The Unexpected Heiress (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 1)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  He extended his hand. "I am. Are you Nick?"

  I nodded and said, "Pleased to meet you." I turned and saw that Carter and Martinelli were behind me.

  "This is Carter Jones, my friend."

  Carter and Ben shook. "And this is Carlo Martinelli, who works with Carter down at the firehouse."

  OK, kids. I've seen fireworks. I certainly felt them when I first met Carter. That song, "Some Enchanted Evening." That's our song. That's what happened.

  Well, I just watched, absolutely happy for the first time in days, and enjoyed seeing the fireworks on display right there, high above San Francisco.

  Carlo settled in at the bar. Ben asked him what he wanted. Carlo couldn't speak. Ben laughed. "He'll have a martini, dry. One olive." Carlo nodded. Ben smiled. It was glorious.

  I turned to Carter. "I need to talk to Marcel. Be right back."

  I found the marvelous Marcel and he looked quite delighted to see me. I discreetly handed him the folded bill I'd scammed off my husband. He said, "Your table is ready now, Mr. Williams."

  I nodded and looked around. "Is the Hearst party here?" Marcel looked a little sheepish. "They will be at the table beside you. That was the best I could do."

  I smiled and said, "You have no idea how perfect that is. Thanks again, Marcel."

  We sat down, ordered our food, and settled in. The view was glorious. The sunset was on the other side, but we had the Bay Bridge view, which was my favorite.

  Carter and I sat next to each other and Carlo and Ben sat on the other side. As we ate, I kept giving the Hearst party sly glances. They were not happy about their table being occupied by us. When they sat down, about ten minutes after we did, they all looked sour.

  After about twenty minutes, the elder brother said, "I really wish the City would run all these faggots out of town. San Francisco is too beautiful a place to be ruined by their kind."

  His wife put her hand on his arm and said something I couldn't hear.

  I looked at Ben who shook his head. I looked at Carlo who nodded. I turned to Carter who also nodded.

  I said to Ben, "You're outnumbered. But this has to be a unanimous decision, kid. What do you say?"

  He looked around the table. The Hearsts seemed to know what was going on because they got quiet too.

  He looked at me and said, "You're the host. You decide."

  I put down my napkin and turned to the elder Hearst brother.

  "Excuse me, Mr. Hearst?"

  He put down his spoon and said, "Yes?"

  "You may not remember me, but we met several years ago at your youngest sister's coming out. My name is—"

  He screwed up his face and said, "Oh, I know who you are."

  His wife said, "George. Be polite."

  "I don't mean to be rude or interrupt your meal, but since you've been rude to me, just now, knowing who I am and that your statement was just directed at me, let me tell you this."

  I took a deep breath.

  "I wouldn't buy a single issue of that rag you call a newspaper, not even to line the cat's tray. You are a blight upon the City and I hope you might have the common decency to leave well enough alone and just report the actual news for a change."

  George smirked at me. "I assume you're referring to Monday's morning paper?"

  "You're damn right I am. You ruined the lives of twenty people. And I bet it didn't improve your circulation one bit because everyone in this town knows what a piece of trash that rag is."

  I was getting wrought up now. Carter put his hand on my left arm.

  "Young man, you are an offense to all that this City stands for."

  "Are you kidding me? This is the Mark Hopkins Hotel, after all, named after a man who killed thousands of coolies to build a railroad. And we're down the street from Huntington Park, named after one of the worst rascals in American history. This City was built on dirty, filthy miners, brothels, lying, cheating, gambling, and everything else you could get down at The Barbary Coast. So don't talk to me about some lofty sentiment about the noble pride of this City. It's been a whore since it was born and will likely always be one, no matter how pretty it's tarted up to look. And that's what I love about it. It's honest not phony, like you and your paper."

  I stood up and said to my friends, "I'm sorry, gentlemen, I'll be at the bar."

  I nodded to the ladies at their table. I heard a buzz of chatter in the restaurant as I walked through and took a seat at the bar.

  I sat down and said, "Shot of dark rum, please."

  It had been a hell of a day, and this was not the end I'd been expecting. But then I looked up and saw Carter leaning on the bar next to me. He was smiling that sweet Georgia smile. "God, I love it when you get on your soapbox. I just wanna..." He leaned over and kissed me right on the mouth. At the Top of the Mark, in front of the children of William Randolph Hearst, and in view of the most magical city on Earth.

  Chapter 15

  The Top of the Mark

  Friday, May 15, 1953

  Later that evening

  I paid up using my newly minted Diners' Club card. It took a while for the waiter to figure out how to write out the receipt. But we got it handled and then loaded ourselves into the elevator car.

  We had the same operator going down that we had coming up. She smiled and looked at Ben. "How was the first date?"

  He was startled at first and then he shyly took Carlo's hand. "Good. Really good."

  She looked at me and said, "And I heard that you kicked that idiot Hearst right in the pants."

  Carter took my hand and said, "It was magnificent."

  The door opened and flashes went off in our faces. I said, "Oh, shit."

  We moved out of the elevator and tried to squeeze through on our way to the door but the small crowd was insistent.

  "Mr. Williams? Did you really throw a drink in George Hearst's face?"

  I knew this guy was from the Chronicle. "No. I just told him what I thought of his paper."

  The reporter smiled at me and gave me a thumbs up sign.

  Another person asked, "Why were you here tonight?"

  I replied, "This has been a very tragic week for my family. I wanted to spend the night with friends having a relaxing dinner."

  "Who are your friends?"

  "They're just friends."

  "Is it true that you and Carter Jones are male lovers and that you live together?"

  I was appalled, actually. This was getting out of hand. I turned to Carter who just shrugged and then pulled me into a side hug. The cameras went off.

  "We do live together. We are very good friends."

  "How is your father?"

  "He's resting. Today was a very trying day."

  "Will you be speaking at your sister's memorial tomorrow?"

  I actually didn't know the answer to that question. "I don't know the exact program but I can tell you I miss my sister. She was one hell of a gal."

  More cameras exploded.

  "Are you still the wealthiest man in San Francisco?"

  "I don't know. You'll have to ask Bank of America. They handle all my money. And quite well, in fact. Everyone should bank with them."

  There were some laughs when I said that.

  "OK, fellas. One last question."

  "Who killed your sister?"

  "Ask the police."

  I grabbed Carter's hand and we pushed through the scrum with Ben and Carlo behind.

  The car was right where I'd left it. The kid was standing there, the engine was running, and we all piled in. I hand him my last five and said, "Thanks, kid."

  He saluted me and said, "Thank you, Mr. Williams. I hate the Examiner!"

  I smiled at him and then pulled the Buick around the brick drive as the cameras followed us, taking more photos. We moved out onto California Street heading west.

  Carter said, "You were magnificent back there."

  Carlo said, "Yeah. That was really something." He sounded doubtful. I didn't blame him. He signed up for a date
, not a blinding journalistic frenzy.

  I looked at the two lovebirds through the rear-view mirror. They were holding hands. At least the date part was going well.

  I took Carter's hand and held it. It was a double-date, after all.

  . . .

  We went up to the top of Twin Peaks. It's the best Lover's Lane in all these United States. What better place to go? No streetlights. No cops. Just an amazing view of our very own Baghdad by the Bay.

  After about thirty minutes of serious necking, in the front seat and in the back, we all decided to head home.

  Carlo gave me his address. He wasn't far from us. His apartment was in a building across from Dolores Park. We pulled up and I looked in the mirror again. Ben was nodding as if he was saying yes to an invitation. They both slid out.

  Carlo said, "Thanks for an amazing evening, Carter." He paused. "Nick."

  Ben leaned down and looked at me through Carter's window. "Thanks, Mr. Williams. I'll never forget tonight."

  I laughed and said, "My pleasure. I expect you won't forget this evening for a very long time. Our picture will probably be on the front page of every paper tomorrow morning."

  Carter added, "Except the Examiner."

  Ben turned white, which was quite a feat for him, considering how pale he was already. "Do you think so?"

  I nodded. "Will that hurt you at work?"

  He looked scared and nodded. "It might."

  "Well, tell you what. You call me if anyone gives you grief. You two go have a good night and don't worry about any of this. We'll get it all sorted out. I have great lawyers. Now, scoot you two!"

  They both waved and ran up the steps to Carlo's apartment.

  We drove home slowly. I enjoyed holding Carter's hand in the car. Something had happened that night. It wasn't just the satisfaction of calling out George Hearst, although that was fun. Something else had changed. And, as smart as I thought I was, I couldn't put my finger on it.

  We pulled up into the driveway and parked the car.

  Mike was standing, once again, under the porch light, reading yet another dime-store novel and smoking the stub of yet another cigar.

  Carter and I hobbled and walked up the steps.

  Carter said, "Mike."

  "Carter."

  "You alone?"

  "Yep. Looks like you are, too."

  I shook my head and, pushing through the two behemoths, opened the door. I was glad to be home and wondering why Mike was there.

  "Is Nick around?" Mike was continuing their little game.

  Carter pushed the door closed behind him, pulled me into his arms, and said, "Yeah. He's right here. And I'm so proud of him, I could burst."

  "Yeah, well that's, um, why I'm here, actually." I suddenly realized he'd been showing a false bravado out on the porch. He looked sad and upset.

  "What's up, Mike?"

  "Well, before we get to that. Marlene confessed."

  I nodded.

  "Marty knew from the sales guys about your sister waving around a lot of cash at McAlister's. He told Marlene and she put it together that this was your sister. She knew your old man had a big stash under the floor and figured Janet would have the same."

  I looked at Carter who nodded.

  "Pure coincidence then. So, why did they go after Janet first?"

  "Easier mark, from what I could tell."

  "Yeah. That safe in my father's house is hard to get into. Besides, breaking the combination and figuring out how to open the floor up, the rug has to be taken up in a very specific way."

  He nodded. "The opportunity came when she took the car in on Monday for service. Marty bumped another mechanic. Said he was a friend of the family and wanted to make sure it was done right."

  I rolled my eyes and turned to look out the dark window.

  Mike continued. "He must have cut the lines in a way so that it wouldn't be immediately obvious. She might have been driving around for a while before that happened. As for the transmission, she probably just thought the car was running rough."

  "Old man McAlister is gonna be very upset that a murder was planned in his own garage."

  Mike laughed bitterly and said, "Yeah. We already talked to him. He took it badly."

  I looked at Mike. It was obvious that he was hurting bad and it didn't have anything to do with Janet, Marlene, my father or old man McAlister.

  "What else is it, Mike?"

  "Your little set-to at the Mark Hopkins?"

  I said, "Yeah. What about it?"

  "The mayor, the goddam mayor, 'Rob-Rob' himself, called me personally thirty minutes ago and wanted to know if it was true that I was your friend. He wanted to know how well I knew you. Asked me all sorts of questions."

  "What did you say?"

  "I told him the truth."

  Carter whistled. "What happened?"

  "Suspended. No pay. Indefinite."

  I was incensed. "What? Are you kidding me?"

  "Nope. There's more."

  "Oh shit."

  "Ben White. Suspended indefinitely without pay. Carlo Martinelli. Suspended indefinitely without pay. Carter Jones. Fired."

  Carter moved to the sofa and collapsed. I said, "I need a goddam drink."

  The phone rang. I said, "Someone else answer it if you want to. I'm not up to it right now. Who wants what?"

  The phone kept ringing.

  Mike said, "Rye, neat."

  Carter didn't reply. I asked him again. No reply. The phone kept ringing. I walked over to it, lifted up the receiver, and dropped it down again. I counted to five and then I took the receiver off and laid it down on the shelf.

  I looked into the living room. Carter was just staring into space. Mike was standing, chewing on his cigar, but it had gone out. I poured Mike his drink and took it to him.

  I leaned down next to Carter and said, "Honey, talk to me."

  He looked at me blankly. "That's all I ever wanted to do. All my life. And to work in this city, where it means something big, real big, to be a fireman. That's all I ever wanted to do. All my life." His face was hollow. It was distressing to see, to say the least.

  I took his hand and I said, "We can go anywhere, we can do anything you want. You know that. We don't have to stay here."

  That seemed to shake him. He looked at me, as if noticing I was there for the first time, and said, very quietly, "Hell no. I'm not leaving. They can fire me, they can call me names, but I'm not leaving. This is my home. I live here with you, my husband." He reached over and pulled me in for a deep and probing kiss.

  When he released me, I fell back and said, "Whoa."

  Mike asked, "Do you want me to leave?"

  I said, "Hell, no. No one leaves. Everyone gets drunk. That's an order."

  As I stood up to go get myself a drink, I had a thought. "Should we tell Ben and Carlo?"

  Mike asked, "How did that go, by the way?"

  Carter laughed wryly. "Beautifully. One hell of a way to start a new relationship."

  I asked, "What do you guys think?"

  Mike said, "I'd want to know. I would hate to find out you knew and didn't tell me." He looked down at Carter. "That's why I came over here to wait for you."

  I nodded and said, "You're right." I looked at Carter. "Do you have Carlo's phone number?"

  "No, but he should be in Polk's."

  I went over to the phone alcove and pulled out the big monster book. I looked up his name, and there he was at the right address. I pressed the switch hook on the phone and held it to get a new line. As I did so, it rang.

  I answered it. "Yeah?"

  "Nick?"

  "Carlo? I was just about to call you."

  "Yeah, well, I just heard from my chief. And he, um, he told me about the other guys as well. Um, can you come over? Ben seems to not be taking it very well."

  "Why? What's going on?"

  "He's lying on my bed crying. I don't know what to do."

  "Hold on. We're coming over."

  I put down the
phone and looked over at Carter and Mike. "Load 'em up, fellas. We have some queers we need to go rustle up."

  Chapter 16

  696 Church Street

  Friday, May 15, 1953

  Much later that evening

  When we got to Carlo's apartment, he was sitting outside on the steps, which was probably a good thing since I had neglected to ask for his apartment number.

  During the short drive, Carter had said, "Let me handle this." Not only was his soft, southern voice persuasive, I figured I'd made enough trouble all over town today that I didn't need to make things worse in this budding relationship.

  I pulled alongside the curb and Carter lifted himself out of the car. He hobbled over and up the steps. Plopping himself down, he began to talk to the poor guy, who looked like he'd just lost his last friend.

  Mike said, "This is pretty bad stuff here, Nick."

  I turned around in the seat and looked back at him. He was slouched against the corner and looked pretty glum as well.

  "How are you handling this, Mike?"

  He looked down at his hands and then back up at me. "I'm like Carter. All I've ever wanted to do was be a policeman. I can't imagine doing anything else."

  I looked at my friend and started thinking. It was the germ of an idea, but the more I thought about it, the more I liked it.

  I turned back around and looked up the street and out over the park. The city lights were dim and this was that wonderful time of night when San Francisco sparkled, even in a residential section like this.

  Suddenly I had it. I hit the horn twice and said, "Fuck yeah!"

  Mike said, "What the hell, Nick? People are trying to sleep here."

  I turned around and said, "I want you to come work for me, Mike!"

  "I ain't no gumshoe. Besides, what about a license? Yours is probably on thin ice as it is."

  "We'll sue then. Come on, Mike, come work for me. You can run the whole outfit, I don't care."

  Without waiting for a reply, I jumped out of the car, ran up the steps, and said, "Look, you guys. Stand up. Stop feeling sorry for yourselves."