The Laconic Lumberjack (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 4)

by Frank W. Butterfield

"Well, you could say it was an enchanted evening."

  I smiled and didn't say anything.

  "I lived in France from 1945 until I met Nick in December of 1950. We met at a friend's house. You know the scene. A few queers having dinner and everyone brings someone who none of the regular crowd has met before and, before you know it, people are pairing off in bedrooms and on the sofa." He paused for a moment. "My friend Jacques brought Nick and, as soon as he walked in the door, I could hear that damn song in my head. 'Some Enchanted Evening'."

  I laughed.

  "How did you meet Carter?"

  "Same way."

  "Really?"

  "Well, the details are different but I was walking into a place in San Francisco and there was Carter." I thought about that day. "He was leaning against the bar standing next to Henry and our eyes locked instantly."

  "Anyone ever say the two of you look alike?"

  "Sure. But don't you think that scar makes him much more handsome?"

  Jerry laughed. "Well..."

  "Anyway, this was in '47 before South Pacific. So we hadn't heard that song yet."

  Jerry sat up and said, "I just adore Mary Martin. Don't you?" Robert, my real estate manager, had said something like that to me a few months ago. That made me think of Robert and about the office and Marnie. I stood up.

  "Sorry, Jerry. I just realized there's something I need to take care of."

  He stood up and brushed off his trousers.

  I looked at him and said, "Thanks for the suggestion. I think I'll take you up on that. But I need to talk to Nick first."

  Jerry nodded. "Sure thing. I think I'll join the boys down by the river."

  . . .

  "Did you send that telegram to San Francisco for me?" The other Nick was standing in front of the sink, washing and rinsing dishes, while Carter was drying them. Christine was nowhere to be seen.

  "Sure did."

  "Thanks. I really should call in and check with the office."

  "I wouldn't, toots. Party line. Everyone will be listening in, the old nosy busybodies."

  I sighed.

  Carter asked, "What's up?"

  I explained Jerry's suggestion about going to Thomasville in the old truck.

  Once I was done, I heard Captain Riddle say, "I think it's probably dry enough that we can leave as soon as we can get to the airport."

  I turned around and saw that he and Captain Morris were sitting at the breakfast table. I hadn't seen them when I'd walked into the kitchen.

  I walked over and stuck out my hand. "No hard feelings, I hope?"

  Riddle looked at me for a moment, stood up, wincing a little as he did, and shook my hand. "Nope. I'm sorry for what I said. This has to do with that bastard, Hughes. Sorry that I've been such a bastard myself."

  I nodded and said, "Well, thanks, Captain, for trying to get us out of here last night."

  He nodded and that was that.

  Chapter 16

  Driving south on U.S. Route 19

  Wednesday, July 22, 1953

  Around 4 in the afternoon

  We drove down to Thomasville after seeing everyone else off. They were headed back to Albany and then, depending on the weather, to Houston for the night before flying on to San Francisco on Thursday. I gave Henry a thousand dollars for their expenses. Between the fifty thousand that we brought with us and the ten thousand (minus the small fee) wired in from Bank of America on Tuesday, we had plenty of ready cash. Carter didn't like carrying all that money around, but it was better than having to rely on checks.

  The farm truck was a '38 Ford with the distinctive oval grill from that year's model that I always thought looked ridiculous. It was brown and pretty beat up, but it drove fine even if it was sticky shifting from second to third gear.

  I drove, Jerry sat in the middle, and Carter was by the passenger door. It was a tight fit. Jerry gave me directions to downtown Thomasville and then to the store. While we drove, he regaled us with tales of the crazy nightlife on the beach in Brazil.

  After picking up an assortment of clothes, including work boots, overalls, checkered shirts, and straw hats, we headed over to the Dairy Dream on the Albany Highway for some malteds. I hadn't had one since before the war and got a chocolate which really hit the spot. Carter made his vanilla and Jerry's was strawberry.

  We sat out on a picnic table and slurped ours down while watching all the high school kids who were engaging in their daily after-school ritual. Life in the country was a lot different than in the big city. I didn't remember going anywhere after school, while I was still in school, other than home. I'd have loved to have had a place like the Dairy Dream to wile away the hours before going home to that miserable pile of rocks on Nob Hill.

  . . .

  We were about five miles down the highway on the way back when Jerry asked, "So, you'll never guess what I saw down by the river after lunch."

  Carter asked, "Were Dawson and Andy down there running around naked?"

  "Why, yes. Along with Henry. How long have they been a threesome?"

  I nearly stopped the truck in the middle of the road. "What?"

  "Sure. I walked down after you went into the house and saw all their clothes in a big pile under one of those willow trees. Not one to miss a show, I looked around. I saw that fireplug doing unnatural things to Henry while the other one... Well, I think you get the picture."

  Carter sputtered. "Are you sure?"

  "Sure, I'm sure. That Dawson has almost as many muscles as you do. Only they look so much bigger on his tight body, don't you think?"

  Carter laughed. "Sure. But, let me make certain I have this right. It was Henry. The one who looks like Nick, my Nick, that Dawson was doing whatever with."

  "Definitely, honey. That other one, Andy. Handsome in a regular sort of way. Doesn't have the scar. He was..." He paused for a moment to catch his breath. "Well, he was busy himself."

  I couldn't help it. "By himself?"

  "Oh no, he was on the other side of Henry, whose face I couldn't see, for obvious reasons."

  Carter laughed long and loud. "Henry was in the middle of a sandwich?"

  "Oh, right. That's what that's called. A sandwich. I'd forgotten. All I could think of was a very, very nasty French phrase that I'm terrified to even speak aloud."

  We all laughed.

  . . .

  When we pulled up in front of the house, I could see John's car, which was a DeSoto sedan, and a very new Chevrolet pick-up truck. We piled out, grabbed all our boxes and bags from the back of the truck, and walked into the house through the front door.

  "Well, howdy, y'all!" That was Henrietta. She was wearing a tight blue satin blouse with tight blue jeans and a pair of pink cowboy boots.

  Jerry walked into the front sitting room while Carter and I carried our clothes upstairs.

  Once we were alone in the bedroom, we dumped everything on the beds and the floor and began to make love.

  . . .

  Sometime later, there was a discreet knock on the door. My shirt was somewhere on the floor, and Carter's was tossed over the bureau. We both had our trousers on, but it was obvious we were in no state to receive guests.

  Carter asked, "Who is it?"

  "John."

  "Can you come back?"

  Without responding, he opened the door and said, "There ain't nuthin' goin' on in here I ain't ever seen or done myself. Howdy!"

  I stood up and adjusted myself. "Hi John. We're kinda busy."

  He looked down at me and said, "Very, from what I can see." Pushing boxes off the bed that Henry had slept in, he sat down and said, "We need to talk."

  Carter stood up as I threw his shirt at him. Catching it, he put it on without buttoning it up. I couldn't find mine so I sat back down on the bed in my undershirt.

  "What's up?" I asked.

  "There's a warrant out for both of you."

  Carter groaned. "For what?"

  "Practicing without a license. And Tom Kincaid is mad at you both
, by the way, for ignoring his advice."

  I asked, "I thought that was a civil matter?"

  "It's a misdemeanor. That's enough to arrest you. And you know how things are going these days for arrestees in Dougherty County. Not all of them are alive the next mornin' to tell the tale."

  I sighed. "Are we safe here in this county? Whatever it's called."

  "This here is Mitchell County. You're safe from city police in Camilla and Pelham. Hell, I doubt the sheriff of Mitchell County has any interest. And I can tell you Albany city police have no interest in this matter. The only ones to be careful around are the Georgia State Patrol. They have to enforce any outstanding warrants they find for any jurisdiction in the state. And the ones around here are straight arrows, so they won't wanna take you in, but they will."

  "Why aren't the Albany police interested in the murder?" I was referring to the murder of Mr. Jones. I knew why they didn't care about Mr. Waskom's murder. He was a Negro.

  Carter answered. "The mill is in the county, not the city. No jurisdiction."

  I nodded.

  "So what are y'all plannin' on doin'?" asked John as he stood up.

  Carter replied, "We're plannin' on takin' a nice long, hot shower."

  John smiled and said, "Well, have fun. We're havin' steaks tonight, courtesy of Henrietta. No rush, though." He winked at me. "Y'all take your time, hear?"

  . . .

  We did take our time, but we were downstairs in about thirty minutes or so. Everyone was out back on the small patio that had an enormous brick grill. Someone had brought out a couple of card tables and covered them both with a linen table cloth. The tables were set for six with china, silver, and crystal. Like everything at Belle Terre, it was like something out of a movie. John was at the grill, cooking the steaks.

  "Carter? You still like yours cooked to shoe leather?"

  After taking a big swig from a bottle of beer that the other Nick had handed him as we walked outside, Carter replied, "Yep."

  John asked me, "How 'bout you, Boss?" Carter, Nick, and Jerry laughed at that.

  I crossed my arms and said, "Medium-rare is fine by me and where did you hear that name?"

  With a big smirk on his face, John replied, "Oh, you'll find round here that there ain't much that isn't repeated."

  Henrietta laughed and said, "Speakin' of which, the boys have filled me in on your dilemma and I have an idea that I'd like to offer up, if that's OK by you." She was looking at me when she said it.

  I just nodded, took a swig of my own beer, and listened as she outlined what, after I'd heard it all, sounded like just the kind of devious and clever plan that always impresses me.

  . . .

  After dinner, we sat under the stars and went over the details of Henrietta's idea. We spent a couple of hours of running it to ground and plotting out the specifics. Finally, Henrietta said, "The two places you wanna go to are Chauncy's and The Well. Now, I gotta tell you, those ain't no kinda places for sissies."

  Carter laughed. "By the time we're there, I don't think anyone will think we are."

  In the faint light from the kitchen window, I could see Jerry looking at me as if he was studying my face.

  "What?" I asked.

  "I think you're gonna look real sweet with a bushy beard."

  Everyone laughed.

  Chapter 17

  Belle Terre

  Thursday, July 23, 1953

  Mid-morning

  Building on Henrietta's ideas, Carter organized a lumberjack boot camp for us both. While we were getting everything together, Jerry went into Thomasville and bought a couple of chain saws for us to use. Nick owned a big stand of dense pine down south of Thomasville near the Florida state line, and he said we could go down there and cut down as much as we could for ten days. He made us promise, however, to stack what we cut so he could sell it and not to leave a big mess. We promised.

  As we were getting ready, the phone rang. Nick answered it and handed it to me. It was Western Union with a telegram which they read over the phone since Belle Terre was out in the country.

  "Everyone home fine. Got update. Marnie apprised. Reply when possible. Mike."

  We were going to be out of touch for nearly ten days, so I asked Nick to call Mike from a payphone in Thomasville when he got a chance to let him know what we were up to. He promised he would.

  We loaded up the truck with camping gear that Nick had stored in his barn: a big tent, cots, sleeping bags, tools, and other essentials. Late Thursday afternoon, Carter and I piled in the truck and followed Jerry down the highway for several miles. He turned left at an old logging road that dead-ended in the middle of Nick's land. With a grin, Jerry left us there as he headed home to air conditioning, indoor plumbing, and a big feather bed.

  Our first task was to set up camp. I put Carter to work digging a fire pit while I cleared a space for the tent. Once the fire pit was ready, we set up the tent since that required both of us. After the stakes had been hammered into the ground securely, I sent him off to dig a latrine as far from our camp as possible.

  While he did that, I went around and scouted for dry wood. It had been raining on and off for several days, so there wasn't much. I found enough, however, to get a good fire started. I decided to cook up the two steaks we'd brought. It was the only thing not in a can that we had.

  Smelling the cooking meat, Carter wandered back over to camp as the sun was beginning to disappear completely. He threw his shirt into the tent and plopped down on one of the big logs I'd found and pulled over to use as a bench next to the fire pit.

  "Damn, son, that sure does smell good."

  I was down on my haunches checking the steaks. Looking over, I took in the sight of him shirtless in dungarees and big boots. His big chest, covered in blond hair, was always something to see. And that was definitely the case in the firelight. Smiling at him, I asked, "You want some beans to go with it?"

  "Sure."

  I walked over to the back of the truck and pulled out a couple of cans from one of the boxes. As I stood there, I felt Carter grab me by the waist and pull me in close. He began to nuzzle my neck from behind. I managed to open both cans as he did so even though he was moaning in my left ear and telling me all about his plans for later that night.

  Finally, I turned around and said, "We have to eat, or we're gonna regret it tomorrow."

  He looked down at me. The twinkle in his eyes was visible in the fading light. "Aw, son, and I'm all revved up."

  "Me, too."

  He pulled me in closer. His musk was intoxicating and I could feel myself falling.

  "The steak is almost done. Let's wait thirty more minutes."

  He pulled my chin up and kissed me deeply.

  "Whatever you say, son. You're the boss."

  . . .

  The next morning, we were both up with the first light. Carter went off to find the river that Nick had said would be nearby. Meanwhile, I filled the percolator with coffee and water from a jug we'd brought. We had some biscuits I'd made the day before. But we really needed to go into Thomasville and get some real provisions. And an ice chest.

  . . .

  By the third day, we had a routine going. We got up at first light, had coffee and some breakfast, and then walked into the woods to the area that Carter had decided we would work.

  I learned how to use a chainsaw and was surprised by how heavy it was at first. After I got used to the feel of it in my hands, it became easier to handle. Carter showed me how to cut the larger trees after we'd cleared some of the smaller ones. He pointed out which were older and which were newer. From what he could tell, this land had been clear cut once already. Probably in the 20s.

  On the second and third nights, we were too tired at the end of the day to do anything but collapse on the bed we'd made on the floor of the tent. After realizing we couldn't sleep together on a cot, we'd made a pile of blankets and covered ourselves with a thin cotton sheet that, most nights, ended up on the side. Even sleeping in t
he raw, I was hot every night.

  It didn't take long to stop noticing the smell of my body or Carter's. I remembered how the same thing had happened in the Navy. Carter, on the other hand, had a very sensitive nose and would tell me, sharply, when it was time to go for a dip in the river.

  By the fifth day, we both had beards. I wasn't surprised at how quickly Carter's grew out. He often shaved twice a day as it was and his whole body was hairy, so it made sense. My beard, however, was a revelation. It grew out fast and, unlike any of the rest of my body hair, grew out curly and untameable.

  On the seventh day, even though it was a Wednesday, we rested. Carter said it was bad to overdo things. I didn't say anything, but I had been ready to rest on the second day.

  Eventually, I got used to the constant aches and pains of our boot camp. Once we had our stride, we were skipping dinner and heading straight to the tent to make love. It all started on the fourth night when I'd asked Carter to rub some liniment on my shoulders which hurt from holding the chainsaw. I don't think he got much of it applied before we were going at it.

  When Saturday came, I was feeling a little sad. I didn't want to leave. I figured I could stay a lumberjack forever. But, we had a job to do and this had just been the first part of it.

  . . .

  Early on Sunday morning, we broke down our camp and loaded things up into the truck. I noticed how light everything was compared to when we had loaded and unloaded on the first day. The night before, Carter had spent some time massaging my now noticeable muscles. He suggested that, once we were back home, I might want to take up weight lifting with him. I told him I'd think about it.

  . . .

  "Lord have mercy, what happened to the two of you?" When Jerry opened the back door at Belle Terre, he made a face of mock horror.

  I nodded and smiled. "And, hello to you, too."

  "Well, come in but take off your boots. And, dear God, you both need a long, long shower."

  Carter nodded emphatically and said, "Yes, we do. We really, really do."

  . . .

  Later, after a long and relaxed dinner, Jerry put me on a bar stool he'd set up in the kitchen. It was sitting on a big sheet and another sheet was wrapped around my body. Somehow, Jerry knew how to cut hair and he was going to cut mine and try to make some sense out of my crazy beard.