Murder in the Grand Manor

by Tom Hoke

  She said, "Lena, reach over on the desk and find a candle and light it." She was trying to sound firm. Lena, of course, announced she had a candle but no match. Jim flicked on his lighter, groped over to Lena who was holding up her candle, and lit it.

  Leadership was changing hands fast. He guessed he was self-elected. Nobody else showed any signs of wanting to head up the hurricane detail in the Grand Manor. A look at the groom showed he had ideas, but not about hurricanes. Obviously he was willing to take charge…of his wife, that is. Jim lit a couple more candles, stuck them on the desk, and eyed the bride. Until now she hadn't had a chance to tell her husband about the body in the freezer. He had to think up a good answer for that one when she told him. But now he was the General!

  "Where's the lantern, Aunt Annie?" She looked relieved to give up her job, and pointed to the lantern on the floor behind a chair. "I put it there to keep it from being knocked off the desk," she replied. He nodded and Aunt Annie picked up the lantern, took a newly discovered book of matches from Lena, and lit it.

  As long as boiling water was out, there were always the windows to tape. Jim was not so sure taping windows didn't fall into the category of boiling water…keeping everybody busy. He was for it after he stalked through the inner doors into the vestibule and peered through the windows.

  What was going on outside their shaky old refuge was unbelievable. Sure it had stood up to the forty-seven storm. That was all very well, but what about now? He wouldn't have believed it before, and he hardly believed it now. The wires on the poles outside were flapping against each other in the crazy gusting wind, putting on a show of fireworks unequaled by any Fourth of July celebration anywhere. Water was dashing up on the lawn of the Grand Manor. He turned back into the lobby.

  The lantern light eerily illuminated everybody in the room. The man in the shorts seemed to have shrunk. The newest part of the puzzle, Reese, still appeared to be dumbfounded. Mr. and Mrs. Tribble were holding hands. George, the bartender, acted like he was guarding his premises, holding a tall glass in his hand, which was probably NOT a soft drink. The bride and groom were holding hands too. Jim bet hers were icy. The salesmen had sunk into a wobbly couch. Apparently they were sobering up and not too happy about it.

  Leddon seemed to be looking for something, perhaps a way out. Lena and Aunt Annie stood at attention bravely. They acted like they were facing an advancing enemy. They were, and there was not a sound out of any of them.

  Suddenly the outer door flew open and somebody began beating on the inner door.

  Whoever wanted in had a problem, because Jim had locked the inner door to keep it from opening. Nobody in the room made a move.

  You'd have thought Dracula, thirsting for blood, was hounding the inmates of the hotel.

  A couple of steps took Jim to the door. He yelled, "Hold on before you break the glass!" and turned the key in the lock. Things were looking up.

  Far from Dracula, it was a female, a very wet female who entered the lobby in a pair of tight, cutoff, blue jean shorts. She had on a man's white shirt which was plastered to her admirable body, almost covering the shorts.

  Her wind blown hair was dripping water.

  Jim’s eyes finally followed her legs to her feet.

  She was barefoot.

  She pushed her hair back and said coldly,

  "Who do you think you are, Mr. Smith, keeping me out in the rain?" He pushed the door shut, panted against it, and gave her another look. It was Mrs. Wharton, librarian of the Bay St. Louis Library. He should have known by the legs.

  She smelled young and must have had on some sort of waterproof perfume, on which he wished he had a patent. She stood indignantly with her hands on her hips, dripping small puddles all around. In that dripping wet outfit, she had a non-stop build. Married or not, discounting the bride and groom, Jim felt less like the superintendent of an Old Folks Home.

  "How do you do, I'm sure," he said, looking at her nicely tanned legs. "My, my, what brought you here Mrs. Wharton?"

  "They brought me. Men with the Civil Defense," she said breathlessly. "I thought I could stay in the cottage, but there's water on the floor!" She sounded amazed. Then she said haughtily, "My overnight bag is just outside the door you closed."

  Jim retrieved it, wondering what had happened to Mr. Wharton. Maybe she was under water? He pointed to a chair and she sat down obediently and began to shiver. "I hope you brought a change of clothing, Mrs.

  Wharton?" Jim questioned pleasantly. She stared at him and shook her head. "No…no, I didn't, I don't know why. I just brought pajamas and some pieces of jewelry and a book." She colored. "Not the one you're thinking of, Mr. Smith."

  Jim looked over at George. "Will you be kind enough to bring Mrs. Wharton a drink, a strong one, pronto!" George flashed a surly look and using a small flashlight he pulled from his pocket, disappeared into the bar.

  Flashlight…light…the words brought Jim’s twenty-twenty hindsight to life and he thought about when he had been passing the time of day with the two Civil Defense guys, and they looked over the hotel. He had noticed a light was shining through the vines over the window of his second floor room. He didn't leave a light on. It was a little late to be wondering what went on in his room with Jerry Duprey stretched out under the bed. But he had to get upstairs. Looking at Mrs.

  Wharton, he had a reason.

  He turned to Aunt Annie. "Do you have a dress and perhaps a sweater you could loan Mrs. Wharton? I don't know much about women's clothes, but you appear to be the same size."

  She said, "Of course," and started toward the stairs. He said hastily, "You better take charge here. Tell me what to get and I'll bring them down. Mrs. Wharton can change in the ladies room, wherever that is. It's safer on the first floor anyway," he added.

  Aunt Annie handed Jim her key. "The purple shift hanging in my closet, and perhaps the orange sweater would be nice. It's on the chair." She looked at Mrs. Wharton's feet.

  "Bring the white sandals too. They'll do."

  Lena broke in, pointing at Mrs. Wharton inelegantly. "How do you know her name, Charlie?" George brought in a drink and handed it to the girl. Jim started for the stairs and called over his shoulder: "I managed to pop into the library today, Lena. Mrs.

  Wharton is the librarian."

  At the foot of the stairs he decided to be a little firm before he went upstairs. He turned and faced them. He had their full attention.

  "According to Aunt Annie and those seasoned gentlemen with Civil Defense, we are going to get the northeast quadrant which is the dirty side of the hurricane. As little as I know about hurricanes, I do know the winds are counterclockwise. With all those little casement windows on the east of the lobby, I suggest you get on with the window taping.

  Introduce yourselves, if you must, but let's get on with the windows."

  He hurried up the stairs and went quickly to his room. Well, as quickly as anyone can by candlelight. Holding the candle high, he took a look at the same kind of destruction he had witnessed in Mrs. Benning's rooms. It looked like Bertha had turned his room inside out.

  The covers were torn off the bed, his bag was turned upside down, and the faded lamp shade was more cockeyed than usual. His bottle of bourbon was empty and tossed into a corner. A cigarette had been stamped out on the floor. There was rage here! He wondered if it were unrequited.

  He was sure he was too late, but he dropped to his knees and looked under the bed. To his surprise, there was Jerry Duprey over in the corner still out. He stuck the candle to the floor, reached under the bed and prodded Duprey. No response. Then he grabbed the candle and went out of the room, locking the door behind him in a reflex action. At least, whoever was looking for Jerry wouldn't try his room again. He had to get back downstairs as quickly as possible.

  Rushing into Aunt Annie's room, he found the purple shift in the closet, collected the orange sweater and the white sandals, and started down the hall. The candle threw a wicked shadow as he went toward the stairs
. He gawked at the outline of a tall man who disappeared in the direction of the back stairs.

  Jim wished the little salesman had enough sense to keep his playmate with him. He expected the man to fall downstairs at any moment. The way the wind tore at the hotel made Jim wonder what kept them from simply blowing away. In exasperation he yelled down the hall: "Get on downstairs, you idiot!" and went down the front stairs to the lobby.

  He handed Mrs. Wharton the clothes, and she took off for the ladies room. Aunt Annie seemed revived. The taping was going very well, he guessed. Having come out of her blue funk, Aunt Annie was explaining carefully,

  "Cross the strips of tape. This keeps the glass from shattering if the windows break." Aunt Annie's instructions were news to Jim. Before this night was over he was going to learn a lot.

  Mrs. Wharton reappeared. What a difference!

  He grabbed a roll of tape and moved in her direction. Mrs. Wharton didn't look as formidable now. It was becoming. She had combed out her windblown hair which hung about her shoulders and curled upwards at the ends. She looked up at him. Her eyes were almost navy in the light of the kerosene lamp.

  Aunt Annie's purple shift was certainly enhanced by Mrs. Wharton's figure.

  The question automatically came out of his mouth, "Where is Mr. Wharton?" She certainly wouldn't have left him in her cottage with water lapping at his feet. He spun the roll of masking tape around a finger and looked down at her.

  The corners of her mouth turned up in a very attractive smile. She cupped her hands around her mouth and he leaned over. "There IS no Mr. Wharton, Mr. Smith. How do you like that?"

  Jim liked it. "But why?" he asked.

  "They wanted a married woman for the librarian job. I invented Mr. Wharton just for them. He is supposed to be overseas." She was innocence personified. "It was a very touching wedding, practically at dockside."

  Then she said frowning, "If there is a library left after this storm, this happy news would cost me my job. That is, if you tell."

  He looked at her gravely. "Your story has reached my tender heart, Mrs. Wharton. I grieve for you. Your secret will never pass my lips."

  Right in the middle of their little tete-a-tete, Lena showed up bearing down on them with strands of masking tape hanging from her fingers. Unkindly, Jim found himself comparing her to one of Shakespeare's witches as she approached with her hands flung wide and her pith helmet pushed forward on her head. He grinned at Mrs. Wharton. "Fear not, Toots." Then he said loudly, "Mrs. Wharton, I think you had better help Lena, Lady Mantel.

  She seems to be in difficulties." He pitched the gal a wink and she grinned back, then winked a reply. Already he was feeling much better.

  Looking at Mrs. Wharton walking away, he almost forgot the hurricane.

  Everybody seemed busy with the taping but George and the two salesmen. Jim thought he knew where the tall salesman was. George and the short one could only be in the bar. The tall one was probably meandering about the hotel. However Jim was not his keeper. It was an effort on his part to keep his eyes off Mrs.

  Wharton. Never a believer in coincidence, he had some questions for her, too. Maybe he would get a straight answer before the night was over. There was also the live bomb under his bed, Jerry Duprey. Jim hoped Duprey would remain there until he could get the pitch on the Grand Manor.

  The last thought took him back to his ex-employer, Beau Mitchell. Jim still didn't like the man, but he had more than earned his keep. He thought maybe he had also earned the other grand by spending too many hours with Jerry Duprey, getting the Mickey treatment and the brush-off. Someone wanted Jerry Duprey alive for conversational purposes. After Duprey had skipped Fort Worth, Jim’s purpose had been served, he guessed. It was just possible somebody thought Jerry had done too much talking. So here Jim was at a ramshackle hotel on the gulf coast. Because of a stubborn streak, if he didn't get swept away tonight, here he was going to stay until he had the answers. Also, to be realistic, how could he get out of the damn place?

  He stopped reminiscing when he glanced at the kerosene lamp. His mind went to the pantry. With the electricity off, the deep freeze would start to defrost. This was not exactly a happy thought. He judged the defrosting would take all night and another day, but he was a fool not to have thought about locking the pantry door. There was no use throwing the rest of the refugees into a panic. A peep into that deep freeze was a dead sure hell raiser. He took a look at the bride and groom.

  There were two things to be done fast, locking the panty door, if it had a lock, and having diplomatic conversation with the bride and groom.

  Leddon had finally been pressed into service as a window taper. He was doing an unorthodox job of taping under Aunt Annie's direction. By now, the whole east side of the lobby looked like a window in a kindergarten room made by five year olds for Halloween. Leddon was so busy with his own depressing thoughts, he jumped like a deaf dog when Jim tapped him on the shoulder.

  "Keys?" he asked, mumbling something about the pantry door banging, as if anybody could hear it, or could care less with the increasing velocity of the wind. Either he knew what was in the freezer or he was too scared to care. Jim had a hunch it wasn't the hurricane bothering Leddon. Then he saw the pupils of his eyes!

  The guy was really hopped-up. This explained a lot, but made his job with the keys easier. He wondered where he'd gotten the dope or whatever it was he was stoned on. "Keys!" he demanded again. Leddon fumbled around and handed him a bunch of keys. Leddon was on cloud nine, but he wasn't in the way, which was a big help. After presenting Jim with the keys, he gave up on the taping and sank into a chair with his mind somewhere in outer space.

  Jim forgot his grudge against the guy. By now Leddon was at the end of the line.

  Jim turned his back on the window taping, took a candle and went into the kitchen. The back door was open, just as Aunt Annie had demanded. Outside he saw the outline of the same tall man he had seen upstairs. Jim’s mind was working overtime. "Hey, you'll get yourself killed out there!" he yelled. The man must have heard him because he disappeared from the doorway into the dark.

  The door to the pantry did have a lock on it.

  The keys Leddon had surrendered were not like the hotel room keys. They were respectable Schledge keys to fit respectable Schledge locks, and one of them would fit the lock on the pantry door. But, locating the right key was another thing. Jim found a plate on a shelf, softened the bottom of the candle with his lighter, and stuck it on the plate. By a process of deduction, he came upon the right key after eight tries. Then he opened the freezer to be sure the fat one was there. He was. The freezer didn't show any signs of defrosting yet. He locked the door, took the key off the chain, and put it in his pocket.

  Before he left the kitchen, Jim propped a chair against the back door.

  He had other things to tend to. They might prove enlightening. What had Civil Defense commented, something about taking the diehards to the schoolhouse? But who showed up at the Grand Manor? Mrs. Wharton. This babe had not fallen desperately in love with him at first sight in the library. At the time, if anything, she was belligerent. Curios, maybe, but his curiosity beat hers. Come to think of it, who would splatter sexy perfume all over for a dash through a hurricane?

  When he returned to the lobby, he could tell the bride had given her husband the pitch on the contents of the freezer.

  Timing is everything, and this was the time to have a word with them. He was improvising mentally as he went over to them. The groom gave a suspicious look and opened his mouth.

  Jim cut him off before anything came out.

  "Look", he said, "I've locked the pantry door.

  Let's not get the rest of them in a panic." Then he came up with a good, believable lie. "Sorry you had to look in the freezer, lady. It was a suicide, and I guess they'll have to have an inquest when this hurricane gets on its way."

  Jim nodded soberly. "I put the…decedent in the freezer. Hate to mess up your honeymoon just because you h
appened to lift that lid.

  Certainly wish you could stay out of it. "

  This got their attention. Jim guessed their marriage would be a success. He could see their wheels go round. They came up with the same answer at the same time. The groom glared at him and took over the conversation.

  "We don't want to be mixed up in any part of this thing, Mister. Miss…I mean my wife, didn't see a thing, did you honey?" She shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  Well, that was that, one hurdle. Jim nodded gravely. "Well, you-all are off the hook." The girl smiled at him. Her husband moved closer to her. Jim could see he wasn't going to let her out of his sight again, not in the present surroundings. He could see why. The gal had what it takes.

  Next on his list was a visit to the bar. As long as he was still unofficially directing traffic, he could satisfy himself about one more thing. He stuck his head into George's territory. George was still partaking of his own special medicine.

  He had a candle sputtering in the middle of the bar. The small salesman had his foot on the rail and was leaning precariously against the bar. He needed all the help he could get. Jim needed a drink.

  Leddon was supposed to scare him off by overcharging for the room. George had played a silly game with a gun, also intended to send him on his way. Somebody was giving the orders. Neither of them could find the missing number between one and three. Leddon was on a one way trip, and George was well on his way on another sort of trip.

  Jim marched over to the bar, went behind it, and picked off a bottle of bourbon. Splashing a couple of fingers in a glass, he downed it straight. Everyone just stared at him owlishly.

  Jim pointed at the little man. "You, where's your friend?"

  He squinted at Jim. Then he and George looked at each other.

  "Where's your friend," Jim repeated, "trying to get himself killed?"