The Voluptuous Vixen
A Nick Williams Mystery
Book 9
By Frank W. Butterfield
Nick Williams Mysteries
The Unexpected Heiress
The Amorous Attorney
The Sartorial Senator
The Laconic Lumberjack
The Perplexed Pumpkin
The Savage Son
The Mangled Mobster
The Iniquitous Investigator
The Voluptuous Vixen
The Timid Traitor
The Sodden Sailor
The Excluded Exile
The Paradoxical Parent
The Pitiful Player
Nick & Carter Stories
An Enchanted Beginning
Golden Gate Love Stories
The One He Waited For
Their Own Hidden Island
© 2017 by Frank W. Butterfield. All rights reserved.
No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without express written permission of the copyright holder.
This book contains explicit language and suggestive situations.
This is a work of fiction that refers to historical figures, locales, and events, along with many completely fictional ones. The primary characters are utterly fictional and do not resemble anyone that I have ever met or known of.
Be the first to know about new releases:
http://nickwilliamspi.com/
NW09-K-20170919
Contents
Ship's Plan
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Author's Note
Acknowledgments
Historical Notes
More Information
Voluptuous
və-ˈləp(t)-shə-wəs
1. Suggesting sensual pleasure by fullness and beauty of form
Vixen
ˈvik-sən
1. A sexually attractive woman
Ship's Plan
The following story primarily takes place aboard the fictional S.S. Hilo which is comprised of six passenger decks.
Listed below, from highest to lowest, are the decks by name, the cabin numbers found on each deck, and the names of the pertinent public rooms located on each deck. The public rooms are listed in order from forward to aft (front to back).
Sun Deck
No staterooms
Radio Office
Promenade Deck
Staterooms #1 through #24
Veranda Ballroom
Bar
Lounge
Library
Store
Upper Deck
Staterooms #100 through #182
Swimming Pool
Main Deck
Staterooms #200 through #281
Tradewinds Bar
Hawaiian Room
"A" Deck
Staterooms #300 through #373
Staterooms #400 through #457
Gymnasium
Doctor's Office
Barber Shop
"B" Deck
Staterooms #500 through #547
Diamond Head Dining Room
Chief Steward's Office
Note: The Bridge is one flight above the Sun Deck.
Prologue
1198 Sacramento Street
San Francisco, Cal.
Saturday, August 7, 1954
About a quarter until noon
I knocked on the door of my old bedroom. We'd only been living in my family home for a few weeks, so it still seemed odd to me to see that familiar door behind which I'd spent many lonely, frustrated, and angry hours.
My father opened the door and smiled. "Come in, boys." Carter, my handsome ex-fireman of a husband, pushed me forward and we walked inside.
Alex LeBeau, the groom, was looking handsome in his wedding suit. As part of our gift to the happy couple, we'd arranged for him to get outfitted for not only the day of his wedding to my stepsister, Marnie Wilson, but also for their honeymoon. According to Marnie, he'd balked at the idea. The notion of two men giving another man a bunch of clothes to wear was just too strange for him. But, when she'd shown him her new outfits for their honeymoon, a gift from her mother, he'd finally given in and let us help.
Alex's father, one Mr. Victor LeBeau, was standing next to his son. They were speaking softly in French. Mr. LeBeau, and his wife Sophie, had immigrated from France back in the 20s. Alex, born Alexandre, was only four years old at the time and had grown up in the City. He might have been born French, but he was definitely an all-American kid. He even played baseball every Saturday afternoon in a beer league. He was a year older than me, but he was still a kid in my eyes.
Both his father and his mother worked for the City of Paris, the department store down at Union Square. They lived in a small apartment at the corner of Vallejo and Stockton, and took the cable car down Powell Street to work each morning.
When Alex had proposed to Marnie about a month earlier, she'd readily agreed and we were all happy for her. I had been worried that she might want to quit working as my indispensable secretary but, a few days earlier, she'd sat down with us over dinner and explained that she and Alex were in agreement that she would work after they got married. Marnie even told us they weren't sure about having children, which was somehow unsettling in a way that was confusing.
In the meantime, they were getting married at our house, a big pile of rocks on Nob Hill at the corner of Sacramento and Taylor. Her own mother had married my father back in April over at Grace Cathedral. That event had turned into a big brouhaha, so she'd asked us if they could get married here.
We'd happily agreed and now the big day had arrived. Once they were married, they were driving down to the new house that my father had just bought on the coast south of Carmel and then, on Wednesday, they were sailing on the S.S. Hilo to Honolulu. Once they arrived the following Sunday, they would be spending two weeks at the "Pink Palace," also known as the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, on the beaches of Waikiki. The trip had been part of our gift as well. We even managed to get them the best rooms on the ship and in the hotel, courtesy of the efforts of Ralph, my intrepid travel agent.
I walked over to Alex and his father. They looked up and his father smiled. Alex, on the other hand, looked nervous. "Well?" I asked.
Rubbing his hands together, Alex sighed. "If this is supposed to be the happiest day of my life, then why am I so danged nervous?"
I laughed and said, "Can't help you there but I bet my father can since he just got hitched himself."
My father harrumphed behind me and said, "Leticia and I did not get 'hitched,' Nicholas. We were betrothed. And, Alex, my boy, I was just as nervous as you even though I'm a good thirty years older."
Mr. LeBeau nodded. "Alors, this is what I tell you, mon fils. It is normal. If you were not nervous, then I would be concerned."
Alex nodded and said, "Thank you, Papa." He quickly hugged his father and then stepped back. Looking around the room, he asked me, "Isn't it weird to be in your old bedroom like this?"
I laughed and said, "You have no idea."
My father cleared his throat and asked, "Where is that Charlie Woodmore?" He was Alex's best friend and his best man for the ceremony. They had been swimmers at St. Ignatius Preparatory School, which I had attended as well. Althou
gh "attend" was stretching things a bit. I had a faint memory of the two of them but mostly what I remembered were the many days that I played hooky, particularly at the end.
Carter said, "He should be here in a minute or two. He was taking care of some last minute things."
Alex sighed dramatically. "Did you help him?"
Carter crossed his massive arms and replied, "I'll have to take the fifth, Your Honor."
Charlie and a handful of their friends had been decorating Alex's 1949 Ford Coupe by stringing up tin cans to the rear fender. Carter had lent a hand. I'd decided to be Switzerland, and remain neutral on the matter.
Right at that moment, Charlie burst in the door, and said, "Come on Al. Time to get a move on, boy."
Charlie had the same build as Alex. Both were long and lean. Alex had dark brown hair with brown eyes while Charlie had dusty blond hair that tended to fly around in the wind no matter how much pomade he rubbed in. His blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight. He was attractive, that was for sure. They both still swam as much as they could, even down in the chilly waters at Ocean Beach.
Charlie's wife, Eva, was one of the gals standing up with Marnie, along with her cousin from down in Burlingame, a sweet girl of 20 or so by the name of Hilda. Marnie's matron of honor was another cousin, a woman of about 35, who lived in Hercules, a small town across the bay. Theresa was busty and, I had noticed, had picked a dress a little too small for her figure. Her husband, Jake, seemed to like it. Marnie had once called him a horn-dog and after spending some time with him the night before during the rehearsal dinner, I could understand why. He couldn't stop talking about Theresa's rack. Even to Carter and me.
Besides Charlie, two of Alex's friends, Ron and Jeff, were standing with him. Ron was a real estate agent, something he'd reminded me about forty times in the last twenty-four hours. Jeff was a police sergeant who worked at the Mission Station and had, so far, kept his distance from Carter and me.
After Charlie combed his hair back in place, Carter and I headed out along the hall and down the stairs to the great room where everyone was waiting. My father and Mr. LeBeau were behind us. Alex and Charlie brought up the rear.
We hadn't set up chairs. Instead, everyone was standing. There was a buffet spread already laid out by our amazing cook, Mrs. Strakova. Drinks were being served by our butler, Gustav, and his boyfriend (and our gardener and occasional chauffeur), Ferdinand. Our housekeeper, Mrs. Kopek, was assisting the kitchen along with a couple of girls hired for the day.
The room was packed with guests from both families. In keeping with tradition, the groom's family and friends were generally on the right, behind his parents. Marnie's crowd was standing behind her mother, and my stepmother, the redoubtable Lettie.
My father walked back into our office, where Marnie had been stashed away for the duration. Since her father was nowhere to be found, Dr. Parnell Williams would be doing the honor as her stepfather. Once the rest of us were all in place, the minister motioned to a string quartet seated by the garden door who stopped playing Mozart and began to play the Wedding March from Lohengrin.
We all turned and watched as Marnie stepped slowly out of the office on my father's arm and began to make her way down the aisle marked by ribbons tied on small wooden posts. She was dressed in white. Her dress was plain and had a long train and she was gorgeous in it. She'd had what Carter's mother had called, "a full morning of beauty," and looked amazing. She'd always been cute. But as she walked down the aisle she looked, well, radiant.
. . .
Once the ceremony was over, Paul Verdier, the President of the City of Paris company and a strikingly handsome man in his early 70s, announced his gift for the couple. It was a very large bottle of French champagne without a label. The bottle rested on a cart and was secured in such a way that allowed it to be tilted for pouring. It had been bottled a few years earlier in France and brought over and added to Mr. Verdier's personal cellar. He supervised one of his employees, a young man of about 25, who carefully opened the large bottle. After everyone had a glass, Mr. Verdier made the first toast to the happy couple. It was all in French and, by the way that Alex's parents both laughed long and hard while Alex turned bright red, it must have been a doozy.
We'd planned four initial toasts, and I was up next. I hadn't thought too hard about what I wanted to say because most of it was too sappy and sloppy. Once the cheering was over, Mr. Verdier said, "Now it's time for Nick, the bride's brother, to toast the bride and groom."
I stepped in front of the fireplace and lifted my glass to Marnie and Alex, who were standing right next to me. "To the best darn stepsister a guy could ever want." I looked around the room and could suddenly hear my own sister's laughter drifting down from upstairs. Janet had been gone for over year, but now living there, in the house we'd grown up in, made me think of her more than I had in all the years after I'd left.
I caught Carter looking at me with a crease of concern on his forehead. He winked at me and smiled. I nodded and continued, "And to Alex, her new husband and my new brother. May you both have years and years of joy and happiness together. To Marnie and Alex!"
Everyone in the room repeated, "To Marnie and Alex!" Marnie stepped next to me and gave me a hug. "Thanks, Nick. I love you."
"I love you, too, doll."
She giggled and stepped back as Alex came forward and shook my hand. "Thanks, Nick."
"Welcome to the family, Alex. We're all a little crazy, but don't worry. I'm sure you'll do just fine."
Alex and Marnie both laughed at that. I turned back to the room and said, "And now it's time for Mr. LeBeau to give his toast."
. . .
Carter and I were walking through the crowd to make it over to the buffet. He wanted more of the puffed pastry with beef in it. And I wanted more caviar. An elegant woman in her 50s, who was holding a small plate of the puffed pastry, stopped us and asked, "You are Mr. Williams, oui?"
I nodded and said, "I am." Motioning to my husband, I said, "And this is Carter Jones." She smiled and nodded. I said, "Thank you for being here. Are you a friend of Alex's parents?"
"Oui. I am Mrs. Anne-Marie Boudier. I work for Mr. Veladier. Are you familiar with the Normandy Lane?"
Carter said, "We first discovered it at Christmas, as a matter of fact." This was an area in the basement of the store that had little shops that, I'd heard, were like the stores in France. There was a cigarette counter, a place to buy bread and pastries, and a little restaurant where they turned meat on a spit.
"I work in the patisserie, the bakery." She picked up one of the pastries. "Who is the person that is cooking these delights? Surely you must have someone from France who works for you?"
I shook my head. "Our cook is from Czechoslovakia. The east part, near Poland."
The woman shook her head. "Non. That is not possible. This has the flavor of Paris. I can taste the time before the war in these foods."
I shrugged. "Maybe Mrs. Strakova lived in Paris before the war. I know she owned her own restaurant at one time. Would you like to meet her?"
Mrs. Boudier nodded.
Carter, who had been stretching his neck to see if any of those pastries were left, put his hand on my shoulder, and said to the woman, "But, only if you promise to not try to hire her."
Mrs. Boudier laughed and nodded her head. "Yes, of course." She put her hand on her heart and said, "I promise."
I said, "Stay right here and let me see what's happening in the kitchen." Without waiting for a reply, and knowing that Carter wouldn't abandon his post, I strode across the dining room and into the kitchen.
Mrs. Strakova was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a sandwich, while the two girls were putting out new plates. As always, the cook was calm and placid will everyone else was running around. Seeing me, she quickly stood up. "Mr. Nick? Is anything wrong?"
I shook my head. "Not at all. The food is amazing, as always. There is a woman outside who used to live in Paris and claims you must be French." I not
iced that Mrs. Strakova looked down when I said that. "She'd like to meet you, if you're not too busy."
The older woman took a deep breath and sighed. "Oh, yes, that is fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Oh, yes." She didn't look happy.
"I can ask her to come by the house some other time, if you'd like."
"No, no. Let's get this over with."
"What?" I asked.
"It is nothing. Now would be a good time, Mr. Nick. Not so busy."
I nodded and asked, "Can I take a plate of those puff pastries with beef to Carter?"
Mrs. Strakova's eyes widened in delight, and she smiled. "Oh, yes! Does he like? I made them for him."
I nodded enthusiastically. "He likes them a lot."
. . .
With plate in hand, I made my way over to where Carter and Mrs. Boudier were standing. Carter broke into a huge grin when he saw what I was carrying. I handed him the plate, offered my arm to Mrs. Boudier, and away we went.
When I opened the kitchen door, I saw that Mrs. Strakova was standing by the table as though she was ready for the firing squad. As Mrs. Boudier walked in and looked around, she suddenly stopped and said loudly, "La ZaZa!! Non! This cannot be!"
Mrs. Strakova looked downward. The French woman said, "Mr. Williams! How can you hide this from the rest of San Francisco?"
"Hide what?"
"She." She nodded at Mrs. Strakova. "You have the most famous woman chef of the 1930s working for you!" Walking over to where Mrs. Strakova was standing, Mrs. Boudier reached out and offered the cook a kiss on both cheeks and began to speak rapidly in French. Mrs. Strakova nodded and replied in the same language.
Meanwhile, behind me, I heard the kitchen door open and a gasp. I turned and saw Mr. Veladier coming through with Mr. LeBeau behind him. Mr. Veladier grabbed my hand enthusiastically. "So! It is true! La ZaZa works for you, Mr. Williams!"
I just shrugged. As Mr. Veladier walked over to join the two ladies, Mr. LeBeau stood by me and quietly said, "She was in the resistance, and it was said that she died before the liberation. And, then, poof! Now she is working in your kitchen."
By this time, there was a steady flow of people streaming in, all exclaiming in French. I looked around and said, "Let me find Mrs. Kopek before this gets out of hand." Before I could get through the crowd, Mrs. Kopek herself came in and managed to squeeze her way over to me.
The Voluptuous Vixen (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 9) Page 1
