The Paradoxical Parent (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 13)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  Once he'd stopped the plane and killed the engines, we all stood and began to get our coats. While Frankie and Maria, recent transplants from New York City to San Francisco, had plenty of winter clothes, all that Carter and I had were our trench coats, our usual hats, and some driving gloves. Captain Miller, our co-pilot, was familiar with the area and had suggested a place for breakfast in downtown Lebanon. He'd said we could probably find a men's clothing store who'd be willing to open up before the usual 10 a.m. All we had to do was ask around.

  He'd also said he didn't think there was a drive-your-own car rental place in the area. But, he suggested going to the local Chevrolet dealer and see what they might be willing to arrange.

  After we'd pulled on our coats and hats and gloves, there was a knock on the cabin door. Minnie Johnson, our stewardess, was standing by and opened the door.

  A man of about 50, all bundled up against the snow and the cold, stood on the portable stairs and peered inside. "Don't get many private Constellations around here much. You folks from California?" His accent was thick and a little difficult to understand at first.

  I nodded. "Yeah. Come on in."

  He did just that as Minnie closed the door without locking it.

  I asked, "Is there a cab we can call? We wanna go to Henry's."

  "Uh-huh. That's the place to go. Nice folks over there. Ask for Janet. Tell her hello from Pete. That's me."

  I extended my hand. "I'm Nick. Nice to meet you."

  He shook and grinned. "Who the hell would leave sunny California for New Hampshire in March?"

  Maria laughed. "That's sunny Southern California, Pete. We're from San Francisco. Not quite as cold but still just as foggy."

  "Uh-huh." He grinned at us all.

  I pointed at my husband. "Pete, this is Maria. And her husband Frankie. This is Minnie, our stewardess. And this is Carter." Everyone shook hands. I continued, "We're only going to be here a day or two. Come on and I'll introduce you to our flight crew."

  He followed me forward to the cockpit. The door was open. "Captain Kilkenny, Captain Miller, Mr. Rogers, this is Pete. He brought the stairs."

  They all shook hands.

  I pulled an envelope of cash out of my coat pocket and handed it to Captain Kilkenny. "This is for your lodging and expenses tonight and for whatever the airport fees are. You already have money for fuel, correct?"

  The captain, who was the very definition of grizzled, nodded. "Yes, sir. Where will you be if we need you?"

  "Try the Grafton sheriff's office. They'll know how to reach us. If we're not back tonight, we'll be back in the morning."

  "Would that be the one in New Hampshire or in Vermont?" asked Pete.

  I smiled. "Vermont."

  "That's an important distinction to make around here. For the one in Vermont, you might wanna know that ain't naught but a gravel road once you get up above Bellows Falls. Oughta be careful drivin'. More snow's likely this afternoon."

  "Thanks, Pete. We'll keep that in mind."

  . . .

  LaCroix Taxi sent over a cab to pick us up at the airport. John Bellingham was the driver. He was about 35, had bright red hair, was covered in freckles, and was friendly enough. He was driving a huge '47 Plymouth. After stowing Frankie and Maria's suitcase, our valise, and my briefcase of cash in the trunk, we all loaded in. Frankie sat up front while Maria sat behind him with me in the middle and Carter behind Bellingham.

  "Where we goin'?" asked John.

  "Henry's downtown."

  "Uh-huh. Good place as any for grub."

  With that, we were off. Once Bellingham had pulled out of the circular drive in front of the terminal building, Frankie asked, "Supposed to snow later today?"

  "Uh-huh. I'd say about six inches."

  "Any place we can get our own car?" Carter asked.

  "You could buy one." He laughed. "Ain't no drive-your-own around here."

  "Which dealer do you recommend?" I asked. I noticed we were coming into the center of town. I could see Henry's on the far side of a large park.

  Bellingham looked at me in the rear-view mirror as he made a right onto the one-way street that circled the park. "You serious?"

  I nodded. "Sure. We need a car. We're going over to the Grafton in Vermont."

  "Well, I guess you could try Heinz Chevrolet."

  I nodded as he pulled up in front of the diner. Frankie jumped out and opened the door for Maria. Carter stepped out into the lightly falling snow and walked around to the trunk. I leaned forward and gave Bellingham a folded-over five. "Can you come get us in about an hour and drive us over to the Chevy dealer?" I looked at my watch. It was right at 8.

  He shrugged and said, "It's only a buck, mister."

  "Keep the change."

  Turning in his seat, he looked at me closely. "Who are you, mister?"

  "Someone who's freezing and hungry. Can you come back in an hour?"

  Bellingham nodded and turned forward in his seat. "Uh-huh."

  . . .

  The diner was warm and about half full. Everyone stopped to look at us as soon as Frankie opened the door. Maria led the way in. The two of them shed their thick coats and hung them on the hooks by the door. Carter and I put our hats in the same spot. A waitress, about 40 and sporting bottle-black hair, yelled out. "Have a seat wherever. Coffee?"

  I replied, "Yes. For four. OK if we leave our bags here?"

  She looked over at what we'd carried in, shrugged, and said, "Uh huh."

  With that, Frankie led us to a booth towards the back of the diner. We all squeezed in, with the two of them facing the front and Carter and me facing the rear. The waitress walked up with a pot of steaming coffee. We all turned our cups over and waited for her to pour. "Special today is fried scrapple. Need a menu?"

  We all shook our heads and then put in our orders. Carter made a very specific request for chewy bacon which took a moment for her to figure out. Finally, she nodded, "You want it light."

  I replied, "As long as it's cooked but not crispy."

  She smiled. "Coming up," and made her way over to the counter and called our order over to the burly cook at the grill.

  Maria smoothed out her dress and took a sip of her coffee. She smiled over her cup and said, "I love New England. Even in the dead of winter, it's so picturesque."

  Carter said, "I've never been here before."

  Frankie looked at me. "What about you?"

  I shook my head. "Our trip to New York City in '49 is the closest I've gotten to here. And, Maria's right. It's picturesque."

  "You gotta see it in the fall with the leaves. We took some time in 1948 and drove up to Montreal when the leaves were out." He shook his head and drank from his cup. "Gorgeous."

  Right then, a police officer walked up to the table. "Excuse me, folks." He stood about 5'10", was trim, wore a light gray uniform under a thick coat, and held his blue cap under his arm. He had dark hair, brown eyes, and was clean shaven.

  Frankie, who was an ex-cop, smiled. "What can we help you with, Sergeant?"

  The man smiled. "I just heard you might be wanting to drive over to Grafton, Vermont, today. That right?"

  I nodded. "Yeah." Word traveled fast.

  He narrowed his eyes at me. "Have we met?"

  I shook my head. "Not unless you've been to San Francisco. This is our first time here."

  He tilted his head slightly. "Are you sure?"

  I shrugged. "You might have seen my picture in the paper."

  The man opened his mouth and then closed it again. He narrowed his eyes and said, "You're right. You folks plannin' to spend much time here in Lebanon?"

  I shook my head. "Just here for breakfast, maybe get some real winter coats, and then find a car that'll take us to Grafton."

  "Good. I'd suggest you move on as soon as you can." He looked at Frankie and Maria. "Are these folks your friends?"

  Maria replied, "My husband and I work for Mr. Williams."

  Carter added, "As do I."

&nbs
p; The sergeant rolled his eyes. "I recognize you both, Mr. Jones." Looking over at Frankie, he asked, "Police officer?"

  "Lieutenant, retired," was Frankie's less-than-friendly reply.

  "New York by the sound of you."

  Frankie nodded.

  "Well, Lieutenant, I don't know what you and your wife are doing working for these perverts, but I'd suggest you all move along as soon as you've done your business. We keep a nice, clean town and we don't like people bringing anything else here."

  I took a deep breath. "Understood, Sergeant. Was there something you wanted to tell us?"

  He thought for a moment and then said, "It's going to snow this afternoon." He put his hat on, nodded at Maria, and said, "Mornin' ma'am." With that, he stalked off, back to the front of the diner.

  "'It's going to snow'," mimicked Frankie with a snort.

  Maria leaned out and looked around the diner. In a quiet voice, she said, "Keep it cool, Frankie. Keep it cool."

  He nodded tightly and drank his coffee.

  . . .

  Janet, our waitress, made a call to the owner of the local men's shop who kindly agreed to open up at half past 8, instead of 10.

  As I handed her a twenty for our breakfast, I asked, "Can you let—"

  Without prompting, Carter said, "John Bellingham."

  I smiled and nodded. "Yeah. Him. Can you let him know where we are? I asked him to meet us here at 9."

  She nodded and grinned. "Oh, I'm sure he'll know you're there. Word gets around. Like, for example, how you're a, uh, millionaire from out west. That true?"

  I smiled and nodded as I put on my hat. "Yeah."

  She pocketed the twenty and said, "Thanks for the tip, Mr. Williams."

  "Thanks for your help, Janet."

  She replied, with a wide smile. "Anytime."

  . . .

  "Tyler's Fashions For Men" was around the corner and two blocks down. The light snow was still falling and I was freezing as the wind blew right through my coat.

  As we walked up to the door of the shop, a stout man in his 50s glared at us through the glass. He shook his head vigorously.

  Frankie stepped forward. "Our waitress—"

  "Janet," added Carter.

  "Yeah, Janet. She called about our friends buying some winter clothes from you."

  The man glared at Frankie. After a long moment, he relented and unlocked the door. "Well, I can't let you freeze to death. Come in."

  He stepped back ungraciously as the four of us walked through the door. The room was dark and a little chilly. Without saying anything, the man disappeared into the back.

  We stood just inside and waited, setting our luggage on the floor by the door.

  Maria said, "It's like everyone has a telephone in their head or something. I've never seen anything like this."

  Carter, who'd grown up in a small town in Georgia, said, "Doesn't surprise me. My hometown isn't this small, but news there travels like wildfire. Particularly this kind of news."

  Frankie looked at me and said, "You'd think your money doesn't spend the same as anyone else's."

  I smiled. "Well, Janet was happy to take it."

  Carter said, "It's kinda like a litmus test. You can always tell what kind of person someone is once they figure out who we are."

  I looked up at him. "Waddaya think about our cab driver?"

  Carter smiled. "He'll be back. I saw how he looked at you."

  I shrugged.

  Right then, the stout man was back from the storeroom. He laid a pile of clothes on one of the glass counters. "Two coats, two pairs of gloves, two wool caps, two mufflers, and two thick sweaters. I've been in this business for over thirty years and I know your sizes by eye. If you want, you can try them on, out here. The whole lot will be two hundred even."

  I walked over and looked at what he'd brought out. Everything looked perfect for what we needed. I pulled on the heavy wool coat over my suit coat. It fit just fine. Carter did the same. I looked at the price tag on the sweater. It was six dollars. The coat was twenty.

  "How do you come up with two hundred for all of this?" I asked as I pulled out two C-notes and put them on the counter.

  "Nuisance upcharge and don't think I'm not being generous, because I am. Now get your things and get out of my store before I call the police."

  Carter and I bundled up with the mufflers and gloves. We grabbed the sweaters and the wool caps and then made our way to the front door. The stout man locked the door behind us and stalked away back into the store.

  . . .

  After about ten minutes, Bellingham's '47 Plymouth pulled up in front of the store. With a big grin, he jumped out of the car and looked at me across the roof of the car. "Everyone in town is yackin' about the homosexual millionaire who just flew in from san goddam frisco and is throwing money around like it's fuckin' water. Get in and let's go."

  After putting our luggage in the trunk, we all piled in. As Carter pulled his door closed, Bellingham turned around and extended his hand across the seat. I shook it. "Name's Johnny. Look. Instead of you going over and buying a car, why not hire me to drive you down to Grafton?"

  I shrugged and looked over at Frankie. He nodded slightly, so I said, "Sure, Johnny. I'm Nick." I introduced everyone else and then asked, "You sure you can take the day off?"

  He nodded. "Just have to make a quick call before we leave town. Here's the deal, though." He looked from me to Carter and back. "Take me with you when you leave. No charge other than you buy the gas."

  I looked at him for a long moment. "How about this? You drive us over to Grafton and back and then, after we all get to know each other, we can talk about you coming back to San Francisco with us. If you decide against it, I'll give two hundred for the trip. Sound good?"

  He nodded enthusiastically, turned around, and put the car in gear. At the next corner, he pulled over, left the car running, and jumped out to use the payphone that sat outside a gas station.

  "What do you think?" asked Frankie. He was turned in the seat and looking at Carter.

  "I think Johnny has a little crush on Nick. Can't blame him."

  Frankie laughed as Johnny got back in the car. He pulled out into the light traffic and sighed contentedly. As he drove down the street, Maria asked, "What about your job with the taxi company?"

  Johnny grinned in the rear-view mirror. "I just quit. It was just something to do."

  "Isn't this their car?" asked Frankie.

  Johnny snorted. "Hell, no. It's mine. Bought and paid for."

  Maria asked, "Why do you want to go to San Francisco?"

  "I'm tired of the snow and tired of living in a small town. You see how it is. Everyone knows everyone's business. I loved living in Boston. I could get lost in the crowd whenever I wanted."

  "When did you live in Boston?" asked Frankie.

  "Right after I got home from Italy, after V-E Day. Moved into a little apartment on the South End and got a job driving cabs. That's where I met George, my ex. He was a hack, too. And we had one of those moments, you know?" Without missing a beat, he opened his mouth and sang a few lines from "Some Enchanted Evening".

  "Wow," said Frankie, "you have one hell of a good singing voice. Ever done any acting?"

  Johnny nodded. "Sure. A little here and a little there. Nothing much. But I like to sing."

  Carter asked, "Tell us the story of how you met George." Right then we crossed a bridge, passing a sign that indicated we were crossing into Vermont.

  Johnny sighed. "It wasn't a crowded room as much as it was a crowded garage. It was 1946. I'd just brought my taxi back into the garage. He was sitting on a bench, biting his fingernails, and reading some dime-store detective novel. I'd seen him a couple of times but I never saw him, if you catch my meaning."

  Frankie turned in his seat and looked at Maria. "I sure do."

  "Anyway, that day, I don't know what it was, really. It was summer and hot as hell. He was sitting on the bench. I slammed my door closed, he looked up, a
nd our eyes met."

  Carter took my hand and squeezed it.

  "Next thing I know he's following me into the office and asking me all sorts of stupid questions like how hot did I think it was or whether I thought the Red Sox were gonna win that night's game against the Browns." Johnny laughed. "So, I was leaning over at the water cooler, getting a drink, and he pinched my butt. The rest, as they say, is history."

  We all laughed at that.

  Carter asked, "Where's George now?"

  "He's in Boston."

  "Did you two break up?" I asked.

  "Not really. My pops was sick. He just died a month ago. That's why I came back up here. To help take care of him."

  "What about your mother?" asked Maria.

  "She died while I was in Italy. I got some second cousins but that's it for family."

  "If you go to San Francisco, what happens to George?"

  Johnny shrugged. "I dunno."

  There wasn't much to say in reply to that, so we didn't.

  . . .

  The paved road ended and the gravel road started at the top of the ridge above the town of Bellows Falls. It didn't seem to give Johnny any trouble. I thought he was driving faster than he should but what did I know? The road ran parallel to a river that was partly crusted over with snow-covered ice. After passing through a couple of small towns, we came around a bend in the road and were suddenly in the even smaller town of Grafton.

  After we crossed a rickety one-lane wood bridge across the river we'd been driving along, Frankie pointed to a spot on the right about a block down. "That's where we wanna go."

  Johnny pulled up in front of the small building. A sign in front said that it was the town hall. A couple of cars were parked in front, including a 1950 Plymouth with a Windham County Sheriff badge painted under the splatters of mud that coated its white exterior.

  As we piled out of the car, Johnny leaned against the hood, took out a cigarette, and lit up. I instinctively reached for my lighter and found it in my suit coat pocket but remembered I didn't have any cigarettes.

  Maria asked, "Do you want me to introduce you to the sheriff?"