Huckleberry Finished

by Livia J. Washburn

“I’m not sure he’d be interested—” Williams began.

  “Oh, it’ll do him good,” I insisted. “I don’t think he’ll turn me down if I ask him personally.”

  “Hmmmph,” the captain said. I had a pretty good idea what he was thinking. He was bound to know about Gallister’s reputation as a womanizer, and clearly he didn’t approve of it. But after a moment he went on, “Mr. Gallister is in his private suite. He keeps it for use here on the boat. He’s quite interested in the riverboat era, you know. Much of the décor on the Southern Belle was suggested by him.”

  So that was why some of it looked like it came out of a fancy whorehouse, I thought, but I kept that notion to myself. I also couldn’t help but wonder what Gallister had used his private suite for in the past. I figured I had a pretty good idea.

  “If you could just tell me where to find that suite…”

  He hesitated, and I could tell that he didn’t really want to answer my question. But then he said, “It’s on the third deck. Go past the offices and you’ll find an unmarked door. That leads into an anteroom. But I must insist on one thing, Ms. Dickinson, if you want to bring any more tours on the Southern Belle…”

  “What’s that, Captain?”

  “I didn’t tell you where to find him,” he said in a flat, hard voice. I knew in that moment that Captain Williams didn’t like Charles Gallister. Gallister might own the Southern Belle, but in the captain’s mind, the riverboat belonged to him. He probably didn’t like seeing it used as a gambling den, and he dang sure didn’t like Gallister bringing his girlfriends on it.

  “He won’t hear it from me, Captain. I give you my word.”

  Williams nodded. “Good luck to you, then.” He paused. “You may need it.”

  For some reason I felt like a nice, juicy little lamb about to enter the lion’s den.

  CHAPTER 23

  I didn’t have any trouble finding the door Captain Williams had described to me. No one tried to stop me, either. The crew seemed to have gotten more lax in carrying out their duties since we’d been stuck here. I think everybody was upset about it.

  I felt sorry for the captain, too. He paled into insignificance when Charles Gallister came aboard. Not only that, but even though he didn’t know it yet, things were about to get even worse for him once the state attorney general launched that crooked gambling probe Vince Mallory had mentioned to Mark and me in the casino. I didn’t think for a second that Williams had anything to do with the criminal operation or even knew about it, but that wouldn’t prevent him from being disgraced along with all the other people involved in running the boat.

  Mark and I ought to just back off and let Vince and the other investigators from the AG’s office go about their business, I told myself. They would solve Ben Webster’s murder, and once they started bringing out the rest of the dirty laundry involving the Southern Belle, there was a good chance they would solve Hannah’s murder, too, and nail Charles Gallister for it even though he might not be any more involved with the crooked gambling than Captain Williams was.

  But somehow that just didn’t feel right. Hannah’s death was a very personal killing. Bad enough that someone had hit her like that. Then they had laid their hands on her, carried her to the railing, and pitched her off into the river where the paddlewheel would mangle her body. It took a special sort of monster to do something like that—and a monster to arrange it, too, because I still believed that Gallister wouldn’t have dirtied his own hands by carrying out the murder. The people who had been hurt the most, other than Hannah herself, of course, ought to be the ones who brought him to justice, not some investigators paid by the state who had never even known Hannah.

  Of course, I hadn’t known Hannah, I reminded myself, but I knew Louise and Eddie. Mark and I were acting on their behalf in trying to trap Gallister. We weren’t working for the state, or even for society at large.

  Murder was personal. Justice should be, too.

  With that thought in mind, I opened the door, stepped into the anteroom, and knocked on the door of Charles Gallister’s private suite.

  There was no response, so after a minute I knocked again, harder this time. A few more seconds went by, and then Gallister himself jerked the door open and demanded, “What is it?”

  He had taken off the jacket of the ridiculously expensive suit but still wore the vest. He’d loosened his tie as well, and in his left hand he held a short, squat glass made of thick crystal with a couple of inches of amber liquid in it. Gallister’s flushed face told me that drink wasn’t the first one he’d had recently.

  As soon as he saw me, the irritation vanished from his features and was replaced by a smile. “Well, well,” he went on. “Exactly what I like to see when I open my door: a beautiful woman.”

  I had a feeling that he would have said the same thing to just about any female between the ages of eighteen and sixty. Maybe a year or two either side of that. I smiled back at him as if I enjoyed hearing it, even though, smug, would-be Lotharios like Gallister annoyed the heck out of me, like they did for most women.

  “Have we met, my dear?” he asked.

  That was a good way to endear yourself to somebody, I thought—openly acknowledge that you couldn’t even remember if you’d met the person before. But I just said, “Not exactly. My name is Delilah Dickinson.”

  “A lovely, lovely name.” He made a sweeping motion with the glass in his hand. “Won’t you come in?”

  I stepped into the suite’s sitting room, getting that old lion’s den feeling again as I did so. As Gallister firmly closed the door behind me, he continued, “What can I do for you, Delilah?”

  He didn’t even ask if he could call me by my given name, I noticed. Again, I didn’t allow my expression or my voice to reveal that that bothered me. Instead I said, “I run Dickinson Literary Tours. I have a group here on the boat.”

  “Of course. I remember seeing you on deck earlier. I was going to ask Captain Williams to tell me your name, but then I got distracted with this terrible business about the murder and all. Still, I shouldn’t allow anything to distract me from finding out more about a beautiful woman.”

  He had a twinkle in his eye as he said it. Obviously, he planned to keep hitting that “beautiful woman” note. I didn’t know if he was doing it because he actually found me attractive, or because it was just habit with him. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  “What brings you here to my suite?” he asked. I was glad he didn’t want to know how I’d found out where it was. That way I didn’t have to lie or get Captain Williams into trouble.

  “I just wanted to thank you for your efforts to get the police to release the riverboat. A lot of my clients would like to get back home or get on with the rest of their vacations.”

  Gallister grimaced and shrugged. “I appreciate the sentiment, my dear, but I haven’t done much good in that respect so far. That police detective is one stubborn…I mean, Detective Travis is being adamant that she doesn’t want the Southern Belle to leave Hannibal until she’s had a chance to investigate the murder more fully. My attorneys have run into some unexpected roadblocks in circumventing that order. But I’m confident that they’ll be successful before too much longer. Can I offer you a drink?”

  “No, thanks,” I said.

  “Come on,” he urged with a grin. “The sun’s over the yardarm. And I have some excellent Kentucky bourbon.”

  I didn’t tell him that the same thought about the yardarm had crossed my mind earlier in the day. I said, “No, I really can’t. I had another reason for stoppin’ by, though.”

  He sipped his whiskey, then asked, “And what might that be?”

  “I want to invite you to come down to the salon at eight tonight for a special performance.” I remembered that Gallister was supposed to be a Mark Twain buff, although I was convinced that his main reason for owning this riverboat was so he’d have someplace he could shack up with his girlfriends from time to time. “Mr. Mark Twain himself will be there.”
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  Gallister grinned. “Old Sam Clemens, eh? You’re a fan of Twain’s work?”

  “Of course I am. Would I be leading a tour group on this cruise otherwise?”

  Actually, whether I was a fan of a particular writer didn’t matter one way or the other. A tour might be profitable regardless of my opinion of the author’s work. I was more interested in the bottom line, although I do have a liking for most Southern literature.

  “So you’ll be there?” Gallister asked.

  “With bells on,” I said.

  “I like that image,” he said. As he smiled at me, I had the uncomfortable feeling that he was picturing me with bells on—and not much else.

  I hurried on, “So you’ll be there?”

  “Definitely,” he said. “Assuming that that bulldog of a policewoman will allow us into the salon by then.”

  I hadn’t thought about that. Detective Travis had closed the salon for the day, but surely by now she was getting close to being finished with the interviews she was conducting with the passengers and crew. If the salon remained off limits, Mark wouldn’t be able to put on his performance after all.

  Of course, he didn’t have to in order for us to proceed with our plan. The special material he planned to include in the show was meant to soften up Gallister, that’s all. We could go ahead without it.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll speak to the detective again,” Gallister went on. “Now that I know you’ll be in attendance tonight, I won’t allow anything to interfere with the show.”

  “That’s mighty kind of you,” I told him.

  “It’s the least I can do.” He frowned in thought. “Let me see…. That young man who was killed, he was a member of your tour group, wasn’t he?”

  “That’s right. Ben Webster.” I paused. “You didn’t happen to know him, did you?”

  “Me?” Gallister looked and sounded genuinely surprised. “Why would I know him?”

  “Oh, no reason. But surely, people you’re acquainted with come on this boat from time to time.”

  “Certainly. I recommend it to all my friends and business acquaintances.” He chuckled. “I’ve let some potential customers in real estate deals take the cruise for free. One of the perks of being the owner.”

  Like getting one of your girlfriends a job here—until she turned up pregnant, I thought.

  “But I never heard of this young fellow Webster,” Gallister went on. “I leave all the details of booking the cruises to people who are good at that. I’ve learned over the years to get good people to handle things and then get out of their way and let them do their jobs. Captain Williams tends to the running of the boat, Logan Rafferty supervises security and the casino, Ted Simmons is in charge of the kitchen…you get the idea.”

  I nodded and said, “Captain Williams looks like he would’ve been right at home in Mark Twain’s day, steaming up and down the Mississippi.”

  “He certainly does. He’s a throwback, in a way. So is Rafferty. He should have been in Las Vegas in the forties and fifties.”

  “Mobster, eh?”

  Gallister put a finger on the tip of his nose, pushed it to one side, and grinned.

  “Well, if you ever need anybody killed…” I said.

  “I’ll know who to go to!” Gallister finished with a laugh. Suddenly, he looked sober as he realized what we had just said. “Now, wait just a minute. I didn’t mean for that to sound like…I mean, what with that murder that happened yesterday…I know that Logan had nothing to do with it. I’m certain of that.”

  “Oh, so am I,” I said. “How long has he worked here on the Southern Belle?”

  “Three years. Ever since I bought the boat and had it restored.”

  “So he was here when that murder happened last year.”

  I worried that I might be jumping the gun and pushing Gallister too hard, but he seemed talkative at the moment. He was still trying to impress me, I thought, and he might not be that way with a lot of other people around, like at the performance in the salon tonight—if the performance even took place.

  Gallister looked at me blankly. “What murder?”

  “I don’t know all the details,” I said. “I just heard somebody talkin’ about it. Some girl who worked as a cocktail waitress in the casino. She was hit on the head and thrown overboard….”

  “Oh, yes, that dreadful business. I remember it vaguely. What was her name again?”

  I didn’t answer. If I had just heard rumors about the case, as I’d told him, then it was likely I wouldn’t know Hannah’s name.

  “Helen?” he went on. “Hester? I remember it was some sort of old-fashioned name…Hannah! That’s it. Hannah Kramer. I remember her now.”

  You ought to, I thought. You were sleeping with her.

  “Nice girl. Very attractive, as I recall. It’s a real shame about what happened to her.”

  “It would have been a shame even if she hadn’t been very attractive,” I said.

  “Of course, of course. That’s not what I meant. When Logan told me about it, I instructed him to cooperate fully with the police.”

  “But they never found out who killed her, did they?”

  “No, not that I’m aware of.” Gallister made a face again. “I hope the Southern Belle doesn’t get a reputation as a bad-luck boat because of this new murder. If you and the other tour operators start thinking that she’s jinxed, it’ll ruin business.”

  “Well, you’ve always got real estate to fall back on,” I said.

  “That’s right, I do.” He tossed back the rest of his drink. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Delilah?”

  “No, that’s all,” I said. “I’ll see you in the salon at eight, assumin’ that Detective Travis lets us in there again?”

  “I’ll be there,” he promised. He held out a hand. I took it, and for a second I thought he was going to kiss the back of my hand. He settled for shaking it, though, and he didn’t hold on for more than a few seconds longer than he had to. I saw a distracted look in his eyes, and I had to wonder if it was there because I had brought up Hannah’s murder. He had to be worried that Webster’s murder would draw attention to that year-old, unsolved case.

  He put a hand lightly on my arm as we went to the door of the suite. He opened it and ushered me into the anteroom. “Good-bye until later, Delilah,” he said. “Remember, you’re always welcome on the Southern Belle.”

  “Thanks. I hope to be bringin’ plenty of tours on this cruise in the future.”

  He closed the door of his suite, and I opened the door leading from the anteroom to the deck. I stepped out and nearly ran smack-dab into a mountain.

  A mountain named Logan Rafferty.

  CHAPTER 24

  If I had run into him, I figure I would have bounced right off that broad chest of his. As it was, I came to a stop just inches from him, and I was immediately uncomfortable at having our personal spaces jammed together like that. I took a step back into the anteroom.

  “Ms. Dickinson,” Rafferty said. “How are you?”

  “Fine, I reckon,” I said. I didn’t want to stand around making small talk with Rafferty. I wanted to get back to Mark’s cabin.

  “No offense, but what are you doing here?” he asked. “This area is off limits to passengers.” Before I could answer, he went on, “Ah, yes, I remember. You don’t consider yourself a regular passenger.”

  “I was just talking to Mr. Gallister,” I said.

  “About…?”

  I frowned. “Well, no offense to you, either, Mr. Rafferty, but I don’t reckon that’s any of your business.”

  “Everything that happens on this boat is my business, Ms. Dickinson,” he said, his voice little more than a silky, dangerous whisper. “As a matter of fact, I was looking for you.”

  “Me?” I said. “What for?”

  “There’s something I’d like to show you, down below decks where Ben Webster’s body was found.”

  That surprised me. I figured that the police had already fo
und everything there was to be found at the crime scene, and I assumed that as a crime scene, it was still off limits. But that storage locker was near the engine room, I recalled, and the engine room personnel used the equipment in it from time to time, so it made sense that the police would try to make it accessible to the crew again as soon as possible.

  On the other hand, the Southern Belle wasn’t actually going anywhere until the cops gave the okay, so the main engines weren’t running, only the generators that provided power for the lights, air-conditioning, etc.

  “If you found something that might be important to the case,” I said to Rafferty, “you need to show it to Detective Travis, not to me.”

  Rafferty shook his head. “She’s not on board right now. She finished questioning everybody and left a little while ago.”

  “But we’re still not free to go?” Maybe Gallister’s attorneys had been successful at last, and Gallister just didn’t know about it.

  “Not yet,” Rafferty said with a disgusted look. “Anyway, we wouldn’t start back to St. Louis tonight, even if the cops said it was okay.”

  I looked past him, which wasn’t easy since he filled up nearly all the doorway between the anteroom and the deck. The rosy light was fading in the sky, which told me the sun had set. It was later than I had thought.

  “Whatever you found, I’m sure you could call Detective Travis—” I began.

  Rafferty stopped me with an emphatic shake of his head. “No, not until I’m sure what I’ve got is really important. That’s why I want you to have a look at it.”

  “Me? What do I have to do with it, whatever it is?”

  “Webster was a member of your tour group.”

  “Which doesn’t mean a blasted thing. I never met him before yesterday.”

  Rafferty leaned closer to me. I didn’t like it, but there wasn’t really anyplace I could retreat.

  “If I’m right about what I suspect,” he said, “then Webster wasn’t really who he said he was.”

  That surprised me, too. I already knew that “Ben Webster” had been a phony identity, but how had Rafferty found out about that?