Goodnight Irene

by James Scott Byrnside

  One drop fell.

  Another.

  Soon the rain began in earnest.

  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  A slap woke Rowan from his turbulent slumber. His hearing turned up as if someone had twisted a radio’s knob.

  “It’s a landslide! Get up, old man! We have to move now!”

  When Rowan put his feet on the ground, the waist-high water quickly pulled them out from under him. Walter waded toward the front lawn, dragging Rowan behind him. The top of the manor blazed uncontrollably and lit the starless sky with burnt amber. The back door of the Fiat swung open and Rowan dove onto the seat next to an unconscious Ruth. Walter squeezed beside him and shut the door. Aikes, Charles, and Margaret sat squished together in the front seat.

  The car buckled and lifted a few feet as water burst through the front door of the manor and knocked it loose from its hinges. The Fiat drifted toward the edge of the plateau. Everyone braced themselves for the plunge.

  It never came.

  The rush finally abated and the car settled as the last push of water crossed out into the valley and drained off. Rowan dreamily looked over his shoulder. A section of the manor’s roof collapsed and steam erupted from the meeting of fire and water. He leaned toward slumber and told himself a delirious bedtime prayer.

  Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should be decapitated before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.

  chapter 15

  voiced and unvoiced consonants

  Manory awoke to the snoring of Willie Aikes and a rank odor. His neck snapped forward with a painful jolt. A slight mist dribbled through the gray murk of the foggy Mississippi dawn and the barest glimpse of the sun appeared through a hole in the clouds.

  He peeled his lips apart and spoke hoarsely. “Williams, wake up.”

  Walter started speaking before he realized where he was. “Five more minutes, Mom.”

  They stumbled out of the car and stretched their wilted muscles. All across the estate, uprooted willow trees lay next to ripped patches of sod. The top of the manor continued to steam from the eve’s fire.

  Walter said, “This is what war must look like. It’s probably what it feels like as well.”

  “How did we survive?” asked Rowan.

  Walter scratched his belly and yawned. “It’s a miracle, old man. When the tidal wave carried you off, I was sure you were headed straight into the valley. But I found you.”

  “Thank you, my friend.”

  “I bet you’re glad I insisted on tagging along.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  The flooded valley below was swaddled by rolling billows of fog. Walter peered over the edge. “Do you think Daniels made it?”

  Rowan shook his head.

  “What makes you so sure? If we all made it, he could have.”

  “No, Williams. Mr. Daniels is now part of the Vicksburg landscape one way or another.”

  Walter looked over the remaining suspects in the Fiat. “Now that you’ve had a chance to sleep on it, have you any idea what happened? Does it even matter now?”

  Rowan sat on the wet ground and made a steeple of his fingers. “I know some pieces of the puzzle but the unitary photograph is beyond me.”

  “I’m sure with a bit more time—”

  “No, Williams. We have a sunken crime scene. I fear that no evidence will solve this mystery.” He rubbed his temples.

  Walter put an invisible cigarette into the corner of his mouth. “Let us go over what we know so far.”

  “The first murder is easy enough to solve. Daniels killed Tellum.”

  “Pretend I’m stupid.”

  “Every year I attend the APC conference in Chicago. Last year’s meeting featured a speech about antifreeze. It used to be made with methanol. Two years ago, it was announced that a new process had been developed. Antifreeze would now be made using ethylene glycol. It is an organic compound used to make dynamite. Drinking it would cause the symptoms that Tellum experienced. It is also odorless and its only featured taste is sweetness. As Margaret told you, the panther piss was very sweet.”

  “But Daniels also drank the piss.”

  “Of course it is recommended that you visit a doctor in cases of ethylene glycol poisoning. However, in a pinch one may need only to drink alcohol. Daniels drank more than enough to offset a small sip of piss. According to Charles, Daniels immediately drank three full glasses. He was probably scared out of his mind. Lots of bravery was on display last night.”

  “Did you know he killed Tellum the moment I told you about the antifreeze in his car?”

  “Of course I did. Southerners do not use antifreeze. They have no need for it. Water will do the trick.”

  “Why did he kill Tellum? They were friends.”

  Rowan shook his head. “Maybe he was worried that Tellum was getting closer to Lasciva. Daniels might have thought he was being cheated of profits. Perhaps he was jealous. Who knows?”

  “But in the will…”

  Rowan laughed. “I will need the assistance of a probate official to be sure, but I am quite certain it is a forgery.”

  “I see.” Walter shrugged. “Manory, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

  “I am so happy you are here to cheer me up on this godforsaken morning.”

  “No, it’s a serious question. Why did you get so angry at Charles? I thought you were going to kill him. I’ve never seen you lose it like that.”

  “Everyone lies. Usually I have the resources to deal with lies but not here. If he had simply told me the truth, I would have had less to deal with and less to think about. Also, my body is betraying me and I am not even forty years old. It is frustrating.”

  Walter thought it through. “He’s not Robert’s nephew, is he?”

  “He is not Robert’s nephew and he is not British. Lasciva showed me a photo of a young Charles holding a cricket bat. The boy in the photo is left-handed. Charles, or whatever his name is, signed the paper with his right hand. I had noticed him shaking with his right hand earlier in the evening, but many left-handed people do this out of habit because right-handed people make up ninety percent of the population. That is why I had him sign his name.”

  “And how do you know he’s not British?”

  “He sounds like a high school production of Shakespeare, he mispronounced Chichester, and he does not seem to know what it means to ‘take the piss.’ I am going to deduce he is not British. I am also going to deduce they are not rich. Margaret’s pearls are fakes. Real pearls are not flawless. God does not make flawless things.”

  “So who are they and what are they doing here?”

  “I do not know who they are, but they are definitely here for money. They knew Lasciva was rich and brought tools to break into a safe they had assumed would be here. When Willie told me that Lasciva had been robbed, I thought it might have been a hidden safe. With the limited opportunities afforded them, it appears they have settled for the priceless armor which they have hidden somewhere. How these criminal masterminds thought they would sell it is a mystery to which Holmes himself would surrender.”

  “Do you think they killed him?”

  “I am not sure what to tell you, my friend.”

  “Right, right, you don’t know. Then I suppose I shouldn’t ask you what happened to Bernice Lasciva or whose body parts Daniels was dumping in the river or why Daniels shot Ruth or what the purpose of the hellish sounds on the cylinder was.”

  “No, you should not ask me these questions. Also, do not ask me why Tellum wrote the notes.”

  Walter put his arm around Rowan. “There is one question I think you can answer.”

  “By all means.”

  “What does APC stand for?”

  “American Poison Control.”

  “We need to work on your social life, my friend.”

  “I am a detective, Williams. I need to know about
the latest developments and trends in poison. Arsenic and strychnine are oldfangled.”

  “Every year you attend this conference?”

  “Yes.”

  “It must be a lively bunch at the annual APC conference.”

  At that moment, Margaret’s head fell on the horn and woke everyone in the car with a start. They spilled out into the dawn with the weary joy of sleep-deprived survival.

  Willie seemed particularly upbeat. “Well, don’t this beat all. We made it.”

  The group approached the manor and gingerly stepped through what used to be the front door. The staircase had collapsed in the fire. Water covered the floor and sharp, splintered pieces of wood soaked in it. Sections of the priceless artwork lay strewn about. Rain drizzled lightly through the hole in the roof and the manor stank of masculine mildew.

  Ruth was still wearing Walter’s suit coat. She held her bloodied arm. “I should make some breakfast. I suppose I’m technically still the hostess.”

  “Nonsense.” Manory ripped off the shards of his shredded suit. “Could everyone work together and lay out some food? I will take Ruth into the library and tend to her arm.”

  She nodded and dragged herself into the room. Rowan took the cylinder from the upended phonograph and pocketed it. He yanked the ice tongs from the table, sat next to Ruth, and began to inexpertly remove tiny pieces of shrapnel from her arm.

  “You are very lucky. Mr. Daniels appears to be a terrible shot. He missed Walter completely and only grazed your flesh.” Rowan held up a decanter. “This will hurt you but it will hurt the bacteria more.” He poured vodka over her wound.

  Ruth bit her lip and held her breath. “It feels better than it tastes.”

  “What happened after you went to bed?”

  “I didn’t go to bed. I put on my gown and sat up staring at the door. How could I sleep?”

  “You did not have to sleep. You could have just stayed in your room. Apparently it is a very difficult thing to do.”

  “After a few minutes, there was a knock. I know you said not to open for anyone, but it was Paul. He’s a nervous man by nature, but last night he was crazed. He said that Willie had killed Robert.” She stared directly into Rowan’s eyes. “He said you had told him that. Is that true?”

  “I only wished to assure Daniels that he was not a suspect. Never let a suspect know what you are thinking.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Ruth took the vodka from Rowan’s hand and swigged it. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful detective, but if you suspected Paul of murder, why did you leave us alone with him?”

  “There was no reason for him to attack any of you. Quite frankly, I am puzzled as to why he would go after the secretary of Mr. Lasciva. How did you end up in the river?”

  “He asked me to come downstairs. When I refused he pulled out the gun. He must have taken it from the billiard room when no one was looking. He tied my hands together and gagged me. It wasn’t a fun walk, I can tell you that.” She bit a small strip of skin from her pinky. “He led me outside to somewhere in the forest. I’m not sure where, but it was deep into the trees. I lay there for a long time. I thought about getting up and running, but I was too scared. I would have probably walked into the river.”

  “Did you hear a gunshot?”

  “I don’t know what I heard. I just waited and hoped. Finally, he came and untied me. His face was…”

  Rowan didn’t look at her. “Wide-eyed? Astonished?”

  “Mad. He took me to the river. I knew he was going to kill me and dump my body, so I shoved him and made a run for it. The gun fired three times. I felt the bullet hit my arm the third time. That’s when I fell in.”

  “I am glad you are still with us.”

  “So am I.”

  “How do you feel now?”

  “Hungry.”

  They entered the kitchen to find that breakfast had been served. An enormous plate of dried venison sat in the middle of the table along with several jugs of vodka.

  Rowan pulled a chair for Ruth and leaned against the wall, admiring the view. Their hair was disheveled, their clothes stuck to their bodies, and their faces were haggard with rough-looking skin.

  The façade of civilization is razor thin. Look at them, tearing into the meat. Margaret seems even more natural. This is probably the first time Willie has sat at the table. And Charles…

  Rowan’s hands shook uncontrollably in clenched fists at the thought of Charles. He did his best to hide it.

  Willie said, “Aren’t you going to sit down, Mr. Manory?”

  “I was just thinking that we should get out of these clothes.”

  Walter spat out a cherry pit. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed the staircase, boss. No one is getting upstairs.”

  “There are lots of dress shirts and trousers in Lasciva’s closet. If they are still dry, we may as well put them to good use.”

  “They might be a bit big for the ladies,” said Margaret.

  “When in Rome, Mrs. Lasciva.” He stood directly behind the seated Charles. “I was hoping you would accompany me.”

  Charles stopped chewing the deer. “What for?”

  “To help me carry the clothes.”

  He looked to Margaret. “Sure. I’d be happy to help.”

  The stench from Lasciva’s drenched corpse filled the office. His head had turned a bluish white.

  Rowan headed straight for the desk and searched for any remaining tobacco. There was only enough left for one, terribly meager cigarette.

  Charles stood like a man who had spoken out of turn. “Oh God. The smell.”

  Rowan rolled the tobacco as best he could. “Who are you?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “I am being as reasonable as I can under the circumstances and I have not had any nicotine for a long time. Who are you?”

  “I’m Charles.”

  Rowan lunged forward and backhanded him across the face, but then immediately recoiled. “I’m sorry.” He lit the cigarette and puffed. A large pocket of air inside the paper caused its entirety to burn, singeing his hand. “Damn it!

  Charles stood, frozen in disbelief. “Detective, I—”

  “I do not care about the armor. Do you hear me? I do not care. I need to know who you are. If you do not tell me, I will use every means at my disposal to ruin your life. If I have to lie to the police or plant evidence, I will. My guess is that your resources are limited and when the real police get a hold of you, the thin veneer of your story will crack. If you just tell me now, I can help you and your wife get back home reasonably unscathed.”

  The boyish man held his face where Rowan had smacked him.

  “Please, Charles.”

  Charles took a deep breath. “Margie and I, we live in California. We do small time cons. I mean, nobody ever gets hurt. I’d never kill anyone.”

  “I know. How did you know about Lasciva’s nephew?”

  “We met him on the beach. He was drunk and just spilled his guts. Margie liked his accent. She thought it was the bee’s knees. He told us he had a rich uncle in Mississippi and he was probably in line for lots of money. She came up with the idea that we could help him for a small fee. We find his uncle and he would give us a share. There were no ill intentions.” He turned to the side and saw Lasciva’s head next to him. Charles convulsed.

  “What happened to the real Charles Lasciva?”

  He caught his breath. “That’s the crazy part. I swear to you we didn’t do anything. He died. He came to our place and slept on the sofa and in the morning he was dead. We didn’t know what to do. There was a dead English hobo on our sofa. Margie checked his pockets and we found his identification and a diary with information about his family. Margie’s an actress and she can pull off the accent.”

  Rowan shrugged. “Perhaps just barely.”

  “We dumped the body in the ocean.”

  “What did you do with the armor?”

  “We had to get something for our tro
uble. It’s down the road, just before the bridge. She figured we could pick it up later.”

  “Was the ax in the room?”

  “It was gone. I swear it. We would have taken it too.”

  Rowan stood firm for a moment, thinking it through. “Fine.”

  “Fine?”

  “Yes, fine. Let us get the clothing. Oh…” He paused. “What is your name, anyway?”

  “Chuck. You can still call me Charles, I guess.”

  The sextet sat around the table in some of the finest dress shirts money could buy. Five of them ate and drank. Rowan leaned back in his chair and listened. His face wore a lackluster smile while his mind drifted. He saw a euphoric mania take over the table.

  Willie held up his index finger and bent it all the way back, eliciting squeamish cries from the table. “It’s the only talent I have.”

  Margaret’s hair frizzed in every conceivable direction and her cheek bones seemed higher than before. “There must be a carnival that would pay you for that. ‘Willie Aikes: the human…’ I don’t even know what you would call that.”

  “Double-jointed.”

  “Willie Aikes: the double-jointed freak.” Her laughter took control of her body and she hit her hand on the table a little too vigorously.

  Charles said, “I think you’ve had too much vodka, dear.”

  Walter laughed. “I get it. Vodka. Deer. That’s good.”

  Margaret stood up and spread her shoulders wide. “Reality is my vice. Drink is my only defense.”

  Charles applauded.

  “I don’t get that one,” said Willie.

  “It’s a bit of dialogue from a play I was in. Charles came to see it. That’s how we met.”

  Walter shot Rowan a knowing grin.

  “I wasn’t even an actress. It was some rinky-dink company and my girlfriend begged me to try out. I think the director fancied me.”

  Willie’s smile grew large enough to show a missing molar in the back of his mouth. “What was the play?”

  “That’s the best part. Ladies Night in a Turkish Bath. I had to wear a skimpy bathing suit for the duration of the play, two whole hours.”