by Tom Hoke
"Eyebrows from here to here, black headed, mean." She had pegged Beau Mitchell down to a T. "The mint robbery is alluded to in several books. But more than likely he found a copy of the original article my father wrote. It was the best account and the most realistic. The story is not really a secret, but where the money might be buried is something else. He told me a woman in the courthouse referred him to me for an early map of this area.
"Did you have a map like that in the library?"
Jim's voice rose in excitement.
"Yes," she replied, then shook her head, anticipating the next question. "No, he didn't take it. It was on the east wall in the corner of the library, just tacked on the wall, unframed.
It had been there for years based on the looks of it. After the man scanned a couple of books, he went over and looked at the map. He stood looking at it for a long time. Then he jingled some change in his pocket, smiled and said,
"Well, well…Jerome!"
"He acted as if I weren't there at all, then he stalked out without another word. "
"You said the map WAS there. He didn't take it, but it isn't there now. Explain." Jim watched her squirm.
"Day before yesterday the map disappeared. I went across the street for a cup of coffee. We don't have much happening anyway in the library. I wasn't being negligent. There's hardly anything worth stealing in the place. I was gone about ten minutes. When I returned, the map was gone. I didn't notice it until lunch time."
"O. K., so you had another visitor before the map disappeared. Who was it? Stop playing games!" He waited for her explanation.
Janet twirled the glass in her hands. Then she leaned over and whispered in his ear. "Just before I went out for coffee, a woman came into the library. She browsed through Mississippi history and asked me a bunch of questions. She's here in this room." She nodded toward his old gal friends. His eyes went with hers to Aunt Annie, curled up sleeping innocently on the bench. "That's the one," she said.
Aunt Annie! Dear old Aunt Annie from Detroit, who appealed to him for protection! It was Aunt Annie who claimed him as her nephew with the able assistance of Lena. She took charge of getting him a room in the Grand Manor. She handed him all that chatter about the demise of Jerry Duprey's Aunt Edith! It was she who told him her room was bugged.
It was Aunt Annie who managed to slip into his room to get the story on his activities.
Maybe Jerry had warned her. Somebody had.
He looked sorrowfully at Lena asleep beside her friend. He supposed Lena wanted to get Aunt Annie out of the hotel safely. She knew something was wrong. So, she announced he was the long-lost nephew and played right into Aunt Annie's hands. Except Aunt Annie didn't know he was running after Jerry Duprey.
What was the old girl after? And what did the map have to do with it? It might tell him the one thing he wanted to know. He didn't automatically believe all the stories of buried treasure, but the possibilities were interesting.
He turned toward Janet and asked, "What can you tell me about the map? Was it very old?"
She nodded. "Yes. It was hand drawn in the late 1850s. It had always been on the library wall. It added perspective to the development of the Bay St. Louis area. You could see where the city developed, and you could see all the way along the Old Spanish Trail to New Orleans to the west and to Mobile to the east.
It seemed to be well drawn." She blinked her lashes at him.
The Old Spanish Trail was now Highway 90.
There was no bridge back in the 1850s, so probably Highway 90 had run north of Bay St.
Louis on land, perhaps where Highway 12 now flowed both ways. Jim wished he could see the map.
He looked at Janet Wharton. "Wind or no wind, I have to get to the other part of the hotel. I would like it if you came with me, but it's up to you. You can stay here and be relatively safe or come along with me?"
Chapter 14
Jim finished his drink slowly, but his mind covered a lot of ground while Janet looked at him questioningly.
With all the pieces coming together, he was beginning to believe the legend of the stolen mint money could actually be true. But what had Edith Benning found beside the one coin?
And who had bumped her off? Who had killed the fat bellboy and why? How did Beau Mitchell fit into the equation? Maybe the letter he had intercepted was the key. Jim vividly remembered his enjoyment in reading the hastily scrolled letter from the late Mrs.
Benning. What had it said, something about
"finding the markets?" How involved was Aunt Annie, and had she really stolen the map from the library wall? Maybe Janet was trying to lead him astray, but at least so far she had been honest and apparently very truthful. He remembered uneasily the expression appearances are deceiving. No, Janet was beyond questioning. The person he really needed to talk to was Mrs. Benning's only heir, Jerry Duprey, and by this time he might be long gone. Jim had to get to the other side of the hotel, and now was his chance.
He put down his glass and gave Janet his full attention. "I have changed my mind. I doubt if you will be safer here. Whether you like it or not, Janet, you are going with me to the other part of the hotel. Maybe you have to powder your nose. We can't go through the lobby, so we'll go through the south door of the bar and around the back of the hotel. We'll get wet, but we won't get as much wind there. Try looking anxious!" He should tell her!
The south door of the bar was hinged open, probably due to Aunt Annie's orders. Jim looked around the room. The wind had taken over, whining and growling and throwing branches past the door. His ears hurt with the pressure. He doubted this was a hundred and fifty miles an hour. It had to be more.
Aunt Annie was asleep. The rest of them had joined her or were simply apathetic. Janet rose unsteadily to her feet. He put an arm around her. She dropped her head against his shoulder and they made their way toward the door. The air was thick and sticky, but an occasional gust swirled through the door, cooling things off a little.
Aunt Annie was snoring. He could tell from the movement of her lips. He felt Lena's eyes on them. Janet felt them too because she put her arm around him and snuggled closer. He gave Lena a realistic leer and dragged Janet over to her and whispered, "Mrs. Wharton has to…powder her nose." Lena just stared at him with a blank expression on her face. Her hat slid over her forehead. Maybe she slept with her eyes open.
He felt the warmth of Janet as they made the door. What a way to go, he thought, as he reached for George's flashlight. There were plenty of candles on the bar for the others.
If the wind or a falling tree didn't get them, Beau or the bristly one might. He couldn't figure their association, but Beau Mitchell was mean enough by nature to tackle anything. Jim couldn't discount him, wherever he was. And he couldn't ignore Jerry Duprey. He could only hope he was too scared to venture out from under the bed, if he had come to yet.
He said to Janet, "The corner of the hotel is about three or four yards to the right as we go out the door. Then we'll be behind the hotel and partially out of the big wind. If I lose you, stand next to the building. There's an overhang there which will protect you a little."
She nodded and they stepped out of the door and into the wind. He didn't lose her. She hung onto his arm for dear life. They stumbled over branches, made it to the corner of the hotel with the wind shoving them, and turned the corner, flattening their bodies against the back of the building.
In the darkness the random sounds of butane tanks exploding was eerie. A spot of fireworks cracked over their, heads and Jim saw the shed with the door swung open. He decided on a detour and pointed at the shed yelling, "Let's go!", which probably saved their necks. A live wire cut loose and dangled close to where they had been standing. They groped and fumbled their way through the rain and wind to the shed and ducked inside. Jim shut the door behind them and turned the flashlight on Janet.
She was breathing heavily and wringing out her hair.
Finally she got her breath. "My, isn't this a cozy little nest?" she said, loo
king about the shed. "Are we going to set up housekeeping here?"
Jim didn't answer. He was playing the flashlight about the dilapidated building. The dirt floor had not been restored to whatever its original condition might have been. It had been well dug up. The guy hadn't missed an inch. Footprints were all over the place. To the right, on rickety shelves, were stacks of paper toweling and bars of soap. On top of them was a long roll of what appeared to be linoleum, half wrapped in paper. This was squashed down on the toweling. The shovel his foreign friend had been so industrious with, was pitched into the middle of the dirt floor. It did not indicate his digging had been fruitful.
Jim sloshed over to the wall and pulled at the paper on the long roll. Something was bugging him. But it wasn't coming through.
He called to Janet who was standing beside the door, "Let's try the inside room." He turned the light on the inside door at the back of the shed.
There was a step up to this room at the end of the shed. Above was wooden flooring and pieces of carpeting spread around in a pitiful attempt to make the room more appealing.
There were a couple of kitchen chairs and a scarred table holding old magazines. A few girlie pictures had been tacked up on the walls.
Along the east wall was a rack, and on it hung a few white coats. From the looks of them, this had been the sanctuary of the late, lamented bellboy. For the first time he felt a little sorry for the guy.
A cot and old dresser made up the rest of the furnishings. The mattress on the cot had been turned over and the dresser drawers hung half open. The mess in the room said the guy with the shovel hadn't missed this room while he rooted around the shed.
On the west wall of the room all sorts of tools hung on pegs. There were wire cutters, hedge clippers, and even a chain saw. In the far corner was a row of shelves, and a board covering the bottom shelf had been torn loose by the wind which was pouring through a gaping hole in the shed. When Jim saw the contents of the bottom shelf he caught his breath. Stacked there were five boxes, identical to the one he had seen in Mrs. Benning's room on her dresser…candy boxes. The top one had been pulled out and the contents dumped on the floor. "Candy boxes! Somebody was nuts about sweets." Janet said, "I wonder whose room this is?"
"Was, my sweet," he corrected her. "The guy came up dead." He leaned over and looked at the contents of the box. They were all silver-wrapped, but they were not candy. He could have told her: You are now looking at a shipment of heroin wrapped to resemble candy. But he didn't.
Now he knew where Leddon had gotten juiced up. He wondered what Mrs. Benning thought when she discovered the heroin. She must have found a box in the bellboy's room and taken it to her own.
There was a lot of heroin in those boxes. If Beau Mitchell traded in dope, and well he might, wouldn't he consider whoever had hooked it a double-crosser. What was it he had said under his breath in San Antonio right before Jim saved his tail? An outside wrapping paper in a wastebasket gave him the answer. Nobody had ever told him the bellboy's name was Al Burrows, but it couldn't be anything else. And the return address was J. D., and a box number in San Antonio, Texas.
Maybe Beau Mitchell had cottoned onto the gold while chasing down the double-crosser.
But here was the dope, except for the box in Mrs. Benning's bedroom. And where was Beau?
Jim dumped the silver-wrapped junk into the box and put all the boxes under the cot, and replaced the mattress. It was the best he could do. He couldn't just run around the hotel in a hurricane with boxes of candy under his arm.
He gave the room one more look. There was nothing more to see but a long hunk of square drain pipe lying against the wall, and a broken pitcher beside the dresser.
He took Janet's arm. She was shivering. He said, as lightly as he could, "I don't think this establishment is for us. Now pay attention!
The square root of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares of the other two sides.
The hypotenuse is the shortest way to the other side of the hotel."
He accomplished his motive. She grinned. "It IS? You certainly are well versed in trigonometry. She smoothed her wet dress.
"Shall we hypotenuse away, my friend?"
Something was ringing bells in his head. But, standing in a mildewed shed didn't hand him the answer. He led Janet to the door and they took off for the hotel. A quick look at the back of the building told him all the debris from the lobby must have wound up in the dining room or kitchen, plus a few odds and ends from the beach. The back of the hotel seemed solid.
There were no rattan items between them and the door.
He didn't have to guess this door was the one to the sleeping side of the hotel. He had been through it several times already. He thought about his first entry after the bash on the head.
Then he thought about the two people who had been in the shed when he looked through the window earlier. He tried to remember the setting when he went back into the hotel through the front door after he had watched through the window and put up the cars. It didn't make much difference because he had been gone too long. Anybody could have made it back into the hotel while he buffeted his way to the front. It occurred to him perhaps it was Beau Mitchell who had stood in the shed beyond his sight. He would have to catch up with Mitchell to find out. And that he fully intended to do.
Now he was sorry he had brought Janet Wharton with him. But she did know about the map, and maybe she was better off under his wing. The back door of the hotel was open, swinging wildly in the wind. He pointed up the back stairs with the flashlight. Then he started ahead of her, holding the flashlight down on the steps. The staircase creaked with their weight. The whole building creaked and shuddered. Bertha's fury was relentless.
He stopped Janet at the second floor and motioned to the entrance. He opened the door to an empty hall. They could hear nothing but the cursed wind and rain. He put out his hand and took Janet's firmly in his. It was hot in the hall, and Janet's hand was wet. It didn't matter. So was his. They went quickly to Aunt Annie's room and he opened the door. Closing the door on the empty hall, he turned the flashlight on the bed. "Where would a maiden lady hide anything as large as a map?" he asked Janet. "That is, if she followed the usual procedure?"
She smiled, "Under the mattress, of course, my dear Watson."
They moved toward the bed together and he lifted the mattress. Bingo! There it was, a map three feet square, faded and so thin you could almost see through it. Janet lifted it out gently and put it on the dresser. But he had seen something else. Underneath it was a portrait.
There was no doubt it was of the late Mrs.
Benning. He stared at the portrait and Mrs.
Benning stared right back at him coldly from black eyes. The ebony coils of her hair were wound around her head in a braid. Except for the mouth which was completely uncompromising, and the difference in sex, she resembled Jerry Duprey, whom Jim hoped was still hidden under his bed.
Duprey had been right, even in his drunken state. This woman was proud, formidable, and stern. She would die before she told anybody anything against her will. And she had.
"What are you doing in my room?"
Aunt Annie's voice came from the door.
Instinctively Jim put his hand on his gun and wheeled around. But she held nothing more dangerous in her hand than a candle which was still sputtering from getting wet. It was hard to be firm with her. She looked wet, bedraggled, and very frail.
Jim pointed to the dresser. "What are you doing with that map? And I might add, what is this portrait doing under your mattress?"
"My goodness, how did you ever find it? I mean the map." Aunt Annie was stalling.
Janet hid a smile. She lit a cigarette from a candle. For a minute Jim wondered where she got it. After all, they were both still dripping wet. But he didn't have to ask. There was a dry pack at the back of the dresser.
"Come now, Aunt Annie," he said sternly.
"You cut out the picture and you took the map
from the local library, didn't you? Why?"
Aunt Annie cocked her head. She didn't look much like a thief. She even had a twinkle in her eye. "I borrowed the map, Charlie. I wanted to see where Mrs. Benning was going every day. You see I checked the speedometer on the bellboy's car." She frowned. "I didn't put the picture under the mattress." She finally found an answer to that one. "I've been framed!" she announced.
"So, you've been framed. And you wanted to see where Mrs. Benning went every day.
Speedometer! Why didn’t you go to the courthouse as well as the library?" Jim watched her face.
"I did…" She looked abashed. Then she said hurriedly, "I couldn't take the map back to the library in the middle of a hurricane, could I?"
"Sit right down in that chair!" Jim ordered. She sank into it. "Now Charlie, I really was framed." She fell silent.
Jim turned to the map. He could see immediately the route of the Old Spanish Trail.
It ran north of Bay St. Louis as he had supposed, and it turned a little to the south and then went straight west to New Orleans.
He knew it did not follow the present day Highway 90 which went due west from the bridge. According to his calculations, Highway 90 was considerably south of the Old Spanish Trail marked on the map. He found the bayou with the man-made canals he had paralleled when he chased Jerry through the rain. He was right. His best guess was the Old Spanish Trail originally crossed the bayou on Jeane Dupree's land.
"They could do it!" He said aloud.
"Do what?" Janet and Aunt Annie asked in unison.
"Never mind, I think it would be a good idea to round up Jerry Duprey." He looked at the portrait of Mrs. Benning. "So you were framed, Aunt Annie?" Jim shook his head.
Janet put out her cigarette and Aunt Annie came out of her chair slowly. They followed him into the hall obediently.
Bertha was heading north. And so was Jim if he ever got out of this mess. He stopped in the hall and turned to Aunt Annie. "How did you get to this side of the hotel?"
"The way you did, around the back," she snapped. Aunt Annie was herself again. She answered his next question before he could ask it. "They are all asleep," she announced, "even George."
