Biggie and the Quincy Ghost

by Nancy Bell

  Biggie nodded.

  “So Manse, he had a little farm out by the lake and he had it fixed up with horse barns and a ridin’ ring and all such as that. Then he and Alice went up to Tennessee and bought some fine horses. The idea was, that Alice could breed them. It would give her something to do besides roaring around town in her Cadillac and drinking whiskey with the boys down at the pool hall.”

  “And it worked?”

  “For a while,” the sheriff said. “The problem was, Manse had hired Mule Baugh to tend to the horses, muck out the stalls, and feed them, and all.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Well, old Mule, he’s Annabeth’s daddy, doncha know.”

  “Oh,” Biggie said. “Go on.”

  “Well, the story goes, that Alice got just a little too friendly with Mule. Took to staying out there all night, and coming home smelling of moonshine and only often enough to change clothes and eat. People started to talk, as they will, and that kind of talk ain’t at all good for a banker in a small town. Finally one day, Manse’s board members got together with him and told him he’d better do something about his wife because it was hurting business. Some of the bank’s big depositors were taking their banking business to Marshall.”

  “So, what did he do?”

  “Nobody knows for sure. All we know is, suddenly the horses were sold, the barn was torn down, and the farm was let out to a tenant who planted the whole thing in sorghum. After that, Alice took up eating and tending her garden. Manse would never let the name of Baugh be mentioned in his house again and woe be unto any Baugh that might have wanted to take out a loan to tide them over until their crops came in.”

  “Okay,” Biggie said. “So, what have you found out about the body?”

  The sheriff reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a plastic bag. He opened the zip lock and dumped a horn-handled knife on the desk. “Only that the knife punctured her right aorta. This here’s the murder weapon.” He indicated the pointed blade, which was covered with brown stains. “She must have died within minutes.”

  “Any prints on the knife?”

  “Nothing you could use. Handle is rough, as you can see. It’s a handmade knife. There’s this feller out east of town got a junkyard, doncha know. He makes the things out of deer horns and old lawnmower blades. Sells um over at the hardware store. Damn good knives. I bought a couple for the wife. She swears by them.”

  Biggie scooted out of her chair and stood up facing the sheriff. “Well, I think I might just have to go out to the lake and interview the Baughs. And if you want my advice, Sheriff, you’ll go home and go to bed. You look awful.”

  “I’m okay,” the sheriff said. “Don’t you worry about me, ma’am. But let me tell you this.” He leaned across his desk and looked Biggie straight in the eye. “You had best stay away from those Baughs. You don’t know those people.” He sunk back down into his chair, pale and breathing hard.

  Biggie walked around the desk and put her hand on the sheriff’s forehead. “Deputy,” she said. “I think you’d better get the sheriff home right away, and call the doctor. He seems to have a fever.”

  “You may be right,” the sheriff said. “Wiggs, why don’t you bring the car up? I think I’ll go home and have a little nap.”

  “Good idea.” Biggie turned to leave, then turned back. “By the way, Sheriff, would it be okay for the Thripps and Butch to go back to Job’s Crossing? They own their own businesses and are losing money every day they stay here.”

  “If you’ll vouch for them, Miss Biggie, of course they can leave. Just tell them I might want to call them back here if we have any more questions.”

  Outside on the sidewalk, Biggie looked at her watch. “Already four o’clock,” she said. “I guess we’ll have to wait until tomorrow to go out and interview the Baughs.”

  “But Biggie, the sheriff said …”

  “Don’t be silly.” Biggie started off down the sidewalk. “When have you ever known me to be afraid of a bunch of redneck tough guys?”

  12

  When we got back to the hotel, Norman Thripp, dressed in a dorky blue jumpsuit and a gimme cap, was sitting in one of the rocking chairs out in front drinking a Diet Coke. His and Miss Mattie’s suitcases was on the sidewalk beside him. “Biggie, I hope you don’t mind I asked Rosebud to drive us back to Job’s Crossing in your car. We’ll all chip in for gas, of course.”

  Biggie put her hands on her hips and looked at him, then shook her head and dropped down in a chair next to him. “How did you know the sheriff was going to release you?”

  “Because I know you, Biggie, and you can charm the gold out of a feller’s fillings if you take the notion to.”

  “You’re right,” Biggie said. “My sakes, I’m dry as a bone.” She opened up her purse and pulled out her little change purse. “J.R., go inside to the drink machine and bring me back a cold drink. A Pepsi. Get yourself one, too.”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  I went into the hotel lobby and down the hall, past the bar to the little alcove where the drink machines stay. Just as I was about to put the coins in, I heard the door to Miss Mary Ann’s apartment slam, and Mr. Masters came out, looking real sad. He didn’t see me and headed off in the direction of the kitchen muttering to himself. I got the drinks and got to the front door just as Rosebud came down the stairs wearing his chauffeur’s cap.

  Rosebud walked over to where Mr. Thripp was sitting. “Where’s Miss Mattie and Butch?” he asked.

  “They went over to the Silver Locket Gift Shoppe.” Mr. Thripp stretched his long legs out in front of him. “Butch said he’d seen a blouse in there that had Mattie’s name written on it, said she just had to go look at it. He’ll probably talk her into buying a skirt and handbag to go with it.” Mr. Thripp looked sad. “Oh, well, maybe it’ll take her mind off my little fiasco at the gambling boats.”

  “Probably,” Biggie said. “I can’t imagine what got into you, Norman. Normally, you’re tighter than wallpaper.”

  “I don’t know, Biggie.” He shook his head. “I just saw those little cherries and those money bags going around, and I guess I just lost my head. I do know one thing though, Mattie is never going to let me hear the last of this, not if I live to be a hundred. Oh, look, here they come, now.”

  Miss Mattie and Butch came trotting across the street. Miss Mattie had her arms full of packages and shopping bags while Butch carried a garment bag over his shoulder. They had their heads together and were giggling.

  When they got to the sidewalk in front of us, Miss Mattie ran up to Biggie. “Biggie, you ought to see what I found. Butch is just a genius when it comes to shopping for clothes.” She sat down on a bench and started pulling things out of the biggest bag. “Here, isn’t this the cutest blouse you ever saw? And I found a darling skirt to go with it. Butch, uncover the skirt so Biggie can see.”

  Butch pulled up the garment bag and showed us a blue skirt with ruffles and silver trim.

  “Then we went down the street to the leather shop and found boots and a purse that just match,” Butch said, opening another bag. “See, robin’s egg blue. That’s your color, Mattie.”

  “I know,” Miss Mattie said. “Looky here, Biggie. I even got these earrings and necklace. Genuine simulated turquoise. Aren’t they perfect? See, it’s a Western outfit. Won’t it be wonderful to wear during rodeo week at home?”

  “You’ll put Dale Evans to shame,” Biggie said dryly.

  “Won’t I? I think I’ll wear it for the Founder’s Day Tea in August, too,” she said as she started stuffing things back in the bags. “Don’t you think that would be appropriate, Biggie?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned to Mr. Thripp. “Did you finish packing, Norman?”

  Mr. Thripp pointed to the suitcases lined up on the sidewalk.

  “You didn’t forget my toothbrush, did you? Last time we went away, you forgot to pack my toothbrush and my very best pair of pantyhose. I never did get them back even though I called that hotel
the minute we got back. It was the time we went to Galveston for that restaurant convention. I just know some maid’s wearing my pantyhose this very minute!”

  Mr. Thripp unfolded himself out of the chair. “I got everything, Mattie. Can we go, now?”

  Rosebud opened the trunk and started stashing the bags inside while the three others crawled into the car. Mr. Thripp up front and Miss Mattie and Butch in the back.

  Rosebud turned to Biggie before he slid into the driver’s seat. “I’ll be back before bedtime, Miss Biggie. I don’t much like leaving y’all alone in this place.”

  “Just be careful, and don’t drive too fast,” Biggie said, giving Rosebud a quick hug. “We’ll be just fine.”

  As we were standing on the curb waving good-bye, Mr. Lew Masters came out of the hotel. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Let’s go in.” Biggie turned back toward the door. “It’s hot out here.”

  I followed Biggie and Mr. Masters into the cool lobby and we all took seats on the green velvet sofas under the big Dresden chandelier.

  Biggie crossed her little feet in front of her. “The Thripps and Butch are going home to take care of their businesses,” she said, answering his question. “I obtained permission from the sheriff for them to leave.”

  “Hmm.” Mr. Masters rubbed his chin. “That doesn’t seem exactly fair. After all, I’m a businessman, too. Why can’t I leave?”

  “I’m surprised you care,” Biggie said. “I should think you’d be glad to stay around here and pay court to Mary Ann—or have you changed your mind about her?”

  “Oh, no. Not at all.” Mr. Masters crossed his legs and turned to face Biggie. “Can I confide in you, Miss Biggie?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Well, it started three years ago. That was when they changed my territory from the Waco area to east Texas. I had heard about this little hotel from my predecessor, who always seemed to know the best places to stay while on the road.”

  “Umm,” Biggie said.

  “So, anyway, the first night I checked in here, I thought I saw an angel standing behind the desk. She was dressed all in white, and her silvery hair looked just like a halo around her head. And when she spoke, well, it was like a thousand violins.”

  “So, it was love at first sight.” Biggie drained the last of her Pepsi and set the can on the table.

  “For me, it was. Mary Ann took a lot of convincing. Been hurt in the past and all, like I told you. Anyway, I am a patient man, Miss Biggie. I plied her with gifts, flowers, candy, an occasional bottle of good wine, that sort of thing. I didn’t buy anything that might be construed as too personal for fear of frightening her away. She’s such a delicate creature.”

  “Too delicate to do murder?” Biggie murmured.

  Mr. Masters looked like he had been hit in the face with cold water. “Oh, no, Miss Biggie. Surely you don’t think Mary Ann … oh, I am shocked!”

  “Never mind,” Biggie said. “Go on.”

  Mr. Masters shook his head as if to say he couldn’t believe she had said that, then continued on. “Things were going nicely. I had even gotten her to speak of the possibility of marriage in the future. Then early this year, she changed. She gave all sorts of reasons for this change, none that seemed valid to me.” He hung his head. “And now, what with this murder and all, she has sent me packing. She even says she doesn’t want me staying at the hotel anymore.”

  “And you have no idea why?”

  “Not a clue. So, Miss Biggie, if you could see your way clear to use your influence with the sheriff, I would be happy to be on my way, brokenhearted, but unbowed.”

  “Sorry,” Biggie said. “I don’t know you from Adam. The others, I can vouch for. Unless you can convince the sheriff yourself, you’ll just have to stay until he releases you.”

  Mr. Masters nodded. “I understand,” he said. “You don’t know me. Oh well, what’s another day or two. By the way, how is the investigation going?”

  “Slowly.” Biggie frowned. “Is there anything you can tell me? Anything at all?”

  Mr. Masters shook his head. “Nothing … wait, there was one little thing, probably of no importance. I certainly didn’t think so at the time …”

  “Spit it out,” Biggie said.

  “Well, on the night of the murder, I’d been, well, visiting with Mary Ann until quite late in her apartment.” Mr. Masters looked down at his hands then back at Biggie. “When I came out into the hall, I saw Lucas Fitzgerald come from the direction of the kitchen. He looked surprised to see me—I thought at the time it was because I was coming from, well, from Mary Ann’s rooms, don’t you know.” He glanced sideways at me. “He started talking fast about how he couldn’t sleep and had gone to the kitchen for some warm milk, but he wouldn’t look me in the eye … .” Mr. Masters’s voice trailed off.

  “Interesting,” Biggie said. “I wonder why he never mentioned that in his statement to the sheriff?”

  “Somebody taking my name in vain?” said a voice behind me. I looked around to see Mr. Lucas Fitzgerald standing behind me. He was smiling, but I thought I saw an angry glint in his eyes. “Well, no matter. Young J.R., are you ready to go with me to the museum? I thought we’d take a little time before supper to do that work we’ve been talking about.”

  I looked at Biggie who looked hard at Lucas. “Where is this museum?” she asked.

  “Only one block over and one block south.” Lucas moved toward the door. “Of course, if you don’t want him to go …”

  Biggie looked at me. “I want to,” I said.

  As we crossed the street toward the museum, Lucas twirled his cane. “What was Masters saying about me?”

  “I wasn’t paying any attention,” I lied.

  When we climbed the steps to the big red building, I noticed a sign on the door saying that the museum was closed on Mondays.

  “Don’t pay any mind to that,” Lucas said and pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. He put a brass key in the old-timey lock and pushed open the big door. I didn’t know why, but suddenly, I felt a rabbit run over my grave as we stepped into the lobby, which was dark except for the little light that came in through the frosted glass in the door.

  “Wait here,” Lucas said. “I’ll go ahead and turn on the lights.”

  I stood in the gloom for what seemed like an hour, waiting. After awhile, my eyes adjusted to the dark, and I could see the shapes of tall display cases lining a path leading to the rear of the building. I walked further into the building and looked into a room that opened to the right. I like to jumped out of my skin when I saw what I thought was a lady all dressed in old-timey clothes standing just inside the door. When I looked again, I saw it was just an old store mannequin. The rest of the room was filled with antique furniture, cases filled with old jewelry, and old portraits on the wall. I backed out of the room and waited until I saw a light come on in a room near the back. Lucas opened the door and motioned for me to come.

  I followed Lucas to a huge desk covered with files and papers in the middle of a room that I thought must have been the old bank vault. The door was a foot thick and made of concrete and steel. Old lawyers’ shelves with glass fronts lined the walls, and these were crammed full of files, old newspapers, and stacks of letters, some spilling over the sides. On one wall was a yellowed map of Quincy back in the old days. A hanging lamp with a green shade spread a circle of yellow light over the desk where Lucas sat. It was the only light in the room.

  “Wow,” I said. “I ain’t … haven’t ever seen a desk that big before.”

  “It’s called a partner’s desk,” Lucas said. “One partner sits on one side of the desk, and the other sits on the other side. See, there are drawers on both sides. This desk used to be in my daddy’s law office. I donated it to the museum when I modernized my office back in ‘64.” He motioned for me to take a seat in a swivel chair opposite him and shoved a pasteboard box toward me. “You can go through this,” he said. “Put the letters in one pile, photogra
phs in another. Anything else you find, make a new pile, which we’ll call miscellaneous. Got it?”

  I nodded, and went to work. I don’t know why, but I just love old stuff. Always have. I was having the time of my life looking at the old pictures and reading the letters, handwritten and faded and mostly about business matters, when I noticed Lucas watching me. He smiled. “Son, you are lost in your work. You have the makings of a true historian. What do you want to be when you grow up?”

  “A sportscaster on television,” I said.

  Lucas smiled again but didn’t answer, just went back to sorting his pile of papers. We worked on for another hour before Lucas suddenly snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot something,” he said. “Something I promised to show you.” He got up and searched the shelves along the wall. “I know it’s here somewhere,” he said. “Wait! I believe it’s on the top shelf. Come over here, son. I need you.”

  I got up and approached the shelves while Lucas opened a closet door and pulled out a stepladder. He shoved it to the shelf where he had been standing. “See that document box on the top shelf?”

  “What’s a document box,” I asked.

  “Look just next to that stack of magazines. It’s black.”

  I climbed up the ladder and put my hand on a tin box. “This?”

  “That’s it. Now, hand it down to me. Careful, now.”

  The box was heavy, but I managed to get both hands on it and pass it down to Lucas, who put it carefully on the table. I climbed down from the ladder and stood beside him. The box had a raised top with a wire handle which had a key tied to it. Its gold decorations were so faded and worn you could barely see them. Lucas put the key into a tiny lock and raised the lid.