The Baron Blasko Mysteries | Book 4 | Tentacles

by Howe, A. E.

  “This trip is going to be a bit different with Blasko and Anton along for the ride.”

  “He’s going to the beach?”

  “We aren’t necessarily going to the beach, just the coast.”

  “As long as there’s a breeze, I guess I don’t care,” Grace said, scanning the list.

  “I’ve packed my own bags and Anton can help us load up the cars. In fact, he can go ahead and carry my cases down to the hall. Now I’ve got to run to the bank and do a few chores.”

  “This about your uncle?” Grace asked. She had long since stopped pretending that she didn’t eavesdrop.

  “Yes.” Josephine took a deep breath, then gave Grace the details.

  “Seems that anything that came from that monster can’t be any good,” Grace pronounced.

  “The letter came from my uncle. You wouldn’t judge the worth of a letter by the quality of the mailman.”

  “I wouldn’t be taking any mail from a minion of the devil,” Grace argued.

  “I’m taking the source of the discovery into account,” Josephine assured her. “Would you ask Ronnie to check on the house and feed the cat while we’re gone?” she asked, referring to Grace’s brother who lived with his family in Grace’s little shotgun house on the street behind Josephine’s.

  “He’ll be happy to,” Grace said.

  “I can’t blame you for going down to the Gulf. At least it should be a little cooler than here,” said Daniel Robertson, the bank’s manager and a long-time friend, after Josephine had explained her plans to him.

  “Sorry you and Alice can’t go with us,” Josephine said, only half seriously.

  “Alice hasn’t quite recovered from the… incident,” Daniel confided. His wife had been witness to a rampaging werewolf earlier that year and, ever since, Josephine had noticed that Alice had been avoiding her. “Besides, someone has to stay and keep the bank running.”

  “I don’t know exactly how long I’ll be gone. Maybe just a week. However, it could be longer. I’ll keep in touch.” Josephine was the bank’s majority shareholder and, while the economy seemed to have stabilized, no one was giving any guarantees. Even almost five years after the crash, people still felt shell-shocked.

  Josephine withdrew what she judged to be enough cash for their journey and was on her way out of the bank when Deputy Robert Tucker walked through the front door. Josephine had dated Bobby for years before deciding that they couldn’t be more than friends. Bobby had accepted the new terms of their relationship reluctantly.

  “Josie,” he said with a smile. The sweat stains on his shirt reached almost all the way down to the .45 revolver on his hip. He swept off his hat and planted himself in front of her.

  “Bobby! It’s good to see you.” In truth, Josephine had hoped to get out of town without running into the deputy. Lately he had become very protective of her. Of course, the horror-filled experiences they’d shared since Blasko’s arrival had given him some reason to be concerned for her safety.

  “I was hoping I’d run into you. Can we talk?”

  “Now?” Josephine knew that the longer they spoke, the more likely it was that her plans would come out.

  “Only if you have time. If not, tonight would be fine.”

  Hell’s bells, Josephine thought. “Now’s fine. Let’s go into my office.”

  Bobby followed her and stepped around her in time to open the door where her name was stenciled on the glass in gold. Just then, Daniel came out of his office.

  “Hi, Bobby!” he said before turning to Josephine. “I’m glad I caught you. I realized that if you’re going to be gone for a couple of weeks, there are a few items I’d like to get your approval on.”

  Josephine saw the look on Bobby’s face and knew that she was going to have to tell him about her trip. A postcard would have been easier, she thought.

  “I’ll come see you when I’m done talking to Bobby,” she told Daniel.

  “A trip?” Bobby said once they were in her office with the door shut. Josephine tried to ignore the hurt in his voice.

  “We’re just going down to the coast. A little summer break, that’s all,” Josephine said dismissively.

  “I guess the baron is going with you?” Bobby wasn’t really jealous. He understood that Josephine’s relationship with Blasko was complicated. Still, he seemed to hold on to some faint hope.

  “Yes, along with Grace and Anton.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “A week or two,” she fudged.

  “Where are you staying?”

  “Is this an interrogation?” She didn’t want to tell him that they were going down to Cedar Island, as it would only open up another round of questions.

  “Is it a secret?”

  “No.”

  “I’m your friend, and I’m also a deputy who knows that bad things often happen around you and the baron. Besides, what if I need to get ahold of you?”

  “The Cedar Island Hotel,” Josephine said reluctantly. She’d sent a telegram to the hotel that morning to confirm their reservations.

  “Cedar Island? That’s not exactly a tourist spot. You usually go to St. George.”

  “Dragomir wants to see what Florida’s fishing industry is like,” she lied. Fishing was the only thing that Josephine knew they did on the island.

  “He’s never struck me as a fisherman,” Bobby said, looking unconvinced. “Why are you really going down there?”

  Josephine chewed on her lip.

  “I’m your friend, Josie. After all we’ve been through in the last year, I’d think you’d trust me,” he pressed.

  “Of course I trust you, and I know you have my best interests at heart. That’s the problem. I don’t want you trying to talk me out of this trip.” Josephine went on to explain the reason for it.

  Bobby frowned. “I don’t feel any better about this knowing that LeSauvage was the one who told you about that letter.”

  “You aren’t the first person to point that out. Believe me, I’ve taken it into consideration. But I can’t see any other way to get answers without going to Cedar Island.”

  “I could probably get some time off.”

  “You can’t leave the colonel right now. There isn’t anyone else he can lean on. You know that.” Josephine wasn’t overstating the case. The Semmes County Sheriff’s Office was small and, while the other deputies were good men, they weren’t the type who could be trusted to make the right decisions in a crisis.

  “Promise me you’ll call if you need me,” Bobby continued to pressure her.

  Josephine found it hard to look at the obvious love in his eyes. “You have my solemn word on it.” If there was real trouble, then Bobby would be the first person she’d call. “Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”

  Bobby smiled boyishly. “Nothing really. I just wanted to see you.”

  Josephine could only shake her head in exasperation.

  Having dealt with Bobby and reviewed the papers that Daniel needed her to sign, Josephine headed for Connelly’s Funeral Home. She’d decided she was more likely to find Jerry Connelly up and about before noon than Emmett Wolfe, the editor of the Sumter Times. Emmett spent most of the night editing stories and running the presses.

  The Connelly family had served as the county’s morticians since the Civil War. When she pulled into the driveway of the large Victorian that doubled as the family home, she saw one of their drivers washing a hearse under the side portico. The man looked content, polishing the car in his vest. His hat and coat hung over one of the stone lions that flanked the steps up to the side entrance.

  “Morning, Calvin,” Josephine said.

  “Why, good morning, Miss Josephine,” the middle-aged man said, doffing a hat he wasn’t wearing. He was a cousin of the Connellys; when they could, they hired family. “If you’re looking for Jerry, he’s having his coffee on the back porch.”

  “Quiet around here today?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Always have mixed emotions ab
out that. Good for the county, but bad for business,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper.

  “I’m afraid you never have to worry about the long-term prospects.”

  “Aye, the Lord will call us all home one day, as my sainted grandmother used to say.”

  Josephine went inside. She’d always thought of funeral homes as the dark stepchildren of churches. They had all of the somber atmosphere with none of the hope. No one else was around, so she found her own way back to the screened-in porch at the rear of the house. She found Jerry reading the morning paper with his coffee and toast. A ceiling fan moved the warm air around him.

  “Miss Josephine,” he said, standing up abruptly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He looked embarrassed to be caught in his shirtsleeves.

  “Please sit down. I just came by to ask you a few questions about my uncle’s funeral,” she said, taking the wrought-iron chair across from him. She knew he’d never sit back down until she did herself.

  “Your uncle?” he asked, puzzled.

  “This was years ago. 1914.”

  “My father was still doing most of the embalming back then. I can’t say that I remember an uncle of yours.”

  “He drowned down in Florida.”

  “Wait… Now I do remember. Oh my, yes! My father asked for my assistance on that one. It was… I’m sorry, I don’t want to sound insensitive. Let’s just say that he was a difficult client. There was no question that the casket would need to remain closed. In fact, we needed to perfume the body and kept it packed in ice until the burial.”

  “Was there an examination of the body? I mean, did the sheriff or a doctor look at it?”

  Connelly looked surprised. “No, I can’t imagine why they would have.”

  “Was there anything about his body that struck you as odd?”

  “Well, he came to us without any clothes. I found that surprising at the time, but looking back, there could have been any number of explanations for that.”

  “Such as?”

  “He might have been examined by a coroner or the sheriff where his body was discovered. That would have been the ordinary course of events. The clothes might have been destroyed when they were removed. The condition of his body would almost certainly have necessitated cutting them off in order to remove them.”

  “What exactly do you mean?”

  Connelly looked uncomfortable. “Miss Josephine, I don’t think this is a topic that—”

  “Tell me, Mr. Connelly.”

  He sighed deeply. “Very well. The body was bloated and the skin was… sloughing off.” He turned away from Josephine as though wanting to avoid seeing any evidence of offense in her eyes.

  While the image made her feel a bit green, Josephine wasn’t going to let the gory details keep her from pursuing the truth. “I understand that nature is not always kind.” She took a breath. “Do you remember any other… wounds on the body?”

  “Honestly, Miss Josephine, I don’t remember much about it. It was twenty years ago. The only reason I recall the preparations at all is because my father requested my help.” Connelly paused, looking down at his coffee. “Though now that you mention it, I remember that the head was… damaged.”

  “Damaged how?”

  “Even though there wasn’t going to be an open coffin, my father always took pains to restore the body as best he could. I remember we had to stuff the head with newspapers to get the shape more… natural.”

  “So he’d been hit on the head?”

  “From what I can remember, it’s possible. Not to say that it wasn’t an accident. We had a young man about ten years ago who was swimming with friends down at the river. They’d been climbing up on the railroad trestle and diving in. Well… he slipped and hit his head before going into the river. Anyway, I don’t think there is anything else I can tell you about your uncle.”

  “I appreciate your time,” Josephine said and stood up, causing Connelly to jump to his feet.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you interested in your uncle’s death now?” he asked.

  Josephine thought she heard another question hidden between the lines. The county had been through a number of dramatic, even horrifying, events in the past year and Connelly himself had seen the remains of much of it. Josephine was tied in the minds of many of the townsfolk to these strange affairs. She’d noticed the occasional sideways glances from people on the street, so it wasn’t surprising that Connelly might be nervous about her interest in a long-dead relative.

  “I’ve recently found a letter that Uncle Petey wrote which caused me to wonder about his death.” Which is only the truth, she thought.

  “I see. Rest assured that nothing about his death seemed… sinister,” Connelly said with a nervous smile.

  “Of course not! I just want to understand what happened. I was so young when he died.”

  Connelly nodded and Josephine took the opportunity to maneuver around the chairs and make her way toward the door. The mortician walked her to her car past the now-gleaming hearse.

  At her next stop, she found Emmett Wolfe in the back room of the newspaper office, trying to dislodge a small metal type block that had fallen down into the workings of the old press he used to print the Sumter Times. The typesetter, Jack, stood by with a frown on his face.

  “I can’t quite reach the damn thing!” Emmett grumbled from under the press.

  “Language, Mr. Wolfe. There’s a lady present,” Jack said in his thick Bavarian accent. Jack’s name was actually Johan Bauer, but the barrel-chested Bavarian had changed it during the Great War to the more American-sounding Jack in order to highlight his allegiance.

  “What?” Emmett yelled, half crawling out from under the press. “Oh!” He scrambled to his feet. “Josephine. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “You were too busy cussing at your machine,” she said, smiling. Emmett was usually a natty dresser, so she found it amusing to catch him with his hands and clothes covered in ink.

  “I wouldn’t have been down there if this moose of a man’s hands weren’t in proportion to the rest of his body,” Emmett said as Jack held up his mutton-sized hands as evidence. “How you can set type as fast as you can, I’ll never figure out.”

  “It is a wonder!” the big man said with a heartfelt belly laugh.

  “We’ll need a monkey, not a moose, to get at that piece of type. It’s jammed in a tight spot. Go out and see if there are any street urchins you can recruit. I’ll pay a dollar to anyone of them that can get that da… piece of type out of there,” Emmett told Jack, trying to clean his hands with a rag that was probably putting more ink on than taking it off.

  Jack nodded and headed toward the front of the building. Josephine and Emmett followed him. “We can go to my office,” he told her. “I assume this isn’t a social visit.”

  “We may as well go to the morgue,” she said. He looked at her sharply. “Your newspaper morgue. Isn’t that what you call it?”

  “We call it the big musty room where we keep the old editions,” Emmett laughed. “What are you looking for?”

  “Information on an uncle who passed away twenty years ago.” Remembering Connelly’s questions, Josephine added, “I’m doing some genealogy research.”

  “With your father passing away last year, I can understand the urge to find out as much as you can about your family.” Emmett opened a door into a large room that he’d correctly described as musty. Bare light bulbs hung from the ceiling, illuminating a dozen or more rows of wooden shelves. Most of the shelves were full with wooden boxes, each labeled with the name of the paper and a range of dates.

  “I didn’t know there’d been this many editions of the Times,” Josephine said in awe at the number of crates.

  “We don’t just store our own papers. We archive the Montgomery papers as well so that we have them for quick reference if we need background for a statewide story. Now, what are the dates you’re looking for?”

  “It would be around the end of J
une, first of July in 1914. He died on June 28 in Florida. I don’t remember exactly when the funeral was held.”

  Emmett walked down one aisle, checking the dates on the various boxes before doubling back and heading down the next row of crates.

  “Here we go.” He pulled a box off a shelf, sending a cloud of dust into the air. “Let’s take it up front where we can breathe.”

  After placing the box on his desk, Emmett pulled out a small stack of papers and handed them to Josephine before taking a stack for himself.

  “Here,” Emmett said a while later, pointing to an article on the second page of a paper dated: Sunday, July 5, 1914. The small headline read: Local Banker Mourns Brother’s Death.

  Josephine took the paper and quickly read the article. Other than noting the cause and location of Peter’s death, and the plans for the funeral the following day, the article mainly spoke about Andre Nicolson and his accomplishments and connections in the county. There was very little about Peter himself.

  “Not much here,” Josephine said. She had hoped the paper would have covered the return of the body, and maybe even have speculated on how he drowned.

  “Tell me a little about your uncle,” Emmett said.

  Josephine gave him a quick rundown of Peter’s roguish habits.

  “Ah! There’s the problem,” Emmett said. “Your father was well thought of and important to the community. This Uncle Petey sounds like a black sheep. The paper wouldn’t have wanted to rake up dirt that might stain your father or your family. Better just to stick to the most basic facts and let the matter go.”

  Josephine nodded. His explanation made a lot of sense. If she’d ever had any doubt about whether she needed to visit Cedar Island, it was gone now. There was a mystery here, benign or not, and she intended to solve it.

  Chapter Four

  Having done everything she could in town, Josephine went into high gear planning for their trip. As soon as she got home, she sat down with Anna in the kitchen to discuss preparing a basket of food to take with them. Traveling at night along rural roads, there would be few places to stop.