The Sartorial Senator (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 3)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  As we crossed Castro at 18th Street, I noticed that people were beginning to stop and stare.

  "Pay no mind," said Mrs. Wilson as she waved at various acquaintances. The woman had been living in the neighborhood since Monday and had taken the place by storm. Marnie had told me after we ate that her mother had decided to rehabilitate my reputation and that no force would be able to stop her from doing it.

  After another ten minutes, we were in front of Mrs. Benedetto's house. It was a large Victorian, with plenty of gingerbread, and painted a pale pink with white trim. The small yard in front was covered with bright red geraniums.

  I took Mrs. Wilson by the arm and the two of us walked up the steps. Before we could ring the bell, the door opened. By the sound of things, there was quite a crowd inside. I didn't think anyone would be playing mah jong that day.

  The older, dark-haired woman who answered the door looked at the four of us and then focused in on Mrs. Wilson. "Mrs. Wilson! How very nice to see you again!" She spoke enthusiastically with a light Italian accent. "Please, do come in, won't you?"

  Mrs. Wilson sailed forth, followed by Marnie, myself, and then Carter. The room went quiet for a moment and then everyone went back to talking, a bit louder than before.

  Mrs. Benedetto extended a gloved hand to me, which I took, and said, "Welcome to my home, Mr. Williams."

  I shook politely, smiled, and said, "Thank you, Mrs. Benedetto. It's very kind of you to invite us. I hope we aren't too many." I was tapping in on my Nob Hill upbringing. This was no time to worry about "high hat" language. I was gonna bring all the "high hat" I could.

  Mrs. Benedetto smiled sweetly and said, "No. There's always room for more."

  I turned and said, "May I introduce Marnie Wilson? She's my very capable secretary."

  Mrs. Benedetto made that move with her head that I'd seen women of her generation do. It was a kind of half nod in a semi-circle. It always reminded me of a tall thin bird moving its neck.

  "How nice. Is that how you are connected to Mr. Williams, then?" That question was directed to Marnie's mother.

  But she was already otherwise engaged with one of the other ladies. I answered for her and said, "Yes. We're lucky to have them both staying with us for a few days."

  Mrs. Benedetto made that same semi-circle nod again. I turned towards Carter and said, "And may I introduce my partner, Carter Jones?"

  She looked him up and down and then reached out a gloved hand. "How do you do?"

  "Very well. I thank you, ma'am, for having us all here. You have a very lovely home." He was pinging right at a five on the Carter Jones five-star scale of southern manners. It was his version of my "high hat" talk.

  Mrs. Benedetto giggled and blushed. Worked every time. She took hold of him and said, "Let me introduce you to some of your neighbors."

  Marnie and I were left high and dry. As usual. But that was fine by me. I suspected that there were Italian cookies to be had somewhere and I was anxious to find them. I loved lace cookies and I hoped she had put some out.

  Marnie followed me down the hallway that looked like it led to the kitchen. "Does that always happen?" she asked.

  I cautiously pushed open the kitchen door and found what I was looking for. "Yes." My answer was brief. I could see lace cookies and I was not gonna waste any time getting my hands on a few.

  We walked into the kitchen and found two ladies chatting. They glanced up, startled. I said, "Sorry to barge in but I see lace cookies on the table and they are my favorite."

  One of the women gave me a look that would curdle milk. She said to her friend, "Excuse me, Evelyn," and stormed out.

  Evelyn smiled at me and said, "Mrs. Benedetto gets her cookies from the bakery on Castro. They're the best."

  I was in the middle of eating one, so I had to wait a moment to respond. "Yes, they are. Sorry to be so rude."

  Evelyn waved me away. "I have a passion for the wedding ones. Those are my favorites."

  Marnie said, "Mine too, hon."

  She reached out her hand. "Marnie Wilson."

  "Evelyn Key. Nice to meet you."

  I brushed my hand on my coat, extended it, and said, "Nick Williams."

  She shook my hand and looked at me sideways. "Aren't you brave." It was a statement and not a question. I liked her already.

  "Not really. It would have been more dangerous not to come."

  Marnie piped up, "My mother set this all up and--"

  "Oh, I've met your mother. She's a whirling dervish."

  Marnie giggled and then covered her mouth.

  I said, "Perfect description."

  I asked Marnie, "Do you want some coffee?"

  "No thanks, Nick. I think I'll make myself a cup of tea." There was a kettle with hot water and some tea bags already set out. I pulled some coffee from a tall metal urn that was on the counter top.

  "Evelyn?"

  "I'm fine. Look. Tell me the truth. What did you really say to George Hearst?"

  I finished getting coffee, poured some cream in it, and then stirred it. "I just told him that I didn't think his paper was worth the ink and that he was intentionally destroying lives and probably not making any money from it. The Examiner could be a good paper. They have some good writers."

  "Like who?"

  I was surprised by that. "Herb Caen, for one."

  "He's good. But he's a columnist."

  "You're right. I should have said, 'they have one good writer, a columnist.'"

  Evelyn and Marnie both laughed.

  "Mrs. Key, do you--"

  "Miss Key."

  "Miss Key, do you live in the neighborhood?"

  She looked at me wryly. "Yes, Mr. Williams. I live two doors down from you. On the other side of Pam and Diane."

  I groaned. "Carter was right."

  He poked his head in the kitchen door at that moment. "I was right about what?"

  He had been released by Mrs. Benedetto. I said, "You were right that we have been holed up in our house too long."

  He smiled at me and then looked over and said, "Hi, Evelyn."

  "Hi, Carter."

  I groaned again. "I guess it's just me, then."

  Evelyn patted me on the shoulder. "Don't feel too bad. The married couple on the other side of me moved in right before Christmas of '51. I made them a fruitcake, left it on the porch, and they still haven't sent a thank you note, come by to say hi, or even returned the dish it was in."

  We all laughed.

  . . .

  Eventually Mrs. Benedetto found me and took me around to meet the other ladies. Some were friendly, others were perfunctory. One of the older ones told me a story about seeing my Great Uncle Paul out for a stroll one evening on Market Street, holding hands with a tall, dark man who she thought might have been Cuban.

  In his diaries, Uncle Paul had written about an Italian friend of his who was very dark. He'd written about all the places on the man's body that were dark and in great detail. The man's name was Giuseppe and he sounded like quite a catch.

  I just smiled and said, "That was so long ago, wasn't it?"

  She nodded. "Not too many of us left who were here for the 'quake." I tried to guess how old she was.

  "You must have been a toddler."

  She giggled prettily. "Mr. Williams! Goodness, no. I had just turned 30 the month before. I was 77 last March."

  I was surprised and said so. She patted my hand and said, "You must come to tea and soon. I do mean it. I'm sure we have so many things to discuss. You see..." She lowered her voice and whispered, "I knew your Uncle Paul." She looked around the room again. "And I used to go out with his boyfriends. What's the word they use now?"

  I quietly said, "Beard."

  She giggled again. "That's it. Do come to tea. I'd love to tell you about those days. We were so naughty and had so much fun."

  I held her hand for a moment and nodded. "Of course, it would be my pleasure. How can I reach you?"

  She smiled, "Just ask Mrs. Wilson. My nam
e is Gertrude Robins. She knows where I live."

  "I will do that Mrs. Robins."

  "Miss. I never married." Her eyes twinkled.

  I smiled at her and said, "I see."

  "Oh yes, young man, I think you do see. Well, I'll let you go. Do call me, though, won't you?"

  I nodded and said, "I promise."

  . . .

  We walked home. Evelyn joined us. Mrs. Wilson sailed down 18th Street and said hello to all and sundry along the way. I was surprised how she had taken over the neighborhood. Everyone seemed to know her.

  We invited Evelyn to go with us to dinner. She accepted, with the caveat that she be allowed to freshen up first.

  I was taking everyone to the Top of the Mark to celebrate being back in town after being gone so long. Once we were at the house, I picked up the phone to set things up with Marcel, the maitre d' at the restaurant.

  "Mr. Williams! What a pleasure! I see you have been traveling."

  "Yes, Marcel. We're back home and I want to bring some friends to dinner tonight."

  "Parfait. How many?"

  "There's five of us."

  "Bon. One moment." I waited while he checked his book.

  "Yes, I can seat you at the window, as I know you like. How about 7:30?"

  "Perfect. Um, Marcel?"

  "No, Mr. Williams. There are no parties by the name of 'H' on my list tonight and, if they should call, we will be full. You can depend on it."

  "Thanks, Marcel."

  "Thank you, Mr. Williams. We will see you soon."

  I put the phone down and breathed out a sigh of relief.

  Chapter 25

  Mark Hopkins Hotel

  999 California Street

  Friday, June 4, 1953

  Early evening

  When we arrived at the Mark Hopkins hotel, I left the Buick with the same kid who'd taken care of us last time. He said, "I'll keep her right here for you, Mr. Williams. Glad to see you again. How was Mexico?"

  "It was hot. Thanks, kid." I handed him a folded five.

  We walked in through the revolving door. Mrs. Wilson was on my arm. Carter was escorting Evelyn on one arm and Marnie on the other.

  As we approached the elevator, I heard a voice call my name. I looked around and saw Jeffery, my lawyer and friend, walking in the same direction as we were. He was with a red-headed man with blue eyes and freckles who was dressed in a tuxedo. Jeffery was dressed the same.

  We all stopped for a moment, just outside of the elevator, but away from it so that we weren't in the way. I introduced everyone. Jeffery's date was Harry Folger, an art dealer who said he'd just moved to San Francisco from New York to open a gallery down on Maiden Lane. He didn't look Jeffery's type but, then again, Jeffery had been in love with Taylor Wells, who'd been murdered ten days earlier. I was surprised Jeffery was even going with anyone.

  "Are you going somewhere after dinner?" I asked.

  Jeffery said, "We were just at the opening party for Harry's gallery. We thought we would come here for supper."

  I said, "Would you like to join us?"

  Jeffery looked at Harry, who didn't seemed thrilled. I couldn't blame him.

  "If you don't mind, Nick, I think we'll eat alone."

  Carter said, "Yeah, we don't wanna break up your date."

  Harry seemed scandalized by this blatant statement. I wondered how long this would last.

  We all entered the elevator together and were greeted by the same elevator operator, a woman in a red uniform with a square cap and bright brass buttons, who had been on duty the last time we were here.

  She said, "Well, if it isn't my hero!" And she seemed sincere. "Your other friends are here, too."

  I froze. "The Hearsts?"

  She laughed. "No. Your actual friends. You know. The two who met that night on a date."

  She was referring to Ben and Carlo. It was looking like a real homecoming party.

  When the door opened, I could see Ben sitting at the bar. We all spilled out. I told Carter to take the ladies to the bar, while I sorted things out with Marcel. Harry followed them while Jeffery went with me.

  I whispered, "How's that going?"

  He shrugged. "We just met on Monday. We'll see. You don't like him, do you?"

  I was noncommittal. "He's OK. Just doesn't seem your type. Too..."

  "Fussy?"

  "That's one word. No, I mean..." I thought about it. "I don't think he's comfortable in his skin." We had stopped in the area near the bathrooms. "One thing I can say about Taylor is that he knew himself. He knew who he was even though he had to play the studio game."

  Jeffery sighed.

  "You miss him?" I asked.

  He nodded. "A lot."

  I put my hand on his arm. "It's tough. You'll get through it but it's tough."

  "I keep wondering why it happened."

  I waited. I figured more was coming.

  "He..." Jeffery's face began to contort.

  I pulled him quickly into the men's room. There was a padded bench there. I asked the attendant for a cold towel.

  Jeffery put his head in his hands and sat there for a moment, bent over. I could hear him softly crying.

  The attendant, an older man, walked over with a wet towel. It was cool to the touch. I put it on Jeffery's neck and said to the attendant, "He gets vertigo from the height." The old man nodded sagely and walked away.

  "Losing Taylor reminds me that I lost you, Nick."

  "You never lost me. I'm still here. I'll be here forever."

  Jeffery sniffed. I handed him the towel. He wiped his face and looked at me. "I know. I guess this will all pass. Then I'll feel better."

  I looked at him. "We've both been through the ringer these past three weeks. It'll pass but when people die it hurts like hell."

  "I'm sorry. I forgot about Janet. And I missed her memorial, too, tracking down Taylor. And for what?"

  "Taylor was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's all. He knew you loved him. You had found him, after all. You were helping him deal with Rhonda and her blackmailing girlfriend."

  Jeffery looked at me and nodded. I was worried about my friend. Something about this felt very off.

  . . .

  Once we got our tables sorted out with Marcel (and after I'd handed him a folded hundred), Jeffery and I walked over to the bar to join the party.

  Something had happened and I couldn't tell what at first glance. Evelyn and Marnie were standing with Harry, who was upset. Carter and Ben were talking to Martinelli in a low whisper. Mrs. Wilson was holding court at the far end of the bar with a bunch of total strangers she'd just met and who were now completely absorbed in her every word, which was mostly about me and my encounter with George Hearst the last time we'd been at the place.

  I walked up to Carter while Jeffery went over to Harry. I whispered, "What happened?"

  Carlo looked miserable. "He and I had, you know." He shrugged. "We had an evening together a long time ago. When Carter was introducing me, he got angry for no reason."

  I glanced at Carter who nodded. "When did you last see him?"

  "Back in '48."

  "When you were married?" I asked, trying to keep all my judgment out of my voice. I'd liked his wife. She had been in way over her head, being married to a guy who wanted to live in the big city and live it up, mostly with other guys. We didn't know the truth until he'd volunteered to meet Ben, which was the reason we'd been up there the last time.

  Carlo nodded and looked contrite. "I know. I was awful."

  I shrugged. "Why'd he get upset?"

  Carlo got animated when I asked him that. "I don't know!"

  I put my hand on his arm. "OK. I get it. Do you want Carter or me..." I looked at Ben who looked shell shocked. "Or Ben to go over and talk to him?"

  "No." He looked down. "I dunno." Another pause. "I guess. If you want."

  I rolled my eyes. This kinda stuff always annoyed me.

  "Since I wasn't here, why don't I go talk to him? O
K?"

  Carlo nodded.

  I turned around and walked to the other camp. Evelyn was saying, "That really isn't his fault."

  I stood there for a moment. Harry looked up at me and sighed. "I suppose you're here to bawl me out?"

  I shook my head. "No. But I'm curious. What's the beef?"

  Marnie said, "He says that Carlo led him on. Made him believe he wasn't married. Then sprang his wife on him."

  Evelyn said, "Yes, but... In Carlo's defense, the reason his wife came into the picture is because she caught them on a date. At the movies." She rolled her eyes at me. I couldn't have agreed more.

  I said, "Look. Since you and Jeffery have your own table, what's the deal? We'll be at our dinner. Carlo and Ben will be either at the bar or at their own table. No problem, right?"

  Harry looked at me. "Jeffery told me you were just like that."

  I was surprised. "Just like what?"

  "That you didn't think about other people's feelings. Like the time you brought that sailor here."

  I laughed. "Look, kid. Did he tell you the whole story?"

  "I'm sure he did."

  I looked around and couldn't find Jeffery. I asked, "Did he tell you that he brought the sailor home, paraded him in front of me, and then kicked the guy out?"

  Harry sniffed. "He said something like that."

  Evelyn pulled back and said, " Mister, you have got to get over yourself." With that, she walked down to where Mrs. Wilson was still holding court.

  . . .

  After we all got seated, dinner was delicious but otherwise uneventful. Mrs. Wilson had the staff eating out of her hand. She was quite the grande dame. I was having a hard time imagining sending her out to Pacific Street when that house was finally mine to lease out to Marnie. It seemed like a waste to have her be all the way out there, which was practically the boondocks compared to Eureka Valley. I remembered seeing a small bungalow on Collingwood for sale. It was two houses down from Mrs. Benedetto. Maybe that would be a better fit for everyone.

  When dinner was over, I asked Marnie to come with me to the bar. Everyone looked up. I said, "Not everything I do has to be on the front page." I'd been holding that line for just the right time. I knew Carter would only let me use it once, and that seemed as good a time as any.