The Case of the Klutzy King Charles

by B R Snow

  “You’re bound and determined to make sure I don’t get my work done today, aren’t you?” she said, this time sounding a bit more serious.

  “Oh, hush,” he said. “Could you please give our friend Bess Campbell’s phone number?”

  “That I can do,” she said, tossing the towel aside and grabbing a cell phone from the table. She retrieved the number and jotted it down on a slip of paper and handed it to me. “Here you go. You’ll need to speak loudly when you talk with her. She’s a bit hard of hearing.”

  “Thanks so much, Shirley,” I said, sliding the slip of paper into my shorts. “I can’t thank you enough, Pastor Tim.” I stood and waited for him to do the same. I extended my hand, and he shook it warmly.

  “Thanks for stopping by,” he said, studying my face.

  “I hope you have a wonderful day,” I said, about to turn toward the door but was stopped by the fact he hadn’t let go of my hand.

  “I’m sure I will,” he said, again turning philosophical. “I’ve been blessed with a very long life, and I’ve spent it in this beautiful place surrounded by a wonderful family and many, many friends.”

  A sense of sympathetic dread washed over me as soon as I recognized it was the exact same comment he’d made earlier.

  “I guess you really can’t ask for much more than that, right?” I said softly as tears began to well in my eyes.

  “One can always ask for more,” he said. “Like being able to remember what I had for breakfast. But enough about me and my problems. I can’t imagine you came all this way to hear my thoughts about the meaning of life or the challenges of old age. How can I help you?”

  “Oh, I thought I’d just stop by to say hello, Pastor Tim,” I said, blinking back tears. I exhaled loudly and gave him a long, gentle hug. “You take care of yourself.”

  “I certainly will,” he said, now confused. “Shirley?”

  Shirley came out of the kitchen and recognized the look on the old man’s face immediately. She walked over to him and gently led him back to his chair. He sat down with a smile on his face and looked at me with a curious expression.

  “Why don’t you get some rest?” she said. “And after dinner, if you’re up for it, we’ll go for a nice walk on the beach.”

  “I’d like that,” he whispered.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Shirley said, as she turned to me and sensed my concern. “He slips in and out all the time.”

  “I’m so sorry I upset him,” I said, wiping away my tears with the back of my hand.

  “No, you didn’t do anything,” she said, placing a hand on my arm. “Actually, it was probably a good thing for him that you stopped by. I try to make little changes in his daily routine whenever I can. Your visit was perfect for that.”

  “It’s not fair,” I said. “He’s such a sweet old man.”

  “He certainly is,” she said. “Come, I’ll walk you out.”

  I followed her toward the door but stopped when Pastor Tim called out.

  “Thanks for stopping by,” he said.

  “It was my pleasure, Pastor Tim. It was so nice seeing you.”

  “It was nice seeing you too…”

  “Suzy.”

  “Of course. Suzy.”

  I barely made it out the door before the waterworks broke, and I made my way to the Hungry Iguana in the hot late afternoon sun and did my best to navigate the short walk through a veil of tears that momentarily made me forget about the piece of information that, like a hundred dollar bill in the hands of a ten-year old in a toy store, was burning a hole in my pocket.

  Old age?

  Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.

  Chapter 24

  Gerald and my mother stared at me from across the table like I’d lost my mind. I was okay with that. It certainly wasn’t the first time, and I was almost positive it wouldn’t be the last. But I was more interested in Josie’s reaction. She’s much more in tune with how my brain works and has an intuitive feel for when I’m on the right track or about to completely run off the rails. She put her knife and fork down, wiped her mouth, and then nodded at me.

  “I think you’re onto something,” she said. “You don’t have it yet, but you’re getting close.”

  “See?” I said, making a face at my mother.

  “Darling, I think you’re reading way too much into the fact that it might be the same John Smith who got married on Owen Island,” my mother said, then glanced at Gerald for support.

  “I have to agree with your mother, Suzy,” Gerald said, exhaling cigar smoke that got caught in the breeze and drifted across the lawn. “It is a very common name.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that, Gerald,” I said, agitated at both of them. “But didn’t he say that his family originally came from Europe?”

  “He did,” Gerald said, nodding. “His mother was Czech, and his father was Dutch. But I have no idea what difference that would make.”

  “The woman’s name in the marriage book is Madlenka Bednar. Doesn’t that sound European to you?”

  “It does,” Gerald said, conceding the point. “But what difference does it make? Even if it’s the same John Smith, so what? That wedding took place over thirty years ago. Besides, John’s been divorced from his wife for years. I don’t see where you’re going with this, Suzy.”

  I fell silent. I didn’t have a clue where I was going with it, either. But something continued to nag at me, and I was certain there had to be some sort of connection. I pushed my plate away and glanced around for signs of the dogs. All four of them had eventually tired themselves out swimming and chasing each other around the lawn and were now snoozing comfortably next to each other on the cool grass. Earl was in his customary spot in the middle of my mother’s lap.

  “Bednar is a Czech name,” Josie said, glancing up from her phone. “But I’m not getting anything when I search on Madlenka Bednar.”

  “Have you spoken to the woman who owns the island yet?” my mother said.

  “I did,” I said, nodding. “It took a while to get through the conversation. She’s ninety-nine and almost deaf, but her caretaker was able to help out.”

  “And she confirmed that someone is definitely trying to buy the island?” my mother said.

  “She did,” I said, unable to contain my smug grin. “Take a guess who wants to buy it.”

  “Darling, it’s getting late, so let’s not play the guessing game, okay?” my mother said, gently stroking the King Charles who was now stretched out across her lap.

  “Jansmid,” I said, glancing back and forth at them.

  Their mouths dropped, and they stared at me, exchanged confused looks with each other, then refocused on me.

  “The mysterious company that was referenced in that left-wing rag?” my mother said, frowning.

  “That’s the one,” I said, looking at Gerald. “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s time we tried a bit harder trying to figure out who this company is,” he said, exhaling another cloud of cigar smoke.

  “How hard can it be?” my mother said.

  “Hard enough,” he said. “They aren’t registered in Cayman, and if they’re doing mostly cash deals, it’s going to be hard to trace. And nobody seems to be talking. Which is highly unusual.”

  “But they’ll have to record any ownership transfers with the General Registry office, right?” I said.

  “At some point, yes,” Gerald said, nodding. “And I’m wondering why they haven’t already done that.”

  “Maybe they’re trying to get every deal closed before they let anybody know what they’re up to,” I said.

  “To what possible end?” Gerald said through another cloud of smoke.

  “I’m beginning to think that somebody is trying to box you in, Gerald,” I said. “Well, not necessarily you, but your government.”

  “How on earth would they do that?” he said, genuinely perplexed.

  “I know you’re all under a lot of pressure to do something to appease th
e conservationists and the environmental folks. They can be really tenacious when they want to be, and I can’t imagine you or the Premier is looking forward to all the negative attention they might be able to generate. Not to mention all that bad press. You guys freaked out when The People’s Paradise published that article. I can’t imagine your reaction if it started showing up on the nightly news.”

  “We have discussed that possibility,” Gerald said, nodding. “And we would certainly like to avoid it.”

  “Suppose this Jansmid outfit was able to buy up a lot of the land you’re currently thinking about setting aside for preservation. Or maybe close to the area you’re thinking about setting aside as a national park.”

  “And do what with it?” Gerald said. “Sell all the land to us at an exorbitant price just so we can get some tree huggers off our back?”

  “Tree huggers?” my mother said, raising an eyebrow at him. “Really, Gerald?”

  “You know what I mean,” he said, waving her off. “Our government would never allow itself to be blackmailed like that. And if push came to shove, we could always use our powers of eminent domain.”

  The wind shifted, and the smoke from his cigar surrounded me.

  “That thing is disgusting,” I said, waving at the cloud. “You use eminent domain at times?”

  “We do,” he said, shifting the cigar to his other hand. “But it’s certainly not our first choice. Someone always ends up very unhappy when we do.”

  “But it’s used predominantly to provide developers with what they need to build something, right?” I said.

  “Pretty much,” he said, nodding. “Unless we need the land to build a road or some sort of infrastructure.”

  “How would the development companies down here react if the government used eminent domain to acquire a lot of land and then watch you set it aside to preserve it from further development?”

  “Depending on where the land was located, it might be problematic,” he said. “Where are you going with this, Suzy?”

  “If someone owned the titles to a lot of the property you wanted to set aside for conservation and agreed to turn it over at a reasonable price, would the government be flexible if the owner wanted to do something different with another piece of property?”

  “As I’ve said many times in the past, pretty much everything is negotiable,” Gerald said, shrugging. “Up to a point. Do you have a particular piece of property in mind?”

  “Owen Island,” I said softly.

  Gerald crushed out his cigar then folded his arms in front of him and fell silent, deep in thought.

  “No, that would set off a firestorm of protest,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Not necessarily if it was included as part of a larger initiative like the creation of one or more protected areas scattered around the islands,” I said. “You wouldn’t be able to bury the news about Owen Island being developed, but it might not get the public reaction it normally would. You could probably spin it as one of the trade-offs you had to make to get the larger deal done.”

  “I suppose that’s possible,” he said, scratching his head, bemused. “Still, it’s a very small island. What are you thinking, that the CEO of this Jansmid organization is looking to build a personal getaway?”

  “I have no idea,” I said, shrugging. “But the island is a little over ten acres. It’s certainly big enough for that. Or maybe a small, but high-end resort for the uber-rich.”

  “Perhaps with some sort of eco-tourism theme?” my mother said, glancing around the table.

  “That would probably help grease the skids with the government,” I said, glancing at Gerald. “What do you think?”

  “I must admit that I’m baffled by the whole thing,” he said, frowning. “And how is it possible that this Jansmid has been able to stay off the radar?”

  “My guess is with lots of cash coupled with the promise of even more if the people selling their properties to them agree to keep their mouths shut,” I said.

  “Perhaps,” Gerald said. “But first we need to figure out who these people are. I guess we could try to look in other locations where corporate identities are protected.”

  “I could call a few of my friends in Washington to see if they know who this Jansmid is. And if they don’t, maybe they’d be willing to do a little research into it,” my mother said.

  “And I can keep poking around here to see what I can come up with,” I said, nodding.

  “Or we could just use this,” Josie said, staring down at her phone and tapping the keypad.

  “What?” I said, staring at her.

  “You said this guy John Smith’s mother was Czech and his father was Dutch, right?” Josie said, focused on the device in her hand.

  “Yes,” Gerald said.

  “Then I have to say you guys are making this way too hard on yourselves. You’re overthinking it.”

  She held up the phone, and I noticed a language translation app on the screen.

  “John in Czech is Jan,” she said, glancing around the table. “And Smith in Dutch is Smid. Jansmid. John Smith. Get it?”

  We sat in stunned silence glancing around at the table at each other. Then I grabbed the phone out of Josie’s hand.

  “Let me see that,” I said, staring at the screen.

  “John is Jansmid?” Gerald said, staring at my mother. “Is that possible?”

  “He never stops, does he?” my mother said, shaking her head. “He’s always up to something.”

  “I’m going to need a bit more, Mom,” I said, frowning at her.

  “John’s a what…let’s go with wheeler-dealer. But he’s certainly not an environmentalist.”

  Gerald snorted.

  “You got that, right,” he said. “He once told me the biggest problem with environmentalists was that there wasn’t a hunting season for them.”

  “That’s disgusting,” I snapped.

  “Hey, I was merely repeating what he said,” Gerald snapped back. “Don’t get your knickers in a knot.”

  “Well, if anyone would know about the condition of her knickers, it would be Gerald,” Josie deadpanned as she reached over and took her phone back.

  “Outstanding,” my mother said, laughing loudly and giving Josie a golf clap.

  “That’s what he said,” Josie said, grinning and nodding her head in Gerald’s direction.

  They both roared with laughter.

  “Shut it.”

  I sat quietly for several seconds as my neurons continued to collide with each other. Then an idea popped to the surface.

  “Let me borrow your phone for a moment,” I said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky again.”

  “Luck had nothing to do with it,” Josie said, making a face at me.

  I refreshed the translation app and then typed Bednar into the box designated for the Czech entry. Cooper immediately popped up as the English equivalent.

  “How about that?” I said. “Madlenka Cooper.”

  “John’s ex-wife changed her name?” Gerald said, leaning forward in his chair.

  “We’re about to find out,” I said, typing the name into the search engine. Seconds later, thousands of search results came back. “Wow. We must be in touch with the universe tonight.”

  “What is it, darling?”

  “Madlenka Cooper. Doctor Madlenka Cooper. She’s a leading conservationist with two PhDs.”

  “She’s got two doctorates?” Josie said. “Man, that’s a lot of school. The woman must be a masochist.”

  “One’s in environmental sciences from Helsinki. The other is in marine biology from a college in North Carolina,” I said, reading from the screen.

  “We can’t be sure she’s John’s ex-wife,” Gerald said.

  “Check to see if there are any photos,” Josie said, reading over my shoulder.

  I clicked on Images, and dozens of photos appeared. I scrolled through several that showed Madlenka Cooper speaking to audiences from behind a podium or in front of a large projecti
on screen.

  “Beautiful woman,” Josie said, studying the screen.

  “Yes, she is,” I said.

  “Let me see, darling.”

  I handed her the phone, and she and Gerald spent a few minutes studying the photos.

  “Did either of you ever meet his wife?” I said.

  “No, he was already divorced before I ever met him,” my mother said.

  “I knew him when he was married,” Gerald said. “But I never got a chance to meet her. I don’t have a clue if that’s her or not.”

  I took the phone back and resumed scrolling through the photos. Then Josie grabbed my forearm.

  “Hold it,” she said, pointing at one of the photos. “Click on that one.”

  I did, and the photo now filled the screen. It was a picture of the woman in a group shot. She had her arm draped over the shoulder of a young girl whom I guessed was around sixteen at the time.

  “Can you read the caption?” I said to Josie, squinting hard. “Either I need glasses, or they’re using smaller fonts these days.”

  “Let’s see,” Josie said, taking the phone and holding it near a candle that was flickering on the table. “Noted environmentalist, Madlenka Cooper, accompanied by her daughter, Matkazeme, spoke today to the International Society of- ow, watch it, that hurt.”

  “Sorry about that,” I said, after snatching the phone out of her hand. I studied the photo closely, paying particularly close attention to the young girl. “Take a really good look at it.”

  Josie leaned forward, then flinched and shook her head at me.

  “No way,” she said. “I can’t believe it.”

  “What is it?” my mother said.

  “The girl in the photo, her daughter, is the woman Captain pulled out of the water on Christmas Day.”

  “Let me see that,” my mother said, reaching for the phone. “That is her. I can’t believe it. What do you think? Was she down here stalking her father?”

  “Either that or she was helping him,” I said.

  “But why would she disappear into thin air?” Gerald said.

  “That seems to be the recurring question,” I said.

  “Matkazeme?” Josie said. “That’s an odd name.”

  “Let me see the phone, Mom,” I said. “Let’s give this translation app another shot, shall we?”