Jane Carter Historical Cozies: Omnibus Edition (Six Mystery Novels)

by Alice Simpson

  I finally slept and did not awaken until early morning, when someone pounded on the door.

  “Six o’clock,” called Mrs. Conrad. “Time to get up, Emma.”

  Emma slipped out of bed and started dressing in a daze.

  “I suppose we may as well get up, too,” Flo said.

  I washed my hands and face in ice-cold water from a white porcelain pitcher and combed my hair.

  “Is one of my eyes out of place, or is it this cracked mirror?” I asked, turning to Emma.

  “It’s the mirror,” said Emma.

  “I couldn’t be sure,” I said. “After last night—”

  “Emma!” Mrs. Conrad called from the foot of the stairs. “Are you up, yet?”

  “Coming.”

  She started for the door, but I caught her by the hand.

  “Emma,” I said. “This will be our last chance to talk. Won’t you come home with me? I’m sure you’ll never like this place.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then come back to Greenville with us. You can stay at our house until you find work.”

  Emma shook her head.

  “Thank you, Jane, but I can’t impose upon you. I am determined to be self-supporting.”

  Emma pulled her hand away, ran out of the room and down the stairway to the kitchen.

  An hour later, Flo and I were ready to leave.

  “I appreciate your help more than I can say,” said Emma. “And I’ll miss you both terribly. This house is like a morgue.”

  “Florence and I will run down to see you now and then,” I promised. “And remember this, if you should need us for any reason, don’t hesitate to send word.”

  “I’ll remember,” Emma said.

  I had made up my mind to talk with Thom Vhorst again, so we went next door for breakfast. The man did not seem very glad to see us, nor was he in a conversational mood. Perhaps suspecting our purpose in calling, he remained in the kitchen after serving us.

  “He may not be in the mood to flap his gums, but I’ll force him from his lair,” I said.

  Rapping on the table, I requested a second cup of coffee. He deposited it by my plate and started to retreat, but before he could escape, I said quickly: “Oh, Mr. Vhorst, what was it you started to tell us yesterday? You remember—when Glen Conrad came in.”

  “I don’t recollect. Don’t recall I was goin’ to tell you anything.”

  “Something about Old Mansion,” I insisted. “Is it haunted?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Then what is all this mystery connected with room seven?”

  Thom Vhorst glanced about to make certain no one was within distance of his voice before speaking.

  “Glen won’t like it, me telling you this, but I’ll do it anyhow. Folks say a man disappeared in that house!”

  “From room seven?” Florence asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How long ago was that?” I inquired.

  “Not so long ago,” Thom answered, glancing uneasily toward the door. “I oughtn’t to have told you this. There’s no proof, and Glen denies it’s true. Accuses me of trying to ruin his tourist business.”

  “Who was the man?” I asked.

  “Couldn’t tell you. Just a tourist who stopped there for a night.”

  “How do you know he vanished?”

  “I reckon I have eyes,” Thom answered. “For two days, a brown touring car stood out in front of Old Mansion, and then it disappeared. Never did see hide nor hair of the fellow who drove it there. When I’d ask Glen about it, he’d shut up tighter than a clam!”

  “Haven’t the police investigated?”

  Thom shrugged.

  “No one’s complained as far as I know. Anyway, there’s no proof.”

  “What do you think became of the man?”

  “How should I know? Glen is an ugly one to mix with, and I figure on tendin’ my own business. Don’t let on I told you all this.”

  Mr. Vhorst seemed so anxious that I gave up the questioning. I was uncertain that the story was true. While I did not doubt Mr. Vhorst’s sincerity, he might have been mistaken. It was a serious matter to make accusations against the Conrads without definite proof that a man had disappeared from their hotel.

  I voiced this opinion to Flo after we had climbed aboard Bouncing Betsy.

  “Yes, Thom dislikes Glen Conrad so heartily that his eyesight may have been sharpened,” Florence agreed. “He may have imagined the whole thing.”

  “There is one reason why I’m inclined to believe that the story is true,” I said.

  “And what is that?”

  “The Conrads acted so defensively about room seven.”

  “Perhaps, that is only because the townspeople have been gossiping.”

  “Possibly. But Glen mentioned possible danger several times. He seems afraid to have Emma in the house for fear she will discover something. Last night, after you were asleep, I heard him talking with his wife, again.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Oh, nothing we didn’t know. Simply, that he’s opposed to having Emma in at Old Mansion.”

  “I wish she wasn’t staying.”

  “So, do I, but she’s determined.”

  I suddenly slammed on the brakes and scared Florence

  “Now what?” Flo demanded.

  “I’ve just had a splendid idea! We’ll pass Mud Cat Joe’s place on our way home. Why not buy a basket of food and some clothing for the children? We could drop it off without taking much time.”

  “It would be appreciated, I’m sure.”

  White Falls had only one general store. We bought a large basket of food, added a sack of candy for the children, stockings, overalls, and several items of underwear.

  “I don’t dare spend any more,” I said. “We might have car trouble on the way home, and I’d be flat broke.”

  When the proprietor carried the basket to the automobile, I tried to draw him into conversation. I mention that a friend of mine had taken work at Old Mansion. The storekeeper started slightly at the mention of Old Mansion but offered no comment. He deposited the groceries and returned to his waiting customers.

  Before I could remark upon his manner, Florence nudged my elbow.

  “Look over there!” she whispered.

  Not far away stood Ralph, as impeccably dressed as he had been the previous day and leaning indolently against a building. He had been watching us. Upon seeing that he, too, was under observation, he tipped his hat and walked away.

  “We do seem to be curiosities,” Flo said. “They must not get many strangers around these parts.”

  I climbed into Bouncing Betsy and applied my foot to the starter.

  “If you ask me,” I said, “everyone in this town is a bit odd! I’m glad to be leaving it.”

  CHAPTER 8

  The morning was bright and sunny. Rain-washed foliage along the roadside had a fresh, glittering color and the air was dust-free and invigorating. We motored along, enjoying the scenery. We’d gone five miles or so when we came upon a man on the road ahead who was waving a red flag.

  “Now what?” Flo said.

  “Probably a washout of some kind,” I suggested.

  The flagman stopped us.

  “Sorry, Miss,” he said. “The bridge won’t carry a car safely. That flood last night did something to one of the piers.”

  “How do we get by?” I asked. “We didn’t see any detour sign.”

  “Ain’t had time to put any up,” the man said. “Turn around and go three miles back to where the road forks. Take the right-hand turn. Go two miles east, and three south, till you hit the river again. The bridge there is all right. Then two miles south, and two west, and you’ll be back on this road again.”

  “I hope I can remember all that,” I said, turning the car around in the middle of the narrow highway.

  “We’ll probably miss seeing Mud Cat Joe and his family,” Flo said. “The detour won’t pass his place.”

 
We followed the alternate route, and when we came out on the main highway again, I saw that Florence’s prediction had come true; we had bypassed Mud Cat Joe’s.

  “My idea of buying food wasn’t such a good one after all,” I said. “The only way we could get it to them now would be to turn back. I’m not sure I could find the place from this direction.”

  “I need to get back to Greenville. One of Father’s parishioners, Mrs. McCall—”

  “Old Mrs. McCall who always insists on taking out her glass eye and making you clean it for her?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “And never fails to solicit your expert opinion on how her bunion removal is coming along?”

  “Also, the one and she’s laid up again, so I promised mother I’d call in with a pot of chicken soup.”

  “Well, we mustn’t deprive Mrs. McCall of the opportunity of having her glass eye tended to, so I’m afraid we’ll have to take the food for the Gain’s family home and deliver it another day,” I conceded.

  The highway circled through dense groves of trees. We caught occasional glimpses of the river, glistening for a moment like a ribbon of silver in the distance, and then fading from view amid the green foliage.

  We came upon a stoop-shouldered man walking with an easy gait along the road. He raised his hand as if signaling us to stop. I raised my foot from the gasoline pedal.

  “Don’t stop!” Flo said. “It’s not safe, picking up hitch-hikers!”

  “Hitch-hiker, nothing! It’s Mud Cat Joe!”

  I slammed on the braked and screeched to a halt just beyond the man.

  “Hello, Joe,” I called. “Aren’t you a long way from home?”

  “Well, dog my cats if it ain’t Mrs. Carter and Miss Radcliff! Where you-all headed for?”

  “We’re on our way home,” Florence said. “We have a basket of food for your wife, but we couldn’t take it to your place because the bridge was out.”

  “That’s too bad, it sure is. We ain’t none of us been eatin’ very regular.”

  “Have you had any word of The Empress?” I asked.

  “A feller jest gave me a tip. His uncle heard tell of a houseboat in the Blue River. He didn’t know what business it had a-bein’ there, but he reckoned as how it looked right smart like The Empress. I’m a-headin’ for there now.”

  “How much farther is the Blue River?” I asked.

  “Only two—three miles. It runs into the Grassy down here at Gribsby’s Station.”

  “We’ll take you there, Joe,” I offered. “It won’t be much out of our way.”

  “That’s mighty nice of you, mighty nice,” Mud Cat said as he climbed into the car.

  I threw the car into gear, and we sped down the road. Joe could not take his eyes away from the river.

  “I knows ever foot o’ water along these parts,” he said. “Right over there is the best place to ketch crappie I knows of. There’s a rocky reef a-stickin’ out from the shore where they likes to hang out. Many a time I’ve anchored The Empress on the end of the reef and hauled ’em in till it weren’t fun no more.”

  “You miss The Empress dreadfully, don’t you, Joe?”

  “I sure do. She was a real boat. I’ve owned a right smart o’ craft in my day, but The Empress laid it over ’em all. She had style, and she’d stay afloat in a puddle. And inside she was beautiful. Jennie had fixed her up till she looked jest like a parsonage. Why, she even had a carpet in the settin’ room. And purty lace curtains on the winders with a geranium a-perched on the sill.”

  Mud Cat Joe lapsed into a meditative silence until we pulled up at our destination.

  “I’m much obliged for the ride.”

  “We may as well wait here while you make inquiries,” I offered. “Maybe we can help you find your boat.”

  Joe thanked me and ambled off down to the river bank, all the while looking up and down the stream for his beloved Empress. He accosted a fisherman he seemed to know, but his face fell when the man answered his question. Soon Joe returned to the car.

  “Nobody’s seen The Empress around these parts. I reckon it was jest another false alarm.”

  “Isn’t that a road going along the river?” I said indicating a narrow dirt lane. “Let’s drive up that way and see what we can learn. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  We bumped over the potholes for ten minutes before Joe said, “It ain’t no use goin’ any further, Mrs. Carter. The river’s a-running over the rocks here. They wouldn’t never git the boat higher up than this.”

  “We’re dreadfully sorry, Joe,” Flo said. “But don’t be too discouraged. A houseboat couldn’t very well vanish into thin air.”

  “Looks like that’s jest what she’s done, Miss,” Mud Cat replied, refusing to be comforted. “Reckon we never will see that boat again. And a-livin’ like we are now, in an old cowshed, we feels mighty trashy, I’m a tellin’ you.”

  We reached the main road and turned toward Greenville. Mud Cat Joe rode along until we reached the crossroads nearest his temporary home. He got out with the basket of food.

  “I won’t be a forgettin’ all you’ve done for us,” he said. “Mebbe I kin pay you back for it someday.”

  I hadn’t the slightest inkling that his words were prophetic.

  CHAPTER 9

  After I took Florence home, I dropped in at the offices of the Greenville Examiner. I wanted a chat with dear old Dad.

  As I walked through the newsroom, Jack greeted me from his desk.

  “How come I haven’t seen you around these parts, lately?” Jack asked. “Have you taken an even dimmer view of the newspaper business since we last met?”

  “Where did we last meet?” I asked. “I don’t seem to recall.”

  “Oh, here and there,” said Jack. “Homicidal lunatics underground dungeons, the emergency ward at the hospital, that sort of thing.”

  I looked at Jack’s forehead. The gash he’d received during the last dangerous adventure we’d gone on together was mostly healed, but a pink scar remained.

  “I can’t help it if you choose to throw yourself in front of jug-wielding maniacs,” I said.

  “Want to go see a picture with me?” said Jack, abruptly changing the subject.

  Was Jack asking me on a date? Pleasant as the prospect sounded, I had made myself a solemn promise never to step out with Jack Bancroft.

  “I have to see a man about a dog,” I said and legged it to my father’s private office.

  As I entered, Dad looked up from his desk and smiled at me.

  “You seem in a good mood this bright morning,” I said. “Don’t tell me you’ve finally managed to swipe The Times best advertising account.”

  “Nothing like it. Can’t a father be glad to see his daughter? To tell you the truth, I was beginning to think you might have had trouble on the road.”

  “Betsy behaved herself for once. But plenty happened to me.”

  “Did you get your friend safely installed in her new job?”

  “Installed at any rate. I’m not so sure about the ‘safe’ part.”

  “Why, what do you mean, Jane?”

  “The Conrads seem to have an unsavory reputation at White Falls, Dad. And that house-turned-hotel where Emma is staying is a huge barn with more paintings than an art gallery.”

  “Does that necessarily make it an unsafe place?”

  “Well, one of the portraits has a habit of rolling its eyes.”

  “What nonsense are you talking now, Jane?”

  “I didn’t actually see the eyes move,” I admitted. Dad thought I was pulling his leg. I should have left out the staring portrait stuff and focused on the missing persons angle of the thing.

  “Emma thought she did,” I said “But that’s beside the point. According to rumor, a man disappeared in that hotel and was seen no more.”

  “Are you feeling well this morning, Jane?”

  “My mind isn’t the least bit touched, Dad. I acquired considerable information down at White Fall
s. Would you like to hear all about it?”

  I didn’t wait for him to ask any more questions. Instead, I told him what I’d learned from Thom Vhorst, the café man.

  “The man may have a feud with the Conrad family,” Dad said. “Gossip is never a reliable source of information.”

  “I realize that, Dad. But the Conrads acted very oddly about having Emma in the house.”

  “It’s nonsense that a man could disappear from a small community, and no questions be asked.”

  “He was supposed to be a stranger.”

  “Even so, if anything such as you suggest had occurred, the news would have leaked out to the police.”

  “White Falls is too small to have a force.”

  “I’m afraid there’s nothing to the story, Jane.”

  “Well, for Emma’s sake, I hope so.” I decided to change the subject. “Dad, if someone had stolen your houseboat, how would you go about recovering it?”

  “Since when did I acquire a houseboat?”

  “A hypothetical houseboat. I’m thinking of going into the detective business again. Someone stole Mud Cat Joe’s boat, and I’ve promised to help him find it.”

  “Who is heaven’s name is ‘Mud Cat Joe’? Jane, why don’t you learn to begin your stories with a ‘who, when, where, why, and how’ lead? Then I might have some idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, it takes so long to explain all the details,” I said. “Well, settle back in your chair, Dad, because it’s a lengthy tale.”

  However, before I could get started, an office boy came to tell Mr. Carter that a man by the name of Frank Harwood wished to see him.

  “Harwood? I don’t know anyone by that name. Well, send him in.”

  “I suppose that’s my cue to evaporate,” I said getting up from my chair.

  “No, stay if you wish. If the man is here to see me about anything confidential, I can send you out.”