The Voluptuous Vixen (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 9)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  . . .

  As we were going through the trunks looking for clothes, Carter said, "No shirts for you, Boss. I want you to get some sun while we're here."

  I nodded. "Fine. Same for you, Chief."

  He grinned at me with his sweet, Southern smile and just nodded.

  . . .

  Breakfast was chopped fruit covered with walnuts, goat's milk yogurt made by an old woman down the road, and a kind of cold fish stew that reminded me of something I'd eaten in Mexico the year before. Carter skipped the fish, as always.

  The four of us ate outside on the porch. For a while, no one said anything. We enjoyed the meal to the sounds of the palms as they brushed against each other in the wind. Finally, John asked, "Would you happen to be Nicholas Williams? From San Francisco?"

  I looked up from my bowl of mango and nodded silently. I glanced over at Carter, who was coolly watching John.

  "That's the best, man." Punching Jeff in the arm, he said, "I told you."

  Jeff grinned and shrugged. "So what?"

  Pointing at me, John exclaimed, "This is the brah who yelled at George Hearst!"

  Carter said, "He didn't yell."

  "And I didn't throw a drink in his wife's face, either," I added.

  Jeff seemed unimpressed. John, on the other hand, had a thousand questions for us, starting with the one that almost everyone had been asking in the last few weeks. "What was jail like?"

  . . .

  After we'd finished breakfast, Carter and I offered to clean up. Jeff just shrugged and walked outside to find Rex. As he began to clear the table, John said, "No way, man. You're the guests here. We take care of you. Just relax."

  So, we did as we were told, and walked down to the edge of the lawn. We both sat on the stone wall and let our legs dangle over the side. The drop below was sheer and precipitous, but it felt good to sit there, on the edge of the world next to the man I loved.

  "What do you think Marnie is doing right now?" asked Carter.

  "She's probably at the office when she should be at home."

  Carter didn't say anything in reply. It didn't feel like we needed to talk about anything. There was nowhere to go and nothing to do. We could, in fact, sit there as long as we wanted. I knew we wouldn't. I tended to go a little stir without something to do. But, right at that moment, it felt good to sit and stare off across the ocean, not needing to think about anything in particular.

  . . .

  "Listen to this." We were sitting on the porch outside the bedroom. I was reading to Carter from the journal that Uncle Paul kept during his time in Shanghai.

  It seems to me that there is no delectable treat that cannot be had here. I wander the streets in the heat of the afternoon, hoping to find myself a new mystery and I am never disappointed. For luncheon, I had an astonishingly delicious array of steamed buns. Since, at my age, I cannot dream of learning another language, I simply walked up to the counter of a small establishment and pointed at various bits that caught my eye. I know not whether what I ate was fowl or beef or suckled pig. Whatever it may have been, it sat well on my stomach and fortified me for what was to come next. These days that is more than satisfying.

  To-day, I witnessed the viciousness of what I saw at home in old Chinatown. A tong was extracting a revenge of some sort. Not long after my mid-day meal, I came around a corner, and down a narrow alley. There I saw four young men, all in the latest New-York fashions, jump into a battered roadster, having just stabbed a member of a rival tong. Two women, both from the French section, had witnessed the entire affair. I took them in charge and we walked assuredly to the local police station where our story was met with a blank stare. I do not know if the man spoke neither English, French, nor German, or if he was wisely ignoring something that could come back, at some unfortunate and unforeseen moment, and deliver a similar fate upon him.

  Outside the station, I parted ways with the two mesdames, after handing the elder one my card. I hope, perhaps, to find my way into the rather restricted social confines of the French colony here for I have certainly observed a number of their young men with whom I would happily desire to better acquaint myself.

  I looked up at Carter, who was staring off into space. He said, "When you read what he wrote, I can almost see it."

  I nodded. "The later ones are the best."

  Carter laughed. "Of course. They're not scorecards like the early ones."

  "We should go to the firehouses and see if we can figure out who all the men are that he had."

  Carter reached over and put his hand under my chin. "Maybe not."

  I grinned at him and nodded.

  . . .

  After lunch, the winds died down and the weather turned hot and sticky. We sat in a stupor on the porch and said nothing. After about half an hour, I'd had enough. I stood up and said, "Let's find those kids and have them show us the way to the beach. It's too hot to just sit here."

  Carter was half dozing and came to with a start. "Sure, Nick." He rubbed his eyes for a moment and then stood up and stretched. I walked over to him and pulled him in close for a long hug.

  . . .

  We made our way around the porch to the kitchen and large living room. I could hear Rex walking across the wood floor. Pretty soon, he came around a corner and laid down on the floor near where we were standing. His eyes closed as soon as his head hit the floor. He looked just as hot as I felt.

  "Do you have any idea where Jeff's room is?" asked Carter as he yawned.

  I shook my head. "Nope. Let's try down here." There was a hallway that led away from the kitchen and ended with a closed door. As we walked towards it, I realized I could hear Jeff talking. I couldn't understand the words, but he was definitely in there. Knocking on the door, I called out, "Jeff?"

  Carter, who was still in a daze, walked up behind me right as I knocked on the door. He tripped, fell forward slightly, and shoved me against the door. It opened and, right before our eyes, we saw Jeff and John in an unnatural position. It was one we were both very familiar with. They both looked up. John turned a deep red while Jeff just grinned and went back to work more intently than a few seconds earlier.

  I backed up quickly and pulled the door closed. Carter and I made our way back into the kitchen and stood there for a moment looking at each other before we burst out laughing.

  . . .

  Jeff found us sitting at the table on the porch in front of the kitchen. He plopped down and said, "John'll be here in a minute." Rex appeared out of nowhere and jumped up on Jeff's lap.

  "Sorry about that," I said.

  He shrugged and didn't say anything.

  Carter said, "How long have you two been going together?"

  Jeff shrugged. "A year or so." He scratched Rex behind the ears.

  "How'd you meet?" I asked.

  "I've known John all my life. He grew up down the road from our farm."

  Carter asked, "How--"

  "How did we figure out we dug each other?"

  Carter nodded.

  "Simple. He needed a job. I asked old man Thompson, who was deaf and senile and pretty much said yes to anything I asked as long as I walked around in tight swim trunks. At first, John was staying with his okaa-san." He looked over at me and grinned. "That's Japanese for mother." Looking out at the lawn, he continued, "But then he moved in here after we started getting friendly. It was all 'cause of the old man."

  "How so?" I asked.

  "One day, I was bringing in his lunch tray and John was getting him back into bed after he'd been on the crapper. Once he was in bed and had his tray, he croaked out at me, 'That Jap kid likes you, kanaka.' I turned and looked at John, who was all red, and said, 'That so?' He nodded. The old man said, 'Come on, boys,' and waved his hand in the air like he was directing us to neck. So, to be obliging, we did. The old guy cackled the whole time."

  Carter and I looked at each other and then back at Jeff.

  "Sounds brazen, right?" he asked.

  Carter shrugged. "Ye
ah. But not much more than the two of us fucking all over the place like we tend to do."

  I laughed. "Only we've never been caught."

  Carter turned to me. "There was that one time--"

  I raised my hand. "And you promised."

  Carter grinned and turned back to Jeff. "What was that word that he called you?"

  "Who?"

  "Mr. Thompson."

  "'Kanaka'?"

  Carter nodded.

  "That just means 'man'. My grandmother didn't like it when haole used it, though. She thought it was disrespectful for an outsider to use our language."

  "What was that other word?" asked Carter.

  "'Haole'?"

  Carter nodded again.

  "That means 'white man'."

  Just then, John walked out onto the porch. Rex looked up from Jeff's lap and began to pant as John reached over and petted him. I stood up. "Sorry about that, John."

  He turned red again and just nodded while keeping his eyes on the dog.

  Carter stood up and got right to the point. "Can you two show us how to get down to the beach?"

  . . .

  John and Jeff left us down at the beach with a couple of chairs, some towels, and a jug of cold water pumped up from the well for us to drink when we got hot. As they were leaving, John said, "The undertow can be pretty strong here, so don't wade out very far."

  Jeff added, "And watch out for sharks." He grinned as he said that. I didn't know whether to take him seriously or not.

  Once they were gone, I walked down to the water's edge and let it lap over my feet. Out in the distance, the surf was crashing hard. I figured there had to be a reef that was making that happen. By the time the water reached the shore, however, it was much calmer. I stood there for a moment, taking it all in, and then decided I really wanted a long nap. I walked back over to the chaise lounge and stretched out on it. In the few minutes I'd been in the water, Carter had already fallen asleep.

  . . .

  It was that old dream again. A sailboat was coming into the small harbor near the hospital in New Guinea and I wanted to get on it. Unable to wait, I jumped in the water and swam out to meet it. Once I pulled myself up the ladder, it was dark and the boat was empty.

  I could feel the deep loneliness of being all alone. Suddenly, I realized the boat was in the ocean. The stars were close. I could almost touch them.

  As I stood on the deck, I heard a noise below. Heading down to investigate, I found myself in an old wooden galley. The ship was rolling in the ocean and I could hear someone calling my name. I kept going lower and lower. Finally, I found myself in the engine room of the Hilo. I walked around and looked at the engines and the pistons that were turning the big screw. It was hot and steamy and I could hear that voice calling me. I knew I was at the bottom of the ship, so there was nowhere else to look. I stood there in the loud room, listening to the roar of the furnaces, and began to cry in despair and frustration.

  When I woke up, Carter was sitting on the sand next to me and holding my hand. "What was it, Nick?" His forehead was creased with concern.

  I shook my head. "Just that old dream where I hear someone calling me from inside a boat. This time, I was on the Hilo in the engine room."

  Carter leaned over and kissed me gently on the lips. "I love you, Nick."

  I nodded and said, "I love you, too."

  We sat like that for a long while, listening to the surf, and looked at each other without saying anything.

  Chapter 12

  The Thompson House

  Island of Kauai

  Hawaii Terr.

  Friday, August 20, 1954

  Early morning

  Carter shook me out of a deep sleep. "Nick. Wake up, son."

  I turned over and opened my eyes. It was still dark although I had a feeling that dawn wasn't far off. I sat up and asked, "What?"

  "Get your trunks on."

  I looked up at my husband. Even in the dim light, I could see that his skin was a deep ruddy color from all the time we'd spent outside. I could see a faint line of white just above the tight black trunks he was already wearing. "Why?"

  "Just do it, son, and don't ask questions. Come on, now." He stepped back to let me stand up, which I did, feeling groggy. I looked around and couldn't see my trunks. "Here." Carter was holding them in his right hand.

  I slipped them on and said, "Lemme--"

  "Hurry up, son, or we're gonna miss it."

  "Miss what?"

  "No more questions. Go do your business and then we can go." He shoved me in the direction of the bathroom and off I went to relieve myself.

  Once I was done, he said, "Don't bother flushing. We don't have time for that."

  I sighed and walked back out to the bedroom. I followed Carter outside, down the steps, and across the grass lawn to the path that led down to the beach. "Where are we going?"

  Without turning, Carter said, "Isn't it obvious? We're going to the beach."

  "Yeah. So glad I asked."

  . . .

  Once we got down to the sandy part of the beach, I realized what he was doing. Jeff and John were already there. They had two long surfboards, about twice as tall as they were. Jeff was holding onto one while John rubbed a cloth over the middle part of it. To reach that high, he had to stand on a pile of rocks that appeared to be in place for just that purpose.

  "Hey there, guys. What's up?" That was Jeff. He'd just got out of bed. His hair was all over the place, just like John's. Whereas Jeff was wide awake and grinning, John could barely keep his eyes open and just grunted at us while he rubbed the cloth over the wood. Rex was sitting in the sand, watching the two of them work. When he saw me, he stood up and walked over to be petted, which I obligingly did.

  Carter replied, "We wanted to see y'all surf."

  Jeff frowned slightly. "Really? Ain't nothing to it, really."

  I stretched out on the chaise lounge, which was slightly damp from the night air. Rex trotted back to where he'd been earlier. I laid back and folded my hands behind my head.

  Carter looked down at me with a grin. "Ready for the show, son?"

  I shrugged. "I guess. I don't wanna embarrass the kids."

  John heard me say that. He threw down the towel on the sand and stalked over to me. "Mr. Williams, Jeff is one of the best surfers in the islands. You can't embarrass him. But you can keep your damn mouth shut if you don't mind."

  Carter grinned at me, sat down on his chaise lounge, and folded his hands behind his head as well.

  . . .

  For the next hour or so, we were treated to quite a show. We sat there and watched as they would ride a wave in, paddle back out, and ride the next one. They both made it look effortless. I couldn't take my eyes off their moves. They were both handsome, that was for certain, but it was their skill that was captivating.

  Not only were they both powerful athletes, they also displayed a grace and a poise that reminded me of a talented dancer. The waves seemed to rise up on command, responding to Jeff's determination to go higher and faster than the last one. John was just as dogged, but Jeff made it all look like he was in charge and the ocean was following his lead.

  Once they were done, they both rode in on their boards. As they walked over to where we were sitting, Carter stood up and ambled over to meet them.

  "That was amazing stuff. Y'all both look like you were born to do that."

  John smiled at Jeff, who said, "You could say we were. We've been out doing this since almost before we could walk." For a moment, I thought he looked embarrassed, but then he seemed to shrug it off. John, on the other hand, was glowing in the light of Carter's praise.

  I stood up and walked over to where they were standing. I patted John on the shoulder and said, "That was really something."

  He smiled and impetuously hugged me.

  . . .

  It seemed to be a pattern. Every day, after lunch, the winds would die down and the air would get hot and sticky. We were sprawled on the gras
s, talking about nothing in particular, when Jeff came out on the porch.

  "Mr. Williams?"

  I lifted up on my arms and asked, "Yeah?"

  "The old man's lawyer is here. He wants to talk to you."

  I groaned. I had finally decided that it was OK to be in paradise and to not do much of anything all day long. It felt like reality was calling and, to be honest, I didn't want to answer.

  Carter said, "I suppose this means we have to put on real clothes."

  Jeff laughed. "That'd probably be a good idea."

  I looked up and realized Jeff was wearing a shirt. It wasn't buttoned, but it was still a shirt, which was more than any of us had worn in the last few days.

  . . .

  Carter and I walked into the sprawling living room. The big ceiling fan was making a slow cutting sound through the hot afternoon heat. An elderly man stood up as we entered the room. He was slightly stooped, wore steel wire-rimmed glasses, had thin, wispy white hair, and was inexplicably dressed in a linen suit that dated to the early 20s, at the latest. In his right hand, he held an ancient leather satchel that was held together with two brass buckles.

  He walked up and looked us both over. "Mr. Williams, may I introduce myself? I am Hiram Bertram, III. I am the executor of Mr. Thompson's estate and am sorry to bother you this Friday afternoon." He didn't offer to shake.

  I nodded. "Nice to meet you Mr. Bertram." Pointing to Carter, I said, "This is my friend, Carter Jones. Would you like something cold to drink?"

  The older man smiled slightly. "Oh my, no. I find that warm water is best on a hot day like today."

  "How about that, then?"

  "No, thank you, sir. I'm just fine."

  I waved towards the living room. "Let's sit down."

  He nodded and went back to where he'd been sitting, which was an old high-back wooden chair. He put the satchel in his lap and rested his thin hands on it. Carter and I sat down next to each other on the wide sofa that faced the lawn.

  "What can I do for you, Mr. Bertram?" I asked.

  "Well, sir, I have been authorized by the beneficiaries of Mr. Thompson's estate to offer you a proposition."