel’s Diner,’ it said on the front in red stylized script, above a black-and-white photo of the place. ‘Serving the Best Burgers Since 1955.’ The waitress was a heavyset woman in her forties, wearing the usual waitress uniform. I took Mel’s recommendation and ordered a burger with fries and a cup of coffee. Coffee was my second choice. Jack Daniel’s wasn’t on the menu.

  I took out my cell phone, about to call Samantha Henry, when she and a young man walked into Mel’s. She was dressed in jeans, an oversized white t-shirt, and a brown-leather, aviator’s jacket. No jewels except the diamond on her left hand. Still easy to look at. He was tall and lanky, with straight blonde hair that just reached his shoulders. He wore jeans, too, with a faded Grateful Dead t-shirt and a jeans jacket. The young man was talking in an animated manner, making some point. Samantha pretended to pout and punched him on his shoulder. He put his hand on his shoulder and pretended to be hurt.

  Then she saw me and stopped. She put her hand out and stopped the young man. She said something to him and they both walked over to my booth.

  “Mr. Mason,” she said, “this is my fiancé, Jack Singleton.”

  I stood and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Singleton.”

  He laughed. “Mr. Singleton’s my father. I’m Jack.”

  “Okay. Jack it is. Will the two of you join me?”

  “Sure,” said Jack. “Thanks, Mr. Mason.” We sat. “Sam’s been telling me you’re gonna find Brandy for her.”

  “Uh-huh. Only Brandy’s not lost.”

  Jack looked at Samantha.

  “What do you mean, Mr. Mason?” she asked.

  “Why don’t you tell me?” I said.

  She took a breath. “I guess you were at my parents’ and found Brandy there. From the bump on your head, I’d guess you also met Frank.”

  “Right both times,” I said. “Ever think of becoming a PI?”

  She smiled. Jack put his arm around her. She turned the smile on him, then looked back at me and frowned.

  “Are you okay?” she asked me. “The bump, I mean.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Nothing I can’t fix later with the right medicine.” I made a mental note to myself to find a liquor store on my way home. “Why’d you lie to me, Ms. Henry?”

  “Was Brandy all right?” she asked.

  “All right?” I asked.

  “Was she wearing a collar?”

  Jack shifted in his seat but kept his arm around her. The waitress brought two menus to our booth, put them on the table in front of Samantha and Jack. A bus boy brought place-mats, silverware, and water.

  “Why wouldn’t she be?” I asked.

  The waitress was back with my order. She put it on the table, then turned to Samantha and Jack. “You two ready to order?”

  They ordered. The waitress walked away.

  I took a sip of my coffee. “Why wouldn’t she be?” I asked again.

  “We think Mr. Henry took it,” Jack said.

  “Why would he take Brandy’s collar?”

  Jack and Samantha looked at each other. Sam looked down. Then she looked up, at me. “My father doesn’t want us to marry, Mr. Mason. He thinks Jack only wants my money.”

  “Is that what the argument was about the day you lost Brandy?”

  “That’s what the argument’s always about,” she said.

  Jack said, “That day, he—Mr. Henry offered me a check if I’d walk away, never see Sam again.”

  “For how much?” I asked.

  Jack shook his head. “I never saw. I love Sam, Mr. Mason. No amount of money could get me to walk away from her.”

  I looked at Samantha. I believed him. “So what makes you think your father took the collar?”

  “There are real diamonds in it,” she said. “It’s worth quite a bit.”

  “The man has more than enough to buy his own diamonds if he wants them. W
hy would he take yours?”

  She shrugged unconvincingly.

  “Did you ask for it back? The collar?”

  Samantha hesitated, then said, “No.”

  “Why not?”

  The waitress brought Jack’s and Samantha’s order, set it on our table. “Anything else? More coffee for you, sir?”

  “No,” I said. “No, thank you.” Then, to Samantha, as the waitress walked away, “Why not?”

  Jack shifted in his seat again. “Will you help us get it back, Mr. Mason?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?” Jack asked.

  “Ms. Henry, why haven’t you asked your father to return the collar? If he has it.”

  “He has it,” Jack said.

  “He has it, Mr. Mason,” she agreed. “My father wants to write me out of his will if I marry Jack. He doesn’t want me to have any money, anything.”

  I waited.

  “Come to my parents’ this evening, Mr. Mason. After dinner. Jack and I are going over for dinner. Come over after and talk to my father.”

  “I don’t think I’m one of you parents’ favorite guests.”

  “I’ll call them now and arrange it.” She took her cell phone from a jacket pocket.

  “Wait,” I said. “I don’t see how this could possibly help you. I don’t think your father has the collar and, if he does, I don’t see how anything I’d say could persuade him to return it to you.”

  Samantha dialed. “Hi, Mom.” Pause. “Yes, Jack and I will be over for dinner.”

  Jack took his arm from around Samantha and leaned across the table towards me. “Who do you think took it, Mr. Mason?”

  “Mel’s,” said Samantha, and then, “No, Mother, it’s not a dive!”

  “The butler,” I said. “The butler’s always the one.”

  Jack laughed. “They don’t have a butler.”

  “What?” I said. “No butler? Then it must’ve been you, Jack. Jack Singleton, in the billiard room, with the candlestick.”

  “Like Clue?” he asked with a smile.

  “Yes. Whacked the dog and walked off with the collar.”

  Samantha was still talking with her mother.

  “Thank God we know Brandy’s alive,” Jack said with mock seriousness. “As it is, I’m looking at five to ten for theft of collar. I could’ve been facing the chair for the murder of an innocent Irish setter.”

  I smiled. I was beginning to like the boy.

  Samantha finished her call. “It’s all set,” she said. “You should come over at eight-thirty.”

  “All right,” I said. “It’s your dime.” The waitress brought my check. I picked it up and stood. “I’ll see you two this evening.” I put a tip on the table, went to the cashier and paid, and walked out of the diner.

  I drove up the Henrys’ driveway at eight-thirty, parked, went to the door, and rang the doorbell. I heard a dog bark. Marsha and Brandy answered my ring. Brandy wore a plain leather collar with tags that looked new. She wagged her tail. Marsha wore her maid’s uniform.

  “Good evening, Mr. Mason,” Marsha said with a trace of a Spanish accent.

  I returned her greeting.

  “How is your head, sir?”

  “Better, thank you.”

  “Good.” She smiled warmly. “Please follow me.”

  She led me to some double doors of polished wood and then through the doors, into a large, well-lit room.

  “I will let the Henrys know you are here.”

  I thanked her. She walked out. Brandy stayed. I looked around the room. It was carpeted wall to wall. A couple of upholstered couches and six upholstered armchairs were arranged in two groups, three chairs per couch—all modern, stylish, expensive pieces. A large fireplace was set in one of the walls. Two more armchairs sat facing the fireplace and a coffee table, magazines and an open cigar box on top, sat between them.

  I heard voices coming from outside the room and turned towards the doors. Mr. Henry, Mrs. Henry, Samantha, and Jack came through them. Mr. Henry was saying, “But we don’t know how it’ll play on Wall Street.” He didn’t seem worried. They were all dressed for the dinner they’d just finished, three-piece suits with handkerchiefs sticking out of jacket pockets and elegant designer dresses. Brandy walked over to greet them. Samantha stroked the dog’s head.

  Mr. Henry walked over to me and extended his hand. “Good evening, Mr. Mason,” he said, neither warmly nor coldly.

  “Good evening, sir,” I said as we shook.

  I put him at about sixty; about five ten and a little heavy. I suspected most of the weight was muscle. He had a full head of gray hair and a round face with thin lips and a pug nose.

  “Care for a drink?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I said. “If you’re drinking too.”

  “Cognac?”

  I nodded. “Thanks.”

  He went across the room to a wet bar.

  Mrs. Henry said, “Welcome back, Mr. Mason.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “I’m sorry we got off to a bad start earlier today. How’s your head?”

  “How’s Frank’s hand?” I asked.

  She forced a smile.

  Mr. Henry called from across the room, “Elizabeth, Samantha, Jack. You’ll have one too?” They all said yes.

  “Seems we need your help, Mr. Mason,” Mrs. Henry said.

  “I’m listening,” I said.

  Mr. Henry returned with the drinks on a silver tray. We each took one. He put the tray on a side table placed next to one of the couches. “Let’s sit,” he said, motioning with his Cognac to the couch and chairs. We sat, Mr. Henry, Mrs. Henry, and I on chairs, Jack and Samantha on the couch. Brandy set herself down at Samantha’s feet.

  “Mr. Mason,” Samantha said, “I was wrong. My father doesn’t have the collar.”

  “Who does?” I asked.

  Mrs. Henry said, “We think our maid took it.”

  “Marsha?”

  “Yes,” said Samantha.

  “Have you asked her?”

  “No,” said Mr. Henry. “We thought you might.”

  “I might,” I said.

  Mr. Henry nodded. “Let’s finish our drinks first.”

  I turned to Samantha and Jack. “Have the two of you set a date for your wedding?”

  “No, they haven’t,” said Mr. Henry, firmly.

  “Now, Richard,” said Mrs. Henry.

  “Elizabeth, nothing is decided yet. Nothing.”

  “Mr. Henry,” said Jack, “I love Samantha, not her money.”

  “Richard,” said Mrs. Henry, surprise in her voice, “what did you say to them?”

  “If they want to marry, damn it, they’ll have to make it on their own.”

  “You are not doing that to our daughter!”

  “We’ll find a way on our own,” Jack insisted.

  “Jack, there’ll be no need for that,” said Mrs. Henry. She turned to her husband. “Will there?”

  “The boy has no career, no future!” His face was red and his voice tight and loud. He looked Jack in the eye. “The little shit accuses me of taking the collar.” He kept his focus on Jack, looking like he wanted to spit in his face. “You’ve been taking my money ever since you my met my daughter.”

  “My money, Father,” Samantha said, evenly.

  Mr. Henry kept his eyes on Jack. “Where’s the collar?”

  Jack stood, meeting Mr. Henry’s glare with his own.

  “Sit down!” Mr. Henry demanded.

  “Richard!”

  “Stay out of this, Elizabeth.”

  Mrs. Henry opened her mouth as if to say something, then silently shut it. Her face was drawn. Her ha
nd smoothed her dress over her lap once, then again. Samantha sat silent and still, watching her father and Jack.

  Jack took a step towards Mr. Henry. Mr. Henry stood. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Frank enter the room. I glanced at him quickly, keeping Mr. Henry and Jack in my peripheral vision. Frank was in the same black t-shirt and slacks he wore earlier and had added a grey sports jacket. His right hand was at his side. It held a gun. I looked more closely. It was a .45. I moved to the edge of my seat and tried to keep both Frank and the others in view.

  Samantha was still watching her father and Jack—who were watching each other. Mrs. Henry noticed Frank, took in a sharp breath, and stiffened. I moved again, slightly, to make sure my jacket was loose. I kept my hands on my knees, where Frank could see them, but made sure I could reach my shoulder holster without trouble.

  “Frank,” I said, “why don’t you ask Marsha to bring us some after dinner mints?”

  “She’s tied up at the moment.”

  I wondered if he meant that literally.

  Samantha looked at Frank and gasped. “My God, what are you doing?”

  “Looking for Brandy’s collar.”

  Now they were all looking at Frank.

  “In here?” Samantha asked, surprise in her voice.

  Frank nodded. He looked at Jack. “Give Miss Henry the collar, Jackie boy.”

  Jack turned his glare on Frank. “I don’t have it, Frankie.”

  “I betcha you do.”

  “Frank,” said Mr. Henry, “what the hell are you doing?”

  “Trying to get your daughter’s diamonds back for her, sir.”

  “Now, Frank,” Mrs. Henry began.

  Frank interrupted. “Please stay out of this, ma’am.”

  She glared at Frank, but was quiet.

  Mr. Henry began walking toward Frank. He put his hand out. “Give me the gun.”

  “Stop right there,” Frank said.

  Mr. Henry stopped. “You’re making a mistake, Frank.”

  I stood up slowly, keeping my hands where Frank could see them if he wanted to.

  Frank glared at me and barked, “Sit down!”