The Baron Blasko Mysteries | Book 4 | Tentacles

by Howe, A. E.

  Josephine didn’t like her tone at all. There was an underlying mockery suggesting that Neith knew that something other than allergies afflicted Blasko.

  Zhao finally returned, holding up a deck of cards.

  “Don’t mind if I have a look at those cards, do you?” Donavan held out his hand.

  “Really?” Jamila asked.

  Josephine wondered about the animosity between Jamila and Donavan. While the rest of the group wasn’t overly friendly with Donavan, they treated him equally. But Jamila seemed incensed by everything he did.

  Zhao handed the cards to Donavan. He flipped through them, with Brock watching closely.

  “They look okay.” Donavan set the cards down on a small table between the windows.

  “High card?” Brock asked.

  There were nods and mutters of agreement as the six people gathered around the cards.

  Hume quickly shuffled the cards and spread them around the table. Then he drew his own card, flipping it over to reveal the nine of clubs.

  Hands reached out and took cards. Neith showed the seven of diamonds and Brock the ten of diamonds. Jamila, to her disgust, revealed the three of hearts. Zhao pulled up the queen of clubs while Donavan tossed his ten of hearts on the table in irritation.

  “Zhao’s the man for the job,” Brock said, looking more relaxed about the situation than Josephine expected. She was sure there was something off about Brock, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  The group turned to her.

  “How would you like to proceed?” Hume asked.

  “With the interrogation or with the letter reveal?” Josephine asked sweetly.

  “Both, I guess.”

  “I’m going to trust you to hold up your end of the bargain.” Josephine looked around at all of them. When she was as satisfied as she was going to get, she said, “If Mr. Zhao will meet me downstairs in the dining room, I will give him time to study the letter. But I don’t want him to make a copy.”

  “I have an excellent memory,” Zhao assured the group.

  “I can’t stop you from making notes after you see the letter.”

  “I fear that would be dangerous,” Zhao said.

  “Which brings up a question. How do we know the letter is safe in your hands?” Hume asked Josephine.

  “You’ll have to trust me.” She paused, then clarified, “It is in a safe place, but I’ll destroy it if I ever feel as though I or my friends are in any danger. That includes if I find that someone has attempted to search our rooms.”

  “I would never…” Hume started, then looked around at the others as if deciding that he couldn’t vouch for everyone else. “…Of course. Understood.”

  “How do we know Zhao’s going to tell us the truth?” Donavan seemed to be having second thoughts.

  “I will tell you what I think the group needs to know and no more. If I reveal too much information from Miss Nicolson’s letter, then the person who might have the other part of the letter would be in an excellent position to outmaneuver us.”

  “We trust you,” Brock told him. “But we’re going to keep a very close eye on you too… For your safety, of course.”

  “I won’t mind having extra pairs of eyes on my back. I assume that if the murderer is among us that he, also, will be watching me.”

  “Meet me downstairs,” Josephine said, tired of the group paranoia.

  She quickly went to her room and pulled the letter from underneath her skirt. She’d been able to secure it with a small safety pin at her waist, just behind her hip, where it was reasonably comfortable and secure.

  Heading downstairs, she wondered how Blasko would react to her deal with the group. What choice did I have? she thought.

  Josephine wasn’t surprised to see that Zhao was already waiting for her near one of the tables. He pulled out a chair for her and she offered him the torn letter as soon as they were both seated.

  With an academic thoroughness, he scrutinized the letter for half an hour. At one point, Jamila came down and got a dirty look from him before fixing herself a drink and sitting as far from them as she could.

  Zhao handed the letter back to Josephine, having not said a word from the time they sat down.

  “Bad luck that there are important clues missing,” he said. “However, I believe that we can narrow down the possible location from this information.”

  “Who do you think might have killed the thief?”

  “I believe that any one of the other members of the group could kill with the right motivation. The question is, who had both the motivation and the opportunity?”

  “The killer used a knife.”

  “So you said. That would not eliminate any of us. Including myself.”

  “What’s the issue between Jamila and Donavan?”

  Zhao smiled broadly. “I am sure that you can guess. We all arrived within days of each other. Hume was the first, followed by Jamila and Donavan. By the time I checked into the hotel, they were already having a rather torrid affair. But after only a few days, their relationship was as you see it now.”

  “I thought that might be it. Is Donavan as mercenary as he acts?”

  “I believe it would be safe to assume that he is no more or less a mercenary than the rest of us.”

  “You’re saying that none of you should be trusted?” Josephine was surprised at his candor. “Despite the reasons y’all originally gave for being here, I gather that you’re all really academics of one sort or another.”

  He gave a heartfelt laugh. “Yes, and that makes us the worst kind of thieves because we can justify it. And we are not the… cream of the crop of academics. Most serious scholars scoff at the thought that the artifacts we’re after are real.”

  “Yet you believe the letter you received is genuine.”

  “Yes. The descriptions of the artifacts are very good. Based on what I was able to read in your part of the letter, the descriptions came from your uncle. He had an excellent eye for detail.”

  “But those letters couldn’t have come from my uncle. He’s been dead for twenty years.”

  “I believe someone simply copied your uncle’s descriptions and sent them to us. I’ve examined the letters that were sent to the other members of our group and they each read the same. A short introduction, followed by descriptions of the artifacts that would be of most interest to the person who received the letter.”

  “And you think you can figure out where the treasure is located?”

  “I think we can get in the general area. Notice the description of the island is as detailed as his descriptions of the various artifacts were in our letters. Donavan, for all of his pomposity, is an excellent cartographer.”

  “How will you proceed from here?”

  “I’ll talk with the others.” He glanced over at Jamila, who was sipping her whiskey and pretending to be interested in whatever was going on outside the window. “Come see us in the morning and we’ll tell you what our plans are.”

  “And I may want to question some of you as we agreed.”

  “Of course.”

  “Before you go, tell me what you know about Brock.”

  “American from Chicago. He teaches anthropology at the University of Chicago, but was refused a tenured position based on a flirtation he had with a visiting professor’s wife. I believe the trip down here came at an opportune time for him to… I believe he said, get out of Dodge.”

  “I see.”

  “If you will excuse me, I want to begin my analysis of the information in the letter.”

  Josephine stood and Zhao started to leave. “Be careful,” she told him and he gave her a small smile in return. Jamila dropped all pretense and left the room right behind Zhao.

  Josephine went back upstairs and was about to knock on Blasko’s door when Anton swung it open wide.

  “Please ask the baron to come onto the balcony and knock on my window when he returns, whatever the hour. I need to speak with him,” Josephine said.

&n
bsp; “The balcony, knock on your window, yes,” Anton agreed.

  “You did well letting me know about the gathering across the hall.”

  “I watch like the baron told me.”

  “I may even pay for the door,” Josephine said, looking at the hole again as she turned away.

  Back in her room, she found Grace still working on her needlepoint.

  “We leaving?” Grace asked without looking up from her work.

  “You may be.” Josephine wasn’t surprised when Grace snapped her head around to look at her.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I may need you to leave the island tomorrow and phone Bobby Tucker.”

  “You don’t want me doing that,” Grace said emphatically. “I’ll tell him to come get you.”

  “You will not. I’ll write out a list of questions for you to ask him.”

  “How am I going to get there? And where am I going call him from?”

  “Don’t worry about the details. I’ll work them out.”

  “I don’t feel comfortable alone in these backwoods. It ain’t like I’m at home where people know me,” Grace said, all petulance gone and real concern in her voice.

  Josephine was aware of the dangers that a black woman could face in a strange part of the country. “I’ll make sure you have a safe escort.”

  An hour later, after a long soak in the tub, Josephine lay in bed on top of the covers, letting the warm Gulf breezes do their best to cool her off. She couldn’t help but wonder where Blasko was and if he’d been able to discover any of the island’s secrets.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After revising his orders to Anton, Blasko headed for Mrs. Sharp’s house in search of its mysterious occupant. As he walked through the dark streets, he felt the hunger growing within him. In order to honor his promise to Josephine not to hunt for his own blood, he usually worked hard to keep his mind occupied with other distractions. Most of the time he was successful, but tonight’s focus on the trail of the dead man’s blood from Josephine’s clothes to the dining room had taxed him. He’d felt the old sensations and desires rising in him every time he’d inhaled the sweet, coppery aroma of the blood, and now he was having to fight the urge to hunt.

  Before long, he found himself in front of the small rental house, where he could see the faint yellow glow of lamplight through the cracks in the shutters. Blasko blended in with the shadows as he sidled up to the clapboard house. His keen hearing was able to pick up the breathing of a single person, rapid and shallow. Like an experienced predator, Blasko could tell that the person inside was in distress. He could also detect the whiff of the same putrid odor that permeated the docks, and underneath that something floral, but very faint.

  Blasko circled the house, trying the shutters. They were all high off the ground and secured from the inside, so he gave up hope of a stealthy entry. It would have to be through the front door. If he could get the man to open the door even the slightest crack, then he’d be able to force his way inside whether he was invited in or not. Of course, Josephine had told him that the man had refused to even acknowledge her presence when she’d knocked. Knocking would alert the occupant, but simply barging his way in could lead to a confrontation that might cause the person inside to be rendered unconscious, uncooperative or worse.

  Blasko went over the options and their probable outcomes in an effort to approach the situation with cold logic. A deliberative process would give him cover if everything went south and he had to explain his actions to Josephine. With this last thought in mind, he decided to knock on the door and force his way in only if necessary. At least then he would be able to tell Josephine that he had tried reasoning with the lodger first.

  He climbed the steps to the front porch and stood awkwardly in front of the door. Knocking was a social nicety he’d never had to practice in the old country. If he’d ridden up to a house on horseback, he’d simply called to the people inside who would come out in deference to his peerage. If he’d ever had to knock, it meant that the door came down and he followed up by killing everyone inside who failed to surrender. If he hadn’t been plagued by his condition, then he might have acquired more friends and acquaintances of his own social standing. But if it weren’t for my condition, I’d have been dust in the grave hundreds of years ago, Blasko thought with an ironic grin.

  Finally, he gave the door five thunderous raps with his fist. He heard the person inside stand up and move stealthily toward the door. He knocked again several times, loud enough that he could sense the person on the other side startle in fear. But there was still no answer.

  He was about to kick the door down when he decided to try one more tactic—asking politely.

  “I don’t know who you are, but I’d like to speak with you. I—”

  Blasko was going to assure the person that he meant no harm., but before he could get the words out he heard the bolt being thrown back and the door flew open in his face.

  “Blasko, damn you, get in here!” a harsh voice barked from the shadows behind the door.

  A voice that was all too familiar.

  “Carter!” Blasko bellowed, stunned that Josephine’s cousin was on the island and even more surprised that he’d opened the door.

  “Get in here! Consider that the best invitation you’re going to get,” Franklin Carter hissed from the darkness.

  Blasko stepped into the house, fully prepared for a cage covered in garlic to crash down over him. Carter had never trusted him and the feeling was mutual. The last time they’d met, Carter had tried to kill the vampire before leaving Sumter in possession of a valuable and very dangerous book.

  “What are you doing here?” Blasko asked, staring at the man. Anyone else would have had a difficult time making out his features in the dim light, but not Blasko. He was perfectly able to tell that the once-pompous man was now a shadow of himself, gaunt and pale. He also noticed that Carter had a burlap sack tied firmly over his left hand.

  “Have you gone mad?” Blasko said. “Or should I say madder! Where the devil is the Necronomicon you stole?”

  “I’ve been punished enough for that, thank you. Let me shut the door.” He slammed the door with his right hand and stumbled back toward the bedroom where an oil lamp glowed.

  Blasko followed him, wanting to toss Carter against the wall and demand that he return the dark grimoire. The only thing stopping him was the pitiable state of the man. He also couldn’t help but take note of the rancid, fishy smell coming off of Carter, which had almost completely masked his usual tell-tale scent of orange-blossom perfume. Curious, Blasko decided to hear him out.

  Carter sat down on the side of a rickety, metal-framed bed that took up one wall of the cramped room. “I’m actually glad you’re here. I’m desperate for assistance.” He gestured to a straight-backed wooden chair across from the bed. “Sit.”

  Despite his curiosity, Blasko still couldn’t let go of his anger toward the man… for so many things. “How dare you send Josephine that abominable book?” Months earlier, he had discovered Josephine reading a book that was filled with myths and lies about vampirism. She’d admitted that Carter had sent it to her.

  “You have to admit that vampires can… present some… dangers,” Carter said, treading lightly. “But maybe I was wrong about you.” He waved dismissively with the hand that wasn’t in the bag. “Sit… please.”

  Blasko didn’t want to sit, but Carter’s obvious desperation blunted his anger. Best to humor the man, he thought.

  A silence drew out as Carter sat staring down at the floor. Blasko saw the man’s shoulders moving and realized that he was crying. At last, Carter wiped his eyes and began to speak.

  “You were right about the Necronomicon. I never should have kept it.”

  “You murdered a man for that book,” Blasko couldn’t help reminding him.

  “Yes, yes, you’re right. But Mayor Thornton couldn’t have been allowed to keep it, not after he’d opened that portal to hell. Look, I’d bee
n on the trail of the book for almost a decade. I couldn’t let you destroy it before I had a chance to do some research.” He looked up for the first time. “Damn it, I meant well!”

  “Most of the world’s grief can be laid at the feet of men who uttered those words.”

  “No worries for the world. I’m the only one who is suffering now because of my hubris,” Carter said through clenched teeth. He untied the string from around his forearm and pulled the burlap bag off of his hand, revealing the most fascinating and revolting melding of man and monster that Blasko had ever seen.

  The lower part of Carter’s arm was no longer human. From just below his elbow, it looked like someone had grafted an octopus where his hand should have been. Five pink tentacles seemed to move with their own undulating purpose as he held the monstrosity up in front of Blasko.

  Mesmerized, Blasko studied the flexing tentacles. He noticed that they didn’t look damp; rather they appeared to be dry and scaly like a lizard’s skin. The suckers opened and closed reflexively.

  “Are you able to control the tentacles and the individual suckers?” Blasko asked, entranced.

  “After a fashion. That’s not the point! This… thing is not something I wish to become accustomed to.”

  “Yes, I can understand that,” Blasko said with genuine sympathy. “How did…” Blasko gestured at the tentacles, wiggling away where Carter’s hand should be. “Start at the beginning. Why are you here on Cedar Island?”

  Carter sighed loudly. “After our last encounter with the… thing under the gentlemen’s club and that strange cult, I decided to do some research into Semmes County… to see if there is a reason so many odd things seem to be happening there. I also looked into Josephine’s family history. I knew some of it, but very little, as it turned out. When I realized she had an uncle named Peter Nicolson, I remembered that I’d seen the name in some papers archived at Miskatonic University. I soon discovered that there were ties to Innsmouth.”

  “What were these papers about Nicolson? Was it a letter?” Blasko interrupted, and Carter gave him the squint-eye.