Powerboat Racer (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 3)

by Thomas Hollyday

  “Tell me about his father,” Harry asked.

  “He was one of the town elite of those days, ran the only bank in town.”

  “I play poker with the manager of that bank,” Harry said.

  “Yeah,” she said, “Only it’s now owned by a conglomerate in Baltimore. In the days when his father was here, it was the only source of money around.”

  “Billy’s father ran that bank at the time of the town fire?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Maybe he can tell me something about Walker, maybe not,” said Harry. “If nothing else, we can put something in our social column.”

  As he drove up to William Elliott’s home, he could see that Annie had Elliott pegged right. Not a very pretentious guy. The house was a simple affair, two story with chimneys at either end, placed in the middle of a field surrounded by large trees. On all sides were large corn fields worked by neighboring farmers. The corn made the white clapboard house appear like an bright island floating in a green sea.

  He pulled up in front of the house. Several cars were there. He could see no one. The air was still. A robin sat motionless on a lower branch of a small recently planted tree at the side of the yard, then fluttered away as he got out of his van and stood for a moment in the very hot sunlight. Farther to his right past the nearest cornfield, he could see the Nanticoke River, its water glittering.

  He could see the edge of a screened porch which was attached to the back of the house. He heard voices but was too far away to make out the subject of the conversation. He headed toward the porch, walking around the side of the house, his feet crunching in the road gravel and then crackling in the grass which was dry from the heat. Halfway around he could make out the muffled sound of ice in glasses. He stopped to listen and recognized Peggy Tolchester’s voice.

  “I took my boat out in the harbor. I could see the fire damage,” she said.

  “It looked like the whole left side or north side of the town was gone.” Harry knew the bass voice of Catch Kirby.

  “Everything from the bank forward. You could see your father’s bank. To the left though I saw nothing but the skeletons of buildings,” said another person, whose voice he knew was Senator’s.

  “Of course the big Terment cannery was gone. Just a pile of black boards and a brick foundation,” said a strong masculine voice that he did not recognize.

  Peggy added, “We had no breeze that morning, not a whisper. It was just broiling hot. Even after all the tan I had, my shoulders still got red from the sun, sitting in my swimsuit. When I got home my little sister, Lulu, said I should go live on an Indian reservation and my mother actually thought I had been burned at the fire site.”

  “It was hot all right. I never had built a canopy for my boat,” said Senator. “The next one I built, the cruiser, she had a cabin and I could get inside. I learned that much.”

  “My mother has one with a big roof over the deck,” said Catch. He sounded calm, not drunk.

  “Problem is getting people to take care of the boats,” continued Catch.

  “Same everywhere with getting good employees,” said the stranger.

  Catch said, “God, Billy, you ought to see how much I have to pay to get anyone good and then he wants to do less.” Harry understood who the strange voice was. It belonged to William Elliott.

  “You have Cheeks. He used to be a mechanic,” said Peggy, with a laugh.

  Catch spoke up, “Yeah, but he’s started to take this sheriff business seriously now. Except for wheeling my mother around, I can’t get him to do anything. I think he only pushes her wheelchair ‘cause he enjoys doing it for some reason.”

  “Your mother sure likes him,” said Peggy.

  “I don’t know. I think she’s getting pretty fed up with him too,” Catch replied.

  Peggy continued, “We were sitting out there looking at the fire damage. The regatta had started. I watched the boats run their heats. I still wondered how Walker John got away from the firemen and police.”

  “Yeah, I remember,” said Catch. “You were trying to tell us he ran down to his house by the main street.”

  “I said, and I still think today,” said Peggy, “that he jumped into the water and swam to his boat.”

  “Yes, but he had to go a half mile and some of that was in the way of piers and anchored boats,” said Billy.

  “More cover for him. Besides, Walker John was one of the best swimmers around,” said Catch.

  “My father once told me that Walker swam all the way out to the slave monument when he was twelve. Beat my father, who was almost Olympic qualified, and some of the older men and won himself ten dollars,” said Peggy. “My father never liked to talk about that.”

  “His mother told me,” said Senator, “that she put him in his room for a whole day after he did that.”

  “She was always afraid he’d show off too much, she told me, that he’d get beat up by some of the white kids,“ Peggy said.

  “One of your flowers was peeling off,” said Catch.

  “Flowers?” asked Peggy.

  “The little drawings you had on your boat.”

  “Oh, my land, yes,” she said. “Those flowers. I had forgotten.”

  “What did you do the night of the fire? You remember where you were?” asked Senator.

  “Billy and I were at the Country club dance,” said Peggy.

  “Yes,” said Billy.

  “I wanted to work on my father’s race boat but my father made me got to bed upstairs in my room over the shop,” said Catch. “He said I would get too tired for the race the next day. I was pretty angry.”

  “I was home too, with my father. He was sick,” said Senator.

  “You and your father had some tough times,” said Billy.

  “He drank a lot,” said Senator.

  “Mine did too,” said Peggy.

  “Mine didn’t drink. They just yelled at each other,” said Billy.

  “I didn’t know your parents had trouble, Billy,” said Peggy.

  “That’s why they sent me away the week after the fire. Too much going on at home,” said Billy. “You and I were at the dance and some of the kids were hanging around the big glass windows pointing at something off to the east in the direction of River Sunday which was about three miles away. More and more of the kids stopped dancing and went over to the window. Even the chaperones walked over to look. I don’t think I was dancing with you.”

  Harry heard Peggy say, “No, you were with someone else.” Then he heard laughter and a reply by Elliott. “My loss, Peggy. Anyway, I went over to the window and I guess I saw Peggy there,”

  “You did,” she said.

  Billy continued, “Kids were pushing and shoving. You reached out for me and I got close to the window. That’s when I saw the flame in River Sunday, a single tongue of fire, going up over the horizon of the trees lining the golf course, the flame outlining the tall branches like black fronds against the bright waving light. It was like someone was holding a gigantic match and its head just exploded into flame.”

  “Even though it was far away I stood back from the glass because I felt like I was being burned,” said Peggy. “The flame was so big.”

  Billy said, “Someone yelled that downtown River Sunday was on fire, that they had a phone call to go into town to help the police. The rumor went around that several buildings were burning and that crowds were in the street. Some of the parents who were the chaperones were saying that the civil rights protesters had come in a big bus and started a riot and the black people had come from Mulberry and started fires. Right, Peggy?”

  “I know my mother was scared. My father said he would get one of his hunting rifles out and she wouldn’t have to worry,” said Peggy.

  “You remember, Peggy, Baltimore had some looting and fires earlier in the summer and people were nervous,” said Senator. “My father was excited by all the people milling around the fire trucks. He took me along into town to see the fire. We went up back str
eets.”

  He went on, “It was almost impossible to see anything except the gray smoke against the black sky. You could smell it, like a wet fireplace still smoldering. Up above me as we ran towards Strand Street, you could see the outlines of the house roofs and the tree limbs and leaves against the smoke cloud, and, at the end of the street where it connected with Strand, you could see the crowds of people and a lot of flashing as bright as streetlights all turned on at once, but you still couldn’t see any fire.

  “My father turned to me and said, ‘This is a big fire.’ Then he pulled out his pint bottle from his back pants pocket and took a drink. He slowly screwed back the bottle top and put the liquor back in his pocket then turned to me and said, ‘Come on boy, let’s go see some voters.’

  “When my father and me got to the corner and were standing at the back of the crowd, he stopped and looked across the street. I couldn’t see anything because I wasn’t tall enough. I tried to climb up on a porch next to me but I couldn’t get a foothold. My father said, ‘Mercy, the Terment cannery is burning and the houses next to it, some of the businesses.’

  “Just then the roof of a paint store near the cannery collapsed and cans of paint began exploding and whirling through the night, their contents cascading out in a swirl of fire and sparks like violent pinwheels.

  “’I hope those old ladies got out,’ my father said, talking to me over his shoulder as he described the fire. The man in front of him asked, ‘What old ladies?’ and he replied,

  ‘That was the home of the sisters. They’ve been living there as long as I can remember.’

  “My father then pushed ahead, pulling my hand as he led me through the crowd.

  “’One side. Let me through. I’m Senator Thomas Fair,’ he said, almost falling as he elbowed his way, his steps unsteady. Then, we broke through and I saw firemen and policemen rushing around and brown fabric covered hoses laid askew from the hydrants and leading to groups of firefighters. The men concentrated streams of water into the flames, the water pressure breaking timbers of the structures along the street. When I could see the whole fire, it seemed as if every building in town was afire, from the cannery to the corner, all of it led by the roar of the giant flame at the Terment cannery.

  “Aloft over the street and aiming his hose into the cannery was one of the firemen, the Jewish man who owned the garden shop, perched far out in the smoke and flames at the tip of the extension ladder. There he clung to the frame of thin metal struts, his hose the only weapon he had and perhaps the only chance too as the flames licked at the ladder base and threatened to devour him as if he were a persistent insect.

  “The ground shook under us and the crowd fell back. I felt several shudders and behind us window glass broke and fell among the crowd, some of it falling on me. People around me said that gasoline tanks along the edge of the harbor were exploding. We were panicked and clawing at each other to get away from the fire across the street which seemed hotter with each rumble. At that moment a bright light engulfed us I looked up at the sky where a new huge torrent of flame was leaping into the black night, pieces of boards tumbling in its colors.

  “’The cannery roof collapsed,’ someone cried and my father put his arm up to shield me from the hail of embers. My shirt burned in a spot on the front and I pushed at the ember and the glowing stopped, leaving a neat round hole as if a bullet had come close to my heart, left its calling card and then disappeared. All around us people were batting at their clothes and skin, crying out with pain and fear. We ran back as fast as we could and after what seemed like a long time we reached safety. The air became cooler around me. I could still see the flames far away still swaying like dancers in the sky.”

  Senator paused, “People were yelling, ‘Walker Douglas did it. He set the fire. He hurt Homer Kirby and set the fire.’”

  Peggy spoke up. “I didn’t use my boat much after the fire,” she said.

  “I didn’t go out much either,” said Catch. “I worked at home on the shop to help clean up the mess. Besides, that day and the next, I had to help my dad reschedule the heats of the racing. All the races still had to go on.”

  “You never talked to me after the fire,” said Peggy.

  “I didn’t talk to anyone,” said Catch.

  Senator said, “I was at home most of the summer, too, helping out my father for his election.”

  “Like I said, my parents sent me away,” said Billy.

  “I went out in my boat a few times but it wasn’t any fun not having you guys to dare,” said Peggy.

  Billy added, “Walker was gone. No one was at his shop except the town police and some State troopers. I remember when we were sitting out in the harbor the next day after the fire that I listened to what you guys said and wondered what I would do if I ever saw Walker again. I thought about him being in jail. I didn’t know whether I would go see him. Then the police said he was drowned.”

  “That was the problem,” said Senator. “We were only kids and on top of that we didn’t know what to do for him. Our parents kind of decided for us.”

  “I’ve thought about it since then, about what I should have done, we should have done,” said Billy.

  “He was dead,” said Catch. “It wasn’t like we could go visit him in jail or anything. I was all mixed up.”

  “If he’d been caught, I’m not sure I would have gone down to the jail anyway. I felt bad, like I had trusted the wrong person,” said Peggy.

  “Even if he was dead, we should have found out more about whether he was innocent,” said Billy.

  “Yeah, that’s what got to me after a few years, that I hadn’t even tried, that I had bought into what my father was saying,” said Senator.

  Harry heard the footstep behind him and just as he started to turn, he heard,

  “Who are you?” as a stocky well muscled man grabbed Harry’s shoulder. He tried to shake loose but it was as if he were held by steel clamps.

  “I’ m looking for William Elliott,” Harry said.

  “Who are you?” The grip was tight and he felt raised off the ground.

  “Who is it, Honch?” Elliott was calling.

  “I’ m looking for William Elliott,” Harry repeated.

  “I’m out back. Bring him around, Honch.”

  Harry was escorted to the patio. He recognized William Elliott from the New York newspapers. Elliott was not in his usual black pin stripe suit but instead dressed in red polo shirt, shorts and boat shoes. Next to him was Peggy, an astonished look on her face, wearing a yellow flower print sun dress. Beside her was Catch Kirby dressed up in an ill fitting jacket and tie with the collar loose on his white sweat stained shirt.

  Catch scowled, “What’s he doing here? I thought this was going to be a private meeting, Peggy.”

  The last of the people was the Senator, who smiled at Harry and said,” They caught you.”

  “What’s a newspaperman doing here?” repeated Catch, retreating to the gruff tone that he had used before with Harry.

  Billy turned to Catch and motioned for him to be quiet.

  “What can we do for you?” Billy said.

  “He was listening to you folks for a long time before I got to him, “the guard said, holding Harry off the ground.

  “My name’s Harry Jacobsen,” Harry said, his voice choking with the intense pain from the guard’s grip on his bad shoulder. The old wound was directly below the guard’s fingers.

  “I know him, Billy,” said Peggy. “He asks a lot of questions.”

  “Honch,” Billy said to the guard, “Let him down. He’s just a reporter.” Then to Harry, “I’ve seen you before, Mister Jacobsen. I was there when you got your prize for overseas reporting on that brushfire in Africa,” he smiled. “I heard you’d gotten hurt overseas and left New York to come here to run the local paper.”

  “Yessir,” said Harry rubbing his shoulder.

  “Like it? You’re a long way from New York,” Billy smiled.

  “So are you,” Ha
rry said.

  “I see. So, you came to talk to me about something,” said Billy.

  “I just wanted an interview. You’re a celebrity,” said Harry.

  “That’s going to be your scoop, Harry?” asked Billy, still smiling.

  “It’s news.”

  “You can print that I’m here on vacation,” Billy said. “Is there anything else?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Honch, would you show the editor the way to his car?” said Billy.

  As he left, being pushed along quickly by the big guard, he heard them talking about him. Peggy said excitedly, “I like this man but you see how aggressive he is. He gets under your skin, gets you to talk too much. That’s why I asked you to come to River Sunday, Billy.”

  “I can see how you’re afraid of what he may write about our parents,” said Billy.

  “They ran the town in those days. Things they did may not be politically correct if brought up to the public light nowadays. That could embarrass all of us,” Peggy said.

  “I’ve tried to shut him up,” said Catch, rubbing a bruise under his left eye. “Trouble is, he doesn’t scare easy.”

  Senator added, “I’d think you with all your success, would be particularly concerned with publicity about the dealings of your father’s bank back then, Billy.”

  “Yes,” Billy said. “I guess I am. It makes me sick that I am still affected by my long dead father, but I have to admit I am worried about what this fellow may turn up.”

  Chapter 15

  Wednesday, August 4, 4 PM

  Harry had barely got back to the office when he heard a knock at the door. He looked out the window and saw Honch, his broad football player shoulders even more outlined in the afternoon sunlight.

  Annie opened the door and pointed him to the desk where Harry was sitting.

  “Thanks,” said Honch. He had small scars on his face along with a crooked nose, the kind of damage that comes from surviving a lot of fist fights.