The Iniquitous Investigator (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 8)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  Marnie turned pink. That meant she was blushing. Robert just smirked and said, "The fringe benefits here are the best, Nick."

  I laughed and looked over at Carter whose eyes were piercing me so intently, I was afraid I might catch fire.

  They both got their things and quickly left without saying anything else. Carter walked over to the door and locked it.

  I stood up, lifted the phone off my desk, and set it on the floor. Carter ambled over and looked at me for a long moment. I could feel my mouth go dry. He smiled his sweet southern smile and pushed all the papers off my desk with one big swipe.

  . . .

  I was finally catching my breath when Carter said, "Look at this mess, son."

  I nodded. We were both sitting on the floor on a blanket I kept stowed for emergencies like this. Neither of us had a stitch on.

  I looked around the room. The hat stand was on the floor. One chair was turned over. The papers from my desk had migrated across the floor into a corner. My tie was moving around slowly, caught on the blade of the ceiling fan. I could hear the sounds of the City from the open window. I wondered if anyone had seen us and then decided I didn't give a damn.

  Carter pulled me in and kissed me hard like he'd been doing, off and on, for the last hour. I was mildly alarmed by the intensity of our passion. We were relatively young and had a healthy private life, but since we'd been released, I had felt an urgency to be close to Carter like this more than I could ever remember. He obviously shared the sentiment.

  Right then, I heard someone trying to open the office door. I looked around for my BVDs and couldn't find them. When the person realized the door was locked, he inserted a key in the lock, turned it, and began to push the door open. Carter stood up, in his full glory, and looked straight at the door. He was prepared to greet whoever it was with his arms crossed and nothing else.

  Mike walked in, looked up, and said, "Whoa!" He quickly closed the door behind him, locked it again, and peeked around the partition. I looked up and said, "Well?"

  He blushed hard and turned around. "Sorry. Should I come back?"

  Carter said, "Do what you want. You've seen worse."

  Mike started laughing. "Yeah. I have."

  Chapter 3

  Mildred's Diner

  Tuesday, July 6, 1954

  About half past 2 in the afternoon

  After talking it over with Mike, we decided to take Andy with us. While we sat in the Roadmaster on Ellis, Andy walked across the street to the diner and went inside. He had a note from me and a folded twenty to hand to Patty.

  From behind the wheel, I turned to Carter. "What is this all that about?"

  Carter leaned against his door and considered me for a moment. He passed his hand over his jaw and smiled. "I don't know. It's like I can't turn it off. Even right now."

  I kept my eyes focused on his face instead of looking in the obvious direction. "Me, too." I could feel myself sweating, so I rolled down the window. Carter shifted so he could do the same thing.

  "Why?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "I don't really care."

  I turned to look up the street. Finally, I said, "Maybe it's the relief of being accused of something. I remember sitting in that courtroom in Albany and watching that woman make up her story and feeling like there was still another shoe to drop. We had broken the law. They just messed things up and we skated."

  Carter drummed his fingers on the dashboard. "Could be. When O'Connor asked you to stand up, all I could think of was how sexy you looked." I turned and looked at him with a half smile. He grinned. "Makes me want to borrow some cuffs from Mike or Dawson."

  I shook my head. "Carter, this is serious." I could barely keep it together, so I playfully swung at him. He grabbed my wrist. I tried to pull it away, but he maintained his grip. "Carter..."

  He released my wrist and I tried to swing at him again. He backed up against the door as I did. I missed. I scooted closer and tried a third time. This time, he caught my wrist with his left hand and his right hand suddenly swung around and walloped me on the shoulder.

  "Shit!"

  He dropped my wrist and leaned over. "Damn, Nick. I'm sorry." He reached over and rubbed my arm slowly. He leaned across and whispered, "I want--"

  Suddenly there was a bang on the trunk. I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw Andy standing there at the rear of the car looking amused. He came around to Carter's side, which was on the curb, opened the back door, and slid inside.

  "What's up with you two?" he asked.

  Carter said, "Spring fever."

  I laughed.

  Andy said, "It's July, Carter."

  I asked, "Did you give the note to Patty?"

  "Sure. She said she'll be out here in about five minutes."

  We all sat there for a long, uncomfortable moment.

  "Well?" asked Andy.

  "Well, what?" That was Carter.

  "You two in heat or what?"

  We both laughed.

  . . .

  It was more like ten minutes, but eventually I saw Patty walk over to the corner and towards the car. Andy scooted over to make room for her in the backseat.

  She was somewhere north of 50, was from somewhere back east like New York, and had bright red hair straight from a bottle.

  She sat down in the backseat and sighed deeply. "Boy, am I glad to see you two."

  I turned around and said, "Good to see you, Patty. Do you want a ride home?"

  She shook her head. "I don't live far from here and need to do some marketing before I go home."

  "This is Andy Anderson. He works for us."

  She nodded and said, "Nice to know you."

  Carter turned around and asked, "So, what do you know about Mildred?"

  Patty shook her head. "I know she ain't married. I don't know about this cockamamie story, but it's bull."

  "When did she leave?" I asked.

  She thought for a moment. Finally, she said, "It was last Sunday."

  "The fourth?" I asked.

  "No. It was the Sunday before."

  "The twenty-seventh?" asked Carter.

  "Yeah. That's it." She looked in her purse and pulled out a battered pack of Pall Mall. "Mind?"

  Carter pulled out his Zippo before I could get to mine. He lit her cigarette and she took a deep drag on it.

  With an exhale of blue smoke, she said, "OK. So, here's what I know." She removed a piece of tobacco from her teeth and tossed it out the window. Using her cigarette for emphasis, she started. "I got here around 5 on that Sunday morning. Usually, Mildred would already be up. You know she lives above the diner, right?"

  I nodded. I had no idea but wanted to keep Patty on a roll.

  "I go into the kitchen and light the grill. Joe likes the grill to be hot when he walks in around 5:30. Then I start to take the chairs down." She took another drag on her cigarette. "About ten minutes later, Mildred comes down. She's all dolled up and is lugging two big bags. She tells me she has to go to Texas. Being naturally curious, I ask her why. She says that her husband is sick and she has to take care of him."

  "But you didn't believe her?" I asked.

  "Hell, no." She took a final drag and then threw her cigarette out the window. "When I stop her and ask what's really going on, she gets angry and tells me to mind my fucking business, if you'll pardon my French." The three of us just laughed.

  "Do you know where she went?" I asked.

  "I know she was taking the Southern Pacific. I heard her mention that to someone on the phone before she left."

  "Did she call them?"

  "Yeah. And it was long distance. She used the payphone and took some coins from the till to make the call."

  "Did she take the ferry to Oakland or leave from the station at 3rd and Townsend?" That was Carter.

  "I know it was the 3rd Street Station because I heard her say that when the taxi pulled up."

  "Did she mention when she would arrive?" That was Carter again. He pulled out a little not
ebook and a pencil from his coat pocket and began to make notes.

  Patty thought for a moment and then replied, "Oh, sure, she did." She thought for another moment. "She said she'd be there around 11 in the morning on that Tuesday. I remember that, too."

  I asked Patty. "What's the number of the payphone in there?"

  "Underhill 6667." Carter scribbled in his notebook.

  "Anything else you can tell us?"

  Patty sat there for a long moment. She sighed. "Well, the one thing I don't understand is Hilda."

  "Who's Hilda?" I asked.

  "She's the one who threw you out. She just started a couple of weeks before Mildred left. She claims Mildred left her in charge, but Mildred never said no such thing. Not to me, leastways."

  "What's her last name?"

  "Logan."

  "Know where she's from?"

  "Texas. What's that place on the coast with all the gambling?"

  "Galveston?" That was Andy.

  "Sure. That's the place. I think she knew Mildred a long time ago. She's staying up in Mildred's apartment. Took over, from what I can tell."

  I reached over the seat and pushed a hundred in the woman's hand. She looked at it and said, "What's this?"

  "For your time."

  She looked at it for a moment. "My mother told me to never look a gift horse in the mouth. So, I'll say thank you and I hope you find Mildred. I have a real bad feeling about this."

  I nodded. "We'll do our best. Thanks, Patty."

  She looked around the car at each of us. "They always said I was a real looker back in the 20s. Seems like such a waste." She sighed and opened the car door. As she got out of the car, she said, "Thanks, Mr. Williams. Good luck." With that, she slammed the door closed, walked back to Van Ness, turned north, and was gone.

  . . .

  When we got back to the office, I asked Marnie to call Mike to come meet us. When he walked in, Mike looked around and said, "All clear?"

  I laughed and said, "For now. Wanted to let you know what we found out."

  He came and sat down next to Andy. Carter was back at his spot on the corner of my desk and I was getting distracted. Again.

  Andy smirked at me for a moment. I looked over at Mike pointedly and asked, "Having trouble keeping your trap shut?"

  He put his hand against his chest. "Who me?"

  I nodded and shook my head. Andy said, "We got a complete run-down after lunch on this morning's sighting in the wild." Looking over at Mike, he said, "I had a sighting myself."

  I glanced at Carter, who was blushing hard. I could feel the heat rising in my own face. Of course, it served us right. We had no business doing that kind of business in the office, even if it was our company.

  "Now that everyone knows, all I can say in my own defense is that this is what happens when you do hard time. You get a little stir."

  Everyone laughed.

  I looked down at my desk and began to move papers around. "Now. Back to business. Here's what happened." We went over what Patty had said.

  Mike asked me, "Where do you think she went?"

  Marnie piped up from her desk. "Based on the timing, I'd say she went to Galveston. She left here on the Coast Daylight and picked up the Sunset Limited in L.A. That arrives in Houston at 8:30 on the morning of the third day. With transfers, looks like she'd be in Galveston around 11."

  I looked around Andy at Marnie and asked, "How'd you know that?"

  "Looking at the Southern Pacific schedule."

  "Thanks, doll."

  Marnie giggled.

  Mike said, "I'll get a line on this Hilda Logan and find out her story in Galveston. Maybe we'll also find Mildred. What's her last name, by the way?"

  I thought for a moment and looked at Carter. He shrugged. I said, "Dunno."

  Andy replied, "Fontaine."

  Mike turned. "How'd you know?"

  "It was on the tax license posted by the cash register."

  I smiled and said, "You G-Men don't miss a trick, do you?"

  Andy just smiled as Mike pretended to sock him on the arm and said, "Pow."

  . . .

  In the short drive up the hill that evening, we got real handsy with each other. I was still enjoying the way my new Roadmaster took the hills, so I was trying to focus on that while Carter was rubbing my thigh.

  When we pulled into the garage, I parked next to his new Mercury Monterey. I sat behind the steering wheel for a moment after I killed the engine.

  "What?" asked Carter.

  "I'm in no shape to walk into that kitchen."

  "Can't you adjust?"

  I sighed. "This is like we're always on. I love you Carter, but I feel like I'm on some sort of drug."

  Carter put his hand behind my neck and rubbed it. "Me, too, son. I don't mind it but I don't understand it."

  "Maybe it's the tension of everything. The new house. New people living with us. Your mother being here. Then this arrest."

  Carter rubbed my neck some more. "It's a lot."

  I felt my palms get sweaty. Again. "Yeah." My voice was dry.

  We sat in the car for another five minutes. Finally, I felt like I could stand up without embarrassing myself. "You ready?" I asked.

  Carter nodded. "Sure. Let's give it a try."

  We got out, closed the doors, and walked to the bottom of the stairs. After some adjusting and wiggling, I started up the step with Carter following behind me. As I got to the top, I turned around. Carter was just at eye level, for a change. I put my arm around his neck and pulled him in for a long kiss. We stayed that way for a while. I wasn't sure how long.

  . . .

  I opened the kitchen door to find everyone seated at the table and already eating. Whatever it was smelled good. Mrs. Kopek stood and said, "Mr. Nick. Mr. Carter. Can I speak with you?"

  After saying hello to everyone, we followed her into the dining room. She stopped and said to me, "Mrs. Williams. She call maybe thirty minutes ago. She say to come there quick when you arrive."

  I asked, "Did she say why?"

  Mrs. Kopek shook her head. "No. But Mrs. Roscoe." That was Carter's Aunt Velma. "She already there."

  I said, "Thank you, Mrs. Kopek."

  She nodded as we turned and walked quickly to the front door and down the steps. As we crossed Huntington Park, Carter asked me, "Do you think Mama is sick?"

  I said, "Dunno. Let's just get over there as fast as we can."

  . . .

  We were knocking on the door to my father's apartment in less than five minutes. Geneva, the housekeeper Lettie, my stepmother, had just hired, opened the door. She was a tall, angular Negro woman who stood erect and had an almost regal bearing. I had no idea how old she was because the dark mocha skin on her face was tight and framed out her cheekbones to a point. She had very direct black eyes that never deflected or looked away. I'd only met her once before, on the previous Friday when we'd had dinner with my father and Lettie following their return to the City from a vacation down in Carmel. Geneva seemed to favor bright scarves that she wrapped around her head, covering her hair. I had no idea, but I had the sense that it might have been a style commonly seen somewhere in Africa. In that moment, however, she looked worried. "They're in the living room."

  We walked through the entryway and into the sitting room. It wasn't a large spot, but there was a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked over the City and made it feel large. The light of the late afternoon was soft through sheer drapes that allowed in the light but without the glare.

  Carter's mother was sitting on the sofa holding her sister and rocking her while she cried. As we stood there, Lettie stood up and walked over to us. In a low voice she said, "It's Velma's husband, Leroy. He's had a heart attack. They need to get home as fast as they can."

  I nodded and asked, "Where's the phone?"

  . . .

  Using the phone in my father's office, I called Robert first. He managed all my properties, including the two planes I owned and which were usually
leased out. He told me that The Laconic Lumberjack, a Lockheed Constellation once owned by Howard Hughes and named for a friend of ours in Georgia, was at the airport. He said he would call Captain Morris, the chief pilot, and get things lined up as soon as possible. I asked him to call back at my father's apartment when he had confirmed everything.

  I then called Marnie. There was no answer so I called the office. That went through to the service. I left a message about Aunt Velma with the gal there and asked her to call Marnie at home every thirty minutes until she got through.

  When I walked back into the sitting room, Carter was sitting next to Aunt Velma and holding her hand. He was talking to her in a low voice. After a moment, she started laughing. I realized he'd been telling her some bawdy joke, which was something they liked to do with each other. As I watched, Mrs. Jones stood up and walked over to me.

  She put out her gloved hand and I took it. Leaning in, she said, "I read about what happened yesterday to you boys. Are you going to be OK?"

  I nodded, surprised at her concern. "We didn't do anything--"

  She squeezed my hand. "Oh, I know. For some reason, when I read about it in the newspaper, I could see for the first time how difficult this all must be and how I've only been making it harder for you both. I'm so sorry."

  Releasing my hand, she gave me a kiss on the cheek. "We'll be back, Nicholas. And the next time I'm here, you and I are going to sit down and have ourselves a nice, long chat." She put her gloved hand to my face. "I think you're a real fine boy and I'm proud to be your mother. I hope you know that."

  I nodded. I couldn't speak. She smiled. I could see Carter in her expression as clear as day. My eyes got wet and I smiled as well as I could.

  . . .

  Later that night, after we had a sandwich in the kitchen thanks to our cook, Mrs. Strakova, we headed upstairs to the second floor and to our bedroom which was at the end of the hall.

  The room overlooked Sacramento Street and a side alley. There were tall windows on two walls and a fireplace across from a big four-poster bed that had been built for my grandfather.

  Without turning on any of the lamps, we both stripped down to our BVDs. We climbed into bed together. The drapes were pulled back and the dim glow from the lights in Huntington Park barely illuminated the room. Carter had his left arm around me and I was laying with my head on his wide chest.