by Brian Meeks
He had made very few mistakes in his life, but trusting Dwight to handle the matter when it had gotten complicated a few months ago had been one of them. It was affecting how he was sleeping. If things weren’t straightened out soon, he feared the worst. This weekend he would have to have a serious discussion with Dwight.
CHAPTER 13
Henry looked dapper in his Hahne & Co suit, a navy blue wool flannel double-breasted jacket with four buttons. It was his nicest one though probably not anything Mr. Palmeroy would wear. Henry thought it would do. He knocked on Celine’s door. She opened it, the chain still on, then immediately let him in.
“Look at you, Jim Dandy,” Celine said, putting her hands on her hips.
Henry ran a finger across the brim of his hat. “Thanks.”
Buttons hopped up on the coffee table and meowed.
Henry replied, “Hey there, Buttons,” and stroked the cat’s arched back. Buttons purred in approval.
Celine grabbed her clutch and picked up a tiny note book like the one Henry carried. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
Buttons, who seemed to know he wasn’t invited, moved into an aggressive napping position on the back of the couch. He was still purring, though, and Henry took this to mean they were free to go.
Henry held the door for Celine, but she stopped before they walked out. “Oh, wait a second…” She bounded to the kitchen table and picked up a butterfly knife.
Before she could put it in her purse, Henry gave her a stern look and said, “Where did you get that?”
Celine gave a sly smile. With three quick flicks of her wrist, she opened the knife. “It was a gift from Lawrence. He gave it to me after…” She paused and looked at the knife, “…it has my initials on the blade.” She held it up for Henry to see, then deftly flicked it closed.
“You’re pretty good with that thing.”
“Larry taught me.”
Henry didn’t like the idea of her carrying a weapon but didn’t have the heart to tell her to leave it behind. Celine was a strong young woman, intelligent, and more clever than most, but when she became a pawn in their last case and almost died, it took its toll. Celine had shown up to work despite Henry’s protests, and, when he tried to make her take some time off, a single tear broke his heart and he gave in. They went on working as if nothing had happened until Henry knew she was strong enough to handle some time off. He hated to cut the time off short, but he needed her, and Celine seemed excited to come along.
“Rule one: the knife stays in the purse.”
Celine gave a mock salute, and they left.
The drive out to the Palmeroy estate was pleasant; they talked about their time off. Henry left out the two murders, and Celine painted a rosy story of spending time with Carol. Henry noticed the two didn’t go out to dinner or the bars anymore. He hoped her spirit would heal.
“When we get there, I’m going to talk to Mrs. Palmeroy, ask to see his office, and generally poke my nose around. I want you to see if you can get any of the staff to open up to you.”
“The help interviewing the help,” she said, feigning offense.
Henry ignored her. “Mrs. Palmeroy suspects her husband is planning to kill himself, or more accurately, to have himself killed.”
“Why would he do that?”
“There is only one reason, an insurance dodge, but unless he has had some major financial misfortunes lately, he doesn’t need the money. I suspect our client is simply wrong, nuts, or possibly both.”
“What should I ask them?”
“Just see if they have noticed anything out of the ordinary. Don’t come right out and say it, but if either Mr. or Mrs. Palmeroy are cheating on the other, the staff will know. They always do.”
“Okay, I can do that. What’s rule number two?”
“What?”
“Rule one: the knife stays in the purse. It would be a pretty poor list if it ended at one.”
Henry smiled. Celine was getting a bit of her sassiness back. “Let’s see how you do with rule one.”
CHAPTER 14
He sat down on the couch and looked at the neatly arranged pieces of paper on the coffee table, then stood up and paced. The couch had a heavy metal plate attached to the back and sat three feet in front of the door. To enter the apartment, he had to either climb over the couch or travel through a maze of boxes to the right. Getting to the bedroom was even more difficult, but it made him feel safe. His closet had a hole that led to the next apartment and an opening with a ladder down to the third floor. The apartment his fortress, and, when he was there, he was less volatile.
The main doors were boarded up but loose. The hallway was dark at night, but during the day there was light from the missing doors of unit 403 and 407. He had removed them to make tables and to let in the morning. He lived in apartment 405 and had for a couple of years. The sniper rifle was cleaned last night and put away behind a secret panel. On the counter was an assortment of supplies, including four packs of light bulbs, three rolls of tape, glue, cleaning solution, six boxes of crackers, five flashlights, and five extra sets of batteries.
Nobody had ever been in his fortress, but the conversation was still lively.
“Well, yesterday was a success, I would say,” he said as he paced.
“Yes, it was. What are we doing today?”
A mouse scurried across the floor, stopped, looked at the man talking to himself, and decided it was best to move on.
“Today, we let him think. We have planning to do. We need to go to the laundry mat and do some shopping.”
“We could just buy clothes?”
He stopped talking and looked at the grimy window. “I wonder where the clocks are playing and why they don’t sing. Tic, toc, little clock, go away from me. Tic, toc, little clock, set my mind free.”
“Where are the clocks?”
He stopped pacing, turned quickly, and wandered through another series of barricades into the kitchen. “Tic, toc, the clock sings…”
The pencils were neatly arranged on a table. He sat at it, picked a pencil, drew a circle and neatly created each hour of the clock face. The numbers were perfect. He went to work on the individual minute marks. “Tic, toc, the days go past, the landscape bleeds, and we get a rash…” He began to whistle, but the drawing continued.
“What is that?” He hopped up from the table and ran through the maze. A baseball bat appeared in his hands as he listened at the door. “Who’s there?”
The silent hallway bears no resemblance to the sounds he heard. The footsteps he imagined are getting closer. and are not shoes on a wooden hallway but boots in forest leaves and mud.
He whispered, “Tic, toc, what is the password?”
The hallway said nothing.
He crouched by the door, holding the bat across his chest, “Tic, toc, what is the password?”
An hour passed, but he didn’t move. His legs cramped but he remained vigilant and waited for the password. The muffled sound of a car backfiring in the distance made him hold his breath. He tried to get even lower to the ground.
Two minutes later he stood up, leaned the bat against the door, and returned to the kitchen. He started talking out loud, but the conversation was one-sided. “Get it together, Lieutenant Vance.”
He opened a canteen of water and splashed a bit on his face. His unit didn’t have running water, so he filled up canteens at the YMCA where he showered. He always felt better after a shower. It helped him focus and stay in the present. It helped him ignore the clocks in his head and the constant ticking that made him want to scream. On occasion, he went several days without incident. During those times, he planned.
Lieutenant Randolph Vance had survived WWII but only just barely. His last mission had gone horribly awry through no fault of his own. For six days he had been behind enemy lines, lost, forgotten, and presumed dead. With most of his supplies lost, he had had just five rounds in his pistol, no food, and a small gold pocket watch that had belonged to his grandfa
ther. He lay in the mud in the forest, less than 10 meters from the outer perimeter of a new staging area for a panzer division. The Germans had come up so quickly and with considerable air support that his unit had been sent into disarray. A shell striking a huge pine tree, just above his head, had knocked him unconscious. His wounds were superficial, but, when he woke up, everyone was gone. He was alone and was sure someone would come any minute, but all he heard was German being spoken and the ticking of his watch. Even after the Germans moved on and he had made it back across the lines, the feeling of abandonment lingered. He remained friendless for many years until he found an ally, a man who had been there, too, and had had a similar mission but with different goals.
The soft morning light faded into daytime. He took his pills and fell into bed. He would meet his friend later and tell him about the woman at the diner. He looked forward to the next move.
CHAPTER 15
The house was designed to look like an English estate. Celine pointed at the manicured lawn and shrubs as they pulled up the crushed rock drive. “Look at this place; it’s like something from Life magazine.”
“Don’t get caught up in the glitz. We have a job to do.”
“I know, I know, no need to worry. I’m going to make friends with the staff and see if they know anything.”
“The staff knows everything. Use your instincts.”
Henry pulled up behind an old man with a rag who was polishing the chrome on the headlamps of a Rolls Royce. Henry got out, but before Celine could grab the door handle, an old man opened it for her while tipping his hat.
“Welcome to Palmeroy Place. My name is Atkins. We have a grand weekend in store for you.”
Celine smiled and got out. “Hello, my name is Celine.” She stuck out her hand to shake. The old man was taken aback. An uncomfortable second gave way to laughter, and he said, “My name is Atkins Jamison. I’m pleased to meet you, Celine.” He shook her hand and quickly moved to the back of the car. “I’ll be happy to get the bags, miss.”
Celine looked at Henry who had walked around the car. “My name’s Henry Wood. We’re not here for the weekend, but I believe Mrs. Palmeroy is expecting us.”
“Well then, I best be finding the lady of the house for you. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Atkins headed towards the front door, moving more quickly than Henry would have expected for a man of his age. As he reached for the door handle, it opened and Harriet stepped out. “Thank you, Atkins,” she said and smiled at Henry and Celine. “How may I help you?”
Henry stepped forward. “We’re here to speak with Mrs. Palmeroy. My name is Henry Wood, and this is my assistant, Celine.”
“My name is Harriet and I’ll be happy to inform Mrs. Palmeroy that she has visitors. Please follow me.”
Henry and Celine walked into the house and waited just inside the door as Harriet disappeared up a carved mahogany staircase with red velvet carpet. A huge chandelier hung in the foyer, fresh flowers were in the vases, and the marble floor was polished and spotless. Celine’s eyes were wide. Henry grabbed her elbow and whispered, “It’s just a house. don’t let the sparkle and shine get in your eyes.”
“I grew up in just a house. This isn’t one, but don’t worry about me, boss.”
“Stop calling me that.”
She saluted. Henry shook his head.
Mrs. Palmeroy appeared at the top of the stairs. “Mr. Wood, I’m so pleased you could make it out so quickly.”
She led them down a hallway and into the library. It wasn’t like anything Henry had ever seen. He had been in a few private libraries, but this was massive, and the stacks were on two floors. She led them to the rear and up a small staircase. A small arch at the back of the second floor led to a room which could be described as cozy. It had a small desk, several chairs, and a daybed along the far wall under a nice-sized stained glass window. The morning light bathed the room in a kaleidoscope of light. Mrs. Palmeroy pointed to the chairs and took her seat behind the desk. “This is my office, so to speak, though I really don’t have a job…well, besides my charity work.”
Celine eased herself into a chair. Henry was impressed, but he didn’t let it show. “The window is beautiful. Is it original to the house? It looks older.”
“You have a very good eye. I’m impressed. It’s a window rescued from a 16th century monastery. Dwight gave it to me for my birthday the first year after we were married. He knew I liked this room and had it made into a place just for me. It’s so quiet here. I love it. Morning is the best part of the day, especially this time of year, because of the light. But, I’m going on and on. You’re here to start your detecting. Where do we begin?”
“You believe your husband is going to hire someone to kill him?” Henry asked as he took out his notebook. She nodded. “You said you found some letters or documents, if I recall…”
“Yes, but they’re gone now. They were in his private office. I don’t go in there often, but I needed a check signed for the DAR fundraiser.”
“DAR?” Celine asked, then realized she had spoken out of turn. She blushed and looked at her feet. Henry continued, “What is the DAR?”
“The Daughters of the American Revolution. They have an annual fundraiser, and we never miss it.”
“So you were in the office and what happened?”
“There was a big pile of paper in a neat stack. I barely got a look at the top page, but it had something about murdering Mr. Dwight Palmeroy III on it. I was shocked. Why would he have something like that on his desk? If he knew someone was trying to kill him, he would go to the police.”
“Why didn’t you read it more closely?”
“He came in and startled me. I always feel strange in his office; like it’s his space and I shouldn’t be there. Is that silly?” She said, with a flirty smile at Henry.
Henry didn’t notice the smile, but Celine did. He jotted down a few notes and said, “I would like to see his office. Also, I’d like Celine to be able to talk with the staff.”
“Mr. Wood, I thought you understood that I require discretion.”
Henry didn’t know what game she was playing at, and he wanted to get things wrapped up. “Listen, you hired me to get to the bottom of this. To do that, I need to poke around. My assistant is a complete professional. Perhaps you would be better suited hiring someone else.” Henry stood. Celine, somewhat surprised, stood, too.
With a hint of panic in her voice she said, “Oh, no, Mr. Wood, you are the perfect man for the job. I’m sorry; it’s just that I was hoping to keep my husband from finding out I had hired you.” She shuddered, then her eyes lit up. “I have an idea, why don’t you join us for the weekend? We’re having some people over, and Dwight has a wonderful surprise for us all. I’m sure you’ll be able to poke around to your heart’s content.”
Henry looked at Celine, “Come on, we need to get back to the office,” then looked at Mrs. Palmeroy. “I have no intention of spending the weekend. We will see that your retainer is returned. I think you are overreacting, and your husband will be fine. It would be unethical for me to continue.”
Henry turned to leave. Mrs. Palmeroy rushed around the desk and pleaded, “Please, Mr. Wood…Henry,” she said with tears in her eyes. “I’ll double your fee.”
Henry didn’t like it when dames cried. Celine didn’t like it when Henry turned down a client, especially one willing to pay double. She gave him a look. Defeated but still disgusted, he said, “It’s going to cost you triple.”
“Done,” she said. “Oh, and while you are here, please, both of you, call me Catherine.”
CHAPTER 16
Bobby lumbered up the stairs carrying a heavy bag and fumbled in his pocket for his keys. He had been away for over a week and missed the comfort of his familiar surroundings. The click of the lock opening made him feel at home. As he reached down to pick up his bag, he noticed the door at the end of the hallway. Bobby looked at his watch. It was a quarter until noon, on a Friday, and there didn�
�t seem to be any lights on at the Henry Wood Detective Agency. It was odd.
Bobby set his bag inside the door and walked past the other offices, the muted sounds of normal business seeping out from behind the doors. He found himself listening to his own footsteps. His shoes squeaked a little. When he got about 10 feet from the door, he heard drawers being opened and closed rapidly. Bobby hurried back down the hall and dialed the police.
“Hello, is Big Mike around? This is Bobby. I’m a friend. It’s important. He knows me,” Bobby said. He fired the sentences like a machine gun.
“Hey there, laddie, slow down, I’ll get him for you.”
The minute that passed was much longer than he wanted to wait. Bobby began to fidget.
“This is Detective…”
“Mike, this is Bobby. Someone is going through Henry’s office. I just got back into town. I don’t know where Henry is, but…”
“Bobby, you can give me the details when I get there. I’m on my way.”
Bobby went to his door and peered out. He heard someone coming and closed it. Footsteps rushed past. Bobby opened the door to look. He noted his height, suit color, hat and shoes. That was all he had time to see.
Mike knocked on Bobby’s door. Bobby cracked it open enough to see his friend and flung it open. “You missed him. I saw the guy from the back. He was tall, well, tall compared to me, so I guess that isn’t a good description. His suit was dark, not black, nor navy, but a dark blue. I’m not great with colors. I had a friend named Manny, he was a tailor…”
“Slow down, Bobby,” Mike said.
“Sorry,” Bobby said and took a breath.
“So you saw him come out of the office?”
“Well, no, but I’m sure it was the guy. I have a feeling.”
“That’s good enough for me. You stay here, and we will go check it out.”
