The Excluded Exile (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 12)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  Carter said, "Zelda."

  I nodded. "Yeah."

  . . .

  Feb. 22, 1955

  Dear Mike,

  Here's something else.

  I just found a letter from my mother to my father that was sent from New York in 1935. I'm keeping the original and enclosing a photostat.

  As you will see it is the last of 17 letters that she sent. We found them all in a trunk that I had pulled down from the attic last summer before we went to Hawaii on the S.S. Hilo. Someone had carefully taped the first 16 letters under the door's silk lining. The enclosed had been shoved into the door pocket which is how I found it.

  Under no circumstances are you to talk to my father or Lettie (or Marnie) about this. I am certain my father knew nothing. Zelda, the old housekeeper who quit last summer when we moved in, is the one who did this.

  I would like for you to find out what happened to my mother. Carter has convinced me that she had to have been gone by the time Janet died in 1953, otherwise I would have heard from her. Can you put someone on this and let me know what they find?

  If you talk to Zelda, make sure she knows that she is not to talk to my father about anything. No tearful confessions. Nothing. Let her stew in her own juices.

  Once I have the full story, I'll decide whether and how to tell him.

  Love,

  Nick

  P.S. As soon as we can find a house to rent, we'll be moving. I'll send a telegram with the details once I have them.

  P.P.S. Thank you for taking care of this. We both love you very much.

  Chapter 3

  Australia Hotel

  Tuesday, February 22, 1955

  Just past 10 in the morning

  "Yes, Mr. Williams? How may I help you?"

  The front desk manager was a short, dapper man with a ruddy complexion and straw-colored hair. His pale blue eyes were alert as he looked at me through his round spectacles.

  I put the two letters I'd written to Mike on the counter. "I need to have these sent on the next plane to San Francisco." I then handed held up my mother's letter. I was reluctant to hand it to him. "And I need a photostat of this letter to go with both of them."

  The manager looked at his watch. "Well, sir, the first is easily done. A photostat, however, will take about an hour and the next plane, a Qantas, leaves right at 11 and there's just not enough time, I'm afraid."

  Carter, who was standing next to me, asked, "When's the next plane?"

  "Thursday morning, sir."

  Carter said, "Just send the letter, Nick. You've got the other ones."

  I sighed. He was right. I placed the letter on the counter and said, "Fine. Send this with the other two."

  The manager nodded. He reached under the counter and brought out a larger envelope. He took out a pen and asked, "To whom should this be delivered in San Francisco?"

  I gave him Mike's name, the office address, and the phone number. He wrote all of it down on the envelope, inserted the three letters, and sealed the flap with cellophane tape. Looking up at me, he asked, "Is there anything else this morning?"

  I said, "Yeah. But we'll come back after we have something to eat."

  The manager smiled. "Very good, gentlemen."

  I handed him a folded-over ten pound note and said, "Thanks."

  He quickly pocketed the money and replied, "You're quite welcome, sir. Enjoy your breakfast."

  . . .

  We were just about done eating our eggs and bacon when Tony wandered over to our table.

  He said, "Morning," with a smile.

  I replied, "Have a seat. Hungry?"

  "Christine and I already ate. When you two didn't show up, we decided not to wait."

  Carter said, "Sorry about that. We got caught up in something that had to be taken care of."

  Tony winked and said, "That's OK." He leaned back in his chair. "So, we still going to the beach?"

  Carter nodded as he swallowed the last of his bacon. "You bet. Can't wait to get out there."

  Tony shook his head. "You know it's not going to be anything like Hawaii. The water around here is pretty flat, for the most part."

  Carter took a sip of his coffee. "How'd you know that?"

  "I've been asking around in the back of the house." He leaned in. "I don't think they much like my kind walking around the hotel."

  Carter sat up. "Anyone hassling you?"

  Tony shrugged. "Not in any way as you'd notice. Just the usual thing."

  "What's the usual thing?" I asked.

  "Looking down their noses. Pretending like I'm not there. Course, when I walked into the kitchen, everyone assumed I was there to work."

  I nodded. "I'm sorry, Tony."

  "Don't be. Not your fault." He looked around the dining room. "This is a little too high-flying for my taste, in any event."

  Carter laughed. "Me, too."

  I nodded. "We're going to move into a house as soon as we can."

  Tony looked at me. "Staying for a while?"

  Carter replied. "We need a break."

  Lowering my voice, I said, "And, Carter told me he wants to spend a lot more time—"

  "Nick!" Carter was turning red.

  I laughed. "All I was gonna say was that you wanted to spend a lot more time at the beach."

  Tony laughed and looked at Carter. "At the beach?" He turned back to me with a leer. "When there's so much fun you could have in the bedroom?"

  It was my turn to blush and I did as I looked down at my plate.

  "Good morning!"

  I looked up to see Christine standing behind Tony.

  We all stood. I motioned to the fourth chair. "Good morning, Christine. Please, have a seat."

  She smiled as she walked around the table. "Don't mind if I do."

  Carter said, "Sorry about missing breakfast earlier."

  She looked at me, raised her left eyebrow, and then looked back at him. "We figured something more important had come up."

  Carter and I burst out laughing.

  . . .

  After we finished eating, we promised to meet Tony and Christine by the front door of the hotel at noon to head out to the beach. Before going back up to the room to grab our swim trunks, we walked over to the front desk.

  The blond man was still there. He smiled as we walked up. "How may I help you, Mr. Williams?"

  Carter said, "I called down earlier about renting a car and finding a house to rent for a few weeks."

  The manager nodded. "Yes. Have you driven on the left side of the road before?"

  Carter shook his head.

  "May I suggest hiring a driver?"

  Carter looked down at me. I shrugged. He said, "There are four of us. We're going to Bondi Beach."

  "You could take the tram."

  Carter nodded. "I also wanted to have a look around."

  "Yes. Quite." He pushed his spectacles up his nose. "I can arrange to have a driver bring a larger car, perhaps, and take you over to Bondi."

  Before Carter could reply, I said, "That'll be fine. What's your name?"

  The man smiled. "I am Mr. Wilkerson."

  "Thanks, Mr. Wilkerson."

  "My pleasure." He looked down at a card. "Now, I have found what I consider to be a perfect house for you that is available to let. It's not in Bondi but a few miles to the north in Dover Heights. It's right on the edge of the cliffs there and overlooks the ocean quite dramatically. A friend of mine lives on the same street and I've been there a number of times. Always breathtaking." He looked up at me. "Perhaps I could give the driver the address and he could take you by on your return?"

  I nodded. "Is it furnished?"

  "Yes. All new furnishings. The owner is, by coincidence, in San Francisco for work. A live-in housekeeper will take care of anything you might need, including preparing meals, should you want."

  I looked up at Carter, who nodded, and then back at Mr. Wilkerson. He gave me a small smile. "I am given to understand that she is most accommodating."


  "Fine. How much?"

  He looked down at the card. "Forty pounds per week plus housekeeping expenses."

  "How much is that in dollars?" asked Carter.

  Mr. Wilkerson smiled. "Approximately ninety dollars."

  I said, "That's fine. When can we move in?"

  Mr. Wilkerson raised his eyebrows for a quick moment. "Perhaps you should see it first. But I believe it is available at any time. There is a real estate agent who is handling the property for the owner. I will phone him and let him know you will be stopping by this afternoon and that you're interested."

  I nodded. "That's fine. One last question. We had some money wired to the Commonwealth Bank that's nearby. Where is it?"

  "Are you on your way there now?"

  I nodded.

  He stepped out from behind the desk and said, "Follow me."

  We did so. He walked outside and looked at an older building that was kitty-corner from where we stood. "There's the bank. Couldn't be more convenient."

  "Thank you, Mr. Wilkerson." I handed him another ten pounds.

  He discreetly pocketed the note and said, "It is entirely my pleasure, Mr. Williams."

  . . .

  We met Christine and Tony near the front door of the hotel at just before noon. Mr. Wilkerson walked over as we approached. "Your driver today is Arthur. He'll take you to Bondi and then over to Dover Heights."

  With a wave of his hand, he ushered us to the door. He smiled at Christine as she walked through the front door. I saw a strange look pass over his face as Tony walked by. Carter was next and then I stopped, putting another ten pounds in the man's hand.

  He expertly pocketed the bill and said, "I hope you enjoy your time at the beach, Mr. Williams."

  I smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Wilkerson. And thanks for arranging all this for us."

  Once outside, I could see a kid of about 25 who was dressed in a tight-fighting suit. He stood about 5'11", had a greased-down blond pompadour, and was helping Christine get in the back seat of a two-tone green and white Ford with the steering wheel on the wrong side.

  I said, "Carter, you take the front. I'll squeeze between Tony and Christine in the back."

  Carter nodded and walked around to the side of the car where he would normally sit as a driver. Tony and I followed him.

  Once we were all in the car, Arthur turned to Carter. "So, we're off to Bondi Beach, then, mate?"

  Carter nodded and said, "Yeah. And then someplace called Dover Heights after that."

  "Don't you worry, mate. That Mr. Wilkerson gave me the address." Arthur tapped his coat. "Have it right here." With that, he smoothly pulled out into the street traffic. After a moment, he looked at us through the rear-view mirror and said to Christine, "Fine day for a swim, isn't it, Miss?"

  Christine nodded. "It sure is. And it's Christine."

  He smiled broadly. "And I'm Arthur. My mates call me Artie. But you do as you please."

  Carter asked, "Did you grow up here, Artie?"

  Stopping at an intersection, Artie nodded. "I'm a true Sydneysider. Born and raised."

  Looking back in the rear-view mirror, he asked Christine, "Where might you be from, Christine?"

  "San Francisco," she replied courteously.

  I had no idea how old Christine was but she was at least my age, if not older. The kid was being a shameless flirt, so I decided to chime in. "Same as her husband."

  Artie looked at me in the mirror with a wink. "Ain't no harm in tryin', now is there?"

  I smiled but didn't reply.

  For the next few minutes, no one said anything as we drove through the busy downtown area and made our way to a broad avenue.

  "This here is Oxford Street. We follow this for a tick through Darlinghurst, Paddington, and into Woollahra. Then we follow Bondi Road down to the south end of the beach. Shouldn't take too long."

  Carter said, "I wanted to rent a car, but the manager suggested we get a driver, since none of us has driven on the left side of the road before."

  Artie laughed. "Can't blame him for that. I've never been out of Australia. Not sure I could switch to the other side if I went to the States, if you catch my meaning."

  I looked in the mirror. He was smiling but his brown eyes were hard.

  After another couple of minutes of driving, Artie looked in the mirror at Tony. "So, how's an Abo like you staying at the Australia?"

  I could feel Tony stiffen. I asked, "What's an Abo?"

  Artie looked at me with a smile. "You know. A nigger. A darkie."

  I looked over the seat at Carter, who was rubbing his jaw with his left hand. I said, "Can you pull over? I need to get a pack of cigarettes." I put my hand on Tony's leg and squeezed it. He didn't say anything.

  "Sure thing, mate," replied Artie. He pulled over to the left and parked in front of what looked like a corner store. "They'll take care of you."

  Christine, who was on my left, said, "I'll let you out, Nick. I need some fresh air."

  "Thanks."

  As we were sliding out of the car onto the crowded mid-day sidewalk, I heard Carter say, "Artie? Can you show me something on the car?"

  Tony got out behind me. As he did, I quietly said, "Take Christine over by that store."

  "Don't do anything stupid."

  I smiled and gently pushed Christine and Tony away from the car. "It won't be me."

  Right then, I heard a crack. I turned around and saw Artie fall back on the hood of the car. Carter stood over him, pointed in his face, and said, "Watch your mouth, boy."

  Several people stopped to watch. Christine laughed and said, "Our young friend is a little drunk."

  Several people laughed as well. One older woman nodded. "Good on ya, then." Everyone began to move away.

  I walked back over to the car. I grabbed the bag we'd packed from the backseat and handed it to Tony. I then fished out a small stack of tens from my wallet, walked around to the front of the car, and stuck them in Artie's front coat pocket. After patting that down, I said, "My husband doesn't like it when people say things like that to our friends."

  Artie opened his eyes and looked up at me. "Husband?"

  I nodded and said, "Enjoy the day off and think about your manners."

  . . .

  "What do we do now?" asked Tony.

  We had quickly and quietly walked several blocks down the street to get away from Artie. The noon sun was roasting overhead and we were all sweating, even Christine, who was patting her face with her handkerchief.

  I asked, "How about lunch?" and pointed at the building in front of us. It was called, "Astoria Milk Bar."

  Carter asked, "What's a milk bar?"

  I shrugged and looked through the windows. "Looks like a diner to me. Let's try it."

  I pulled the door open, letting Christine and Tony walk in first. Carter, as usual, reached above my head and took hold of the door, pushing me in front of him with his other hand on my shoulder.

  The interior was cool compared to the outside. There was a long bar down the left side of a long room. It reminded me of a malt shop or a drugstore counter but there were no seats at the bar. Along the right side of the room were small booths, some of which were occupied.

  A short, round man with dyed black hair walked up and smiled at Christine.

  She said, "We'd like to have some lunch."

  He grinned. "American?"

  She nodded. "Yes. Can we get hamburgers here?"

  He nodded. "Oh, yes. Or fish and chips. Many things." He looked from her to the rest of us. His smile faded as he looked at Tony. He turned to Christine. "Are you alone, Miss?"

  She shook her head. "It's the four of us." Her voice was polite but firm.

  He nodded. "I see." He looked up at Carter in surprise, as if he was just seeing him. I couldn't see my husband's face, but I had a good idea that it had a disapproving frown on it.

  The man said to Christine, "Very hot today, no?"

  She nodded.

  "Much cooler in the back. Please
, follow me."

  As we did, I noticed a few people in the booths looking at Tony with either surprise or disgust on their faces.

  Once we were in the back, the man offered us a table that wasn't visible from the front of the place. We sat down, put in our order for Cokes all around, and looked at the small menus he'd handed us.

  "Just like being back home in Albany," was the first thing Carter said.

  I looked at Tony and said, "Sorry about all this, Tony."

  He shrugged. "Makes me think I should be getting home."

  I said, "There's a flight to San Francisco on Thursday morning. Mike wants to hire you but I'd like for the two of you to meet. Would that be OK?"

  Christine piped up. "I heard from John right before we left. He said everything checks out fine and he's ready to leave in the morning. Tony can come with us."

  I looked at Tony.

  He smiled. "Sounds good, Boss."

  We all laughed.

  . . .

  I had the fish and chips while everyone else had hamburger sandwiches with chips, which were just fried potato slices. After we'd finished, I said, "I should call the hotel and tell Mr. Wilkerson what happened."

  Carter shook his head. "I'd rather you let me do that, Nick."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Because I wanna tell him about that sorry S.O.B. myself."

  I nodded.

  Christine cleared her throat. "I somehow think you might find this really is more like Georgia than not."

  Tony nodded. "Yeah, Carter. Don't do anything—"

  Right then, a police officer walked through the opening. He was followed by Artie and the short man.

  "That's him," said Artie, pointing to Carter.