The Excluded Exile (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 12)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  Captain Morris nodded. "I'd like to have wheels up by 8, if that's OK."

  "That's fine, Captain."

  I looked at Christine. "You sure you don't want to stay behind and have more adventures?"

  She smiled. "Well, it would be fun to play Nancy Drew with you two Hardy Boys, but I guess I'm ready for some winter, to be honest."

  Captain Morris put his arm around Christine. "When we get home, how about we run up to Lake Tahoe for some skiing?"

  She nodded but didn't say anything. They passed a knowing look between them. It was sweet and charming to watch.

  Tony leaned in to me. "Have you noticed anything about this bar?"

  I looked up. The bar was full but not packed. We were sitting at the very end, near the door that opened to the street. People had been coming and going the whole time we'd been there, filling Captain Morris in on the day's adventures and getting his update about the plane. I leaned back and looked again. Turning back to Tony. "No gals."

  He winked. Whispering, he said, "That's right. Men walk in alone and they leave together. I've seen it more than once, already."

  I was impressed. "You're a good investigator."

  He shrugged and drank from his glass of beer.

  "What are you two up to?" That was Carter.

  I said, "Tell you about it later," as I stood.

  Carter stood as well. "We'd better go pack before they throw us out."

  Tony asked, "What about Newland?"

  I stopped and looked at him for a moment.

  Captain Morris cleared his throat. "If you're talking about what I think you're talking about, I've already sent a telegram to Robert about firing him as soon as we get home. But we need him to get back there. We have to have an engineer for that plane."

  I nodded. We suspected that Newland was probably a plant by the F.B.I. who had been trying to get something on us for blackmail. I was convinced it wasn't the Bureau as a whole but rather a small group of rogue agents in the San Francisco office. They'd tried a number of things and Newland was just the last in that string. Robert Evans managed my properties, including the airplanes. He would be the one doing the firing. "That's fine, Captain." I looked over at Tony and smiled. "And thanks for the reminder, Tony."

  He nodded. Looking up at Carter, he said, "Thanks for looking out for me today."

  Carter shrugged and blushed slightly. "You're family, now. That's how it is."

  I nodded. "Yeah. That's how it is."

  . . .

  "What did Mrs. Danvers say when you called?" That was Tony. He was in the backseat of the Holden. We were loaded up and driving back to Dover Heights.

  "Mrs. Who?" I asked.

  "You know. Dragon lady. The scary housekeeper."

  I laughed as Carter said, "Nothing other than, 'I see.' She then asked what time we would arrive and whether we'd eaten. I told her no, so she said she'd have sandwiches waiting for us."

  "Sounds perfectly reasonable," I said.

  Tony smiled in the fading sunlight. "Oh, sure. But I'm gonna lock my door tonight."

  We all laughed.

  Chapter 5

  2 George Road

  Tuesday, February 22, 1955

  Later that evening

  We were just about finished with our sandwiches when Mrs. Tutwiler walked in from the kitchen with a tray in her hands. She set it down on the table and looked at me. "Well, did they throw you out or did you leave on your own?"

  I sat back in my chair and put my napkin on the table next to my plate. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

  Carter glanced at me with a look. It was the look that said, "Enough with the high-hat talk, son."

  I smiled at him as Mrs. Tutwiler replied, "I know all about The Australia. The men in the bar are doing one thing while the hotel management turns a blind eye since, if it weren't for that particular trade, they'd have to shutter the place down, particularly since the end of the six o'clock swill."

  She took my plate and snapped it on the tray.

  Tony looked over at me with a grin. "Told you so."

  I nodded and asked Mrs. Tutwiler, "What's the 'six o'clock swill'?"

  "Up until a few weeks ago, closing time in New South Wales was 6 o'clock on the dot. Then the government moved it to 10."

  Carter asked, "Is Darwin in New South Wales? The bar in the hotel we stayed at there on Sunday night was open past 6."

  Mrs. Tutwiler laughed unpleasantly. "You don't much know your geography. Darwin is in the Northern Territory. They've always had a later closing time. But you still haven't answered my question."

  I replied, "We left on our own. Although they did threaten to call the police."

  She nodded grimly, gathered up the rest of the plates and the glasses, and carried them into the kitchen without another word.

  Tony whispered, "Do you think she's one of us?"

  I shrugged while Carter nodded.

  . . .

  I was just in my BVDs and was unbuttoning Carter's trousers when the door to our bedroom banged open. Without thinking, I ran around the backside of Carter while he held his trousers up with his hand.

  Mrs. Tutwiler stood in the door and said, "With you being from elsewhere, it might help you to know that a short shower under lukewarm water will help keep you cool before retiring." She walked over to the bureau, flipped on the button to the oscillating fan that was sitting on the left end, and then walked back out, shutting the door behind her as she did.

  "Jesus Christ," muttered Carter.

  "Yeah." I stood there for a moment and then began to pull on my trousers.

  "Where are you going?"

  "To lay down the ground rules like I did with the kids back home." Most of the staff that worked for us in our big pile of rocks on Nob Hill were Czechoslovakian refugees in their early 20s.

  "I don't think she's anything like Mrs. Kopek." She was our housekeeper and the mother-hen of the house. She was Czechoslovakian and had brought in everyone else when the staff who'd worked for my father for years all quit once we'd moved in.

  "I was thinking of Ferdinand." He was our gardener and chauffeur. And he had a real chip on his shoulder.

  Once I had my trousers buttoned up and a shirt on my back, I stormed down the hall, through the dining room, and banged into the kitchen.

  Mrs. Tutwiler was sitting at the kitchen table playing some sort of game with a deck of cards. She looked up, raised an eyebrow, and looked back down at her cards. "I believe I said you were not to disturb my part of the house, Mr. Williams."

  "And I believe you are supposed to knock before you enter a bedroom, Mrs. Tutwiler."

  She sighed. "It's so unfortunate that wealth doesn't always bring with it an instruction manual." Looking up, she continued, "A well-trained servant never knocks."

  I sat down at the table across from her. "I know. That's how I was raised, Mrs. Tutwiler. But our well-trained servants knew us well enough to know when not to barge in. Two people getting ready for bed are likely to be undressing."

  She shrugged and turned over a card in a pile. "I've seen worse."

  "We don't want you to see us like that. Is that understood?"

  She looked up. "Otherwise, what?"

  "I'll just have to call Mr. Willoughby and ask him to replace you."

  She laughed bitterly. "Replace me?" She looked at me with a sour grin. "Replace me? But I come with the house."

  "Then I'll ask him to put you up in a hotel until we leave."

  She gathered up her cards. "You can't do that, Mr. Williams. I own this house." She stood and asked, "Do you need anything else?"

  I looked at her, trying to understand what was happening. "You own this house?"

  She walked over to the sink and turned on the faucet. "I do."

  "Then who is Mr. Jenkins?"

  "He is my son. Tutwiler is my mother's name, which I took after my husband abandoned me." She stood there, looking out the kitchen window, and said, "If there's nothing else, will you please excuse me?"


  I stood and said, "Good night."

  She remained at the window, looking out at the dark ocean in the distance. "Good night, Mr. Williams."

  . . .

  We lay in the dark. I was resting my head on Carter's chest. We'd kicked back the covers and lay exposed to the fan that was turning from left to right and back, cooling us off as it did.

  He ran his finger along my jaw and then moved his hand down my neck. That move, for whatever reason, always made me shiver. Something to do with the nerves.

  "I'm sorry you didn't get to go to the beach today."

  Carter shifted in the bed. "Once everyone else leaves—"

  I sat up. "You don't mean that."

  Carter reached up and kissed me. "No, son. You know what I mean. Once everyone else is taken care of, we'll have plenty of time to go to the beach. What did Captain O'Reilly say when you told him what happened?"

  "He commiserated and then he told me that he wants to go back to Hong Kong."

  "Talk about going from the frying pan into the fire." O'Reilly had been asked to leave by the governor of the British colony just like I had.

  "I know. He said he thought he might be able to have some sway with the American consul."

  "That prick?"

  I laughed. "Yeah. You remember that O'Reilly said they have some sort of connection going back to Chungking?"

  "Sure. Back before the war."

  "Right. It was something about that."

  "Is Murphy going with him?"

  "Yeah. But I told them to plan on coming out here for dinner tomorrow night."

  "Did you tell Mrs. Tutwiler that?"

  "Not yet."

  He ran his hand up and down my back. "Are you too hot to—"

  "Never."

  . . .

  I didn't want Tony to leave. We were standing in the main cabin of The Flying Fireman saying our goodbyes when Tony took my hand and said, "Come back here with me for a minute, Nick."

  I looked up at Carter who shrugged slightly. I followed Tony to the bedroom in the rear of the plane. He sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to him. I sat down. I was close, but not too close.

  He put his right arm around my shoulder and pulled me in close anyway. After a long moment, I said, "Thanks for all your help in Hong Kong, Tony."

  "Sure thing, Nick."

  We sat there for another long moment. Finally, I said, "I should go. Captain Morris wants to be in the air by 8."

  Tony didn't let go and he didn't reply.

  I didn't want to be rude, but I was beginning to worry about what would happen if Carter came barging in.

  Finally, Tony said, "I love you, Nick."

  I nodded. "I love you, too, Tony. Like Carter said, you're family now."

  He sighed. "No. I mean that I'm in love with you."

  I sat perfectly still. I didn't know what to say.

  "Don't worry. I got your message in the boat last week, loud and clear." Tony had come on to me while we were in the middle of our little raid into mainland China.

  I sat there and waited.

  He squeezed my shoulder and let go. He stood up and offered his hand. I took it and he quickly pulled me into a tight embrace. For the first time, I realized he smelled like flowers. I put my head on his shoulder and let him hold me for a long while.

  . . .

  "What did Tony say to you?" That was Carter. We were driving back to the house from the airport. We'd stayed on the tarmac and watched the plane lift off. It had made a big circle to the south, and then turned north and east and flew out over the ocean.

  I sighed and put my right hand on Carter's left knee. "He told me he was in love with me."

  Carter nodded but didn't say anything. We drove for a while longer. After a couple of minutes, he made a right turn. Being that it was across the oncoming traffic, I gripped the door handle tightly. I still wasn't accustomed to the side of the road we were on. Carter, however, seemed to be having no trouble with that at all.

  After following the road for a couple of blocks, we crossed a large avenue and then entered a spot called "Centennial Park".

  We followed a narrow road that led around the side of a bright-green grassy hill. Given that it was a work day, the only people out and about were mothers pushing baby strollers.

  "Where are we going?" I asked.

  "When I was looking at the map"—he pointed to a thick red book of maps with his thumb—"I saw that we could cut through this park on our way back."

  I nodded and squeezed his leg.

  We drove slowly along the narrow lane. After a few minutes, leafy trees appeared on either side of the lane. Pulling the car into a secluded spot, Carter applied the parking brake but left the motor running. He then put his left arm around my shoulder, leaned around, and pulled me into a deep and passionate kiss for several minutes.

  Once he was done, and I was gasping for air, he let me go. Releasing the brake, he put the car into reverse, slightly grinding the gears as he did, and backed out of the spot.

  . . .

  As we pulled into the driveway, I noticed that the front door of the house was wide open. Stepping out of the car, the first thing I felt was how much cooler it was over by the ocean than it had been in the middle of town, even in the middle of the morning.

  Carter pushed me up the stairs to the front door with an insistence that made clear his intentions. Once we were inside the house, I called out, "Mrs. Tutwiler?"

  Getting no response, I took Carter by the hand and led him into the bedroom. When we walked in, we found the bed had been made. We also found that the trunk and our valises had been unpacked. I opened the wardrobe and saw that all the shirts and trousers were hung up.

  Pulling open the bureau, I found our socks, BVDs, and undershirts. One side was for Carter. The other side was for me.

  Kissing me on the neck, Carter asked, "Did you ask her to do this?"

  I shook my head. "No."

  "Where are the letters?" he asked.

  Looking around wildly, I panicked for a moment until I saw them sitting on top of the headboard, bound with a red ribbon. I walked over, picked up the bunch, and thumbed through them. None of them looked as if they'd been opened. I wasn't ready to read the first one, but it was growing on my mind.

  Right at that moment, I heard Mrs. Tutwiler call from somewhere in the house, "Mr. Williams?"

  "We're in the bedroom," was my reply.

  After a couple of moments, she walked into the room. Earlier, when she'd served us breakfast, she'd been wearing a large apron with her hair pulled back under a scarf. As she stood in the doorway, I noticed that she was wearing a beautiful light green dress, similar in cut to the one she'd worn the day before, but not a Chanel. I had no idea why I knew that, but I did.

  "You'll need more clothes if you plan to stay here much longer."

  I nodded.

  Carter said, "Any suggestions?"

  She pulled a card out of a pocket hidden in the folds of her skirt. Handing it to Carter, she said, "Yes. Mr. George on Oxford Street in Darlinghurst. He's been my son's tailor for a number of years. He'll be happy to have your trade."

  I said, "Thanks."

  "Did that plane of yours get off safely?"

  I nodded.

  Carter said, "We'd like to have a couple of friends over for dinner tonight. Would that be an imposition?"

  She shook her head briskly. "Of course, not. Lamb stew with potatoes and salad, I should think. Lamington for dessert, since you're American and like those sorts of things at the end of a meal instead of properly at tea-time."

  Carter asked, "What's lamington?"

  "Vanilla sponge with chocolate and desiccated coconut all around. Mine are always quite delicious. I add cream in the middle. Everyone seems to enjoy that."

  "Sponge?" I asked.

  "Cake," she replied sharply. I decided not to ask about the desiccated coconut, whatever that meant.

  "Anything else?" she asked.

  I sh
ook my head.

  Carter said, "We're going to the beach in a while."

  "The Morning Herald says rain later today."

  With a grin, Carter replied, "We'll take our chances."

  "Sandwiches?" she asked.

  "We'll get something on the road," replied Carter.

  "Suit yourselves. Dinner is at half past 7." With that, she turned and left, her high heels snapping on the wood floor.

  We stood there for a moment in silence. Carter started rubbing my neck in a way that made me feel warm inside, even as hot as it was.

  I was turning to kiss him when I heard Mrs. Tutwiler call out, "Mr. Jones!"

  We both jumped back.

  "Yes?" he replied.

  "Please kindly move your car."

  He bounded out of the bedroom in a flash. I followed and watched from the sunroom as she chewed him out down on the driveway. Once she was done, he backed the car out and pulled it onto the part of the driveway that was just under our bedroom window. He then bounded around and opened the garage door for her. After a long moment, what looked like a new blue Mercedes-Benz sedan backed out onto the street and then sped away. Carter closed the garage door after she left and made his way up the stairs.

  I met him just inside the front door. "What'd she say?"

  "That I should be more courteous in the future. When I said I had no idea that was a garage, she said that was no excuse."

  I started laughing and pulled him by the hand into the bedroom.

  Chapter 6

  Birch & Harfield

  37 Oxford Street

  Darlinghurst, N.S.W.

  Wednesday, February 23, 1955

  Just past 11 in the morning

  Carter parked the Holden on the left side of the street a couple of doors down from the shop at 37 Oxford Street. As I got out of the car, I looked up at the sky. It had been bright and blue when we'd been at the airport. Right at that moment, however, there were lots and lots of big puffy clouds gathering overhead. Some had slightly dark edges. And it smelled like rain.

  Carter and I walked down to the store. The front display was full of the latest fashions. To my eye, everything looked more snug than what we saw at home. I'd noticed the same on men's trousers I'd been seeing while walking around since we'd arrived.