The Complete Honey Huckleberry Box Set

by Margaret Moseley

  “It’s that easy? That’s all there is to it? Why don’t I have USA coverage? Oh, maybe I do. Bondesky would know.” And I continued my ongoing glare at Evelyn Potter, who clutched Kantor’s insurance check to her ample bosom. Other than repeating “He’s fine,” I hadn’t gotten any more information out of her about the accountant’s disappearance.

  The Uncle Sam agent came over to the driver’s side of the van. “You got USA coverage? Looks like your Plymouth Voyager has suffered some damage. You drive through wet cement or something? How about your house?”

  “My house is fine, and that’s dog food on the fenders. Unless you have a chisel, I don’t think we’ll be doing business here.” I added, “How bad was the tornado? What are you hearing?”

  “Actually, everyone is happy,” Uncle Sam said as he removed his red and white striped hat to reveal a shiny bald head that reminded me of Sledge Hamra. “Just property damage. And it didn’t cut a very large swath. No deaths like in Jarrell a few years ago.” He wiped his head with a handkerchief and yelled toward the back of the van. “Now ya’ll will be in Fort Worth, right? I can reach you at this number?”

  Kantor grunted assent, and we drove off toward the interstate.

  Taking Kantor and Evelyn home to my house had been Janie’s idea. It would never have occurred to me to shelter the homeless there, but as soon as Janie learned that Evelyn had sublet her house for six months when she left Fort Worth to go work with Kantor, she was struck by a lightning thought. “This is providence. Kantor and Evelyn can stay at the house and keep Bailey while we’re in London. I was afraid we were going to have to leave him with Sledge. I don’t know why we couldn’t take Bailey with us. After all, his owner is British. What a stupid quarantine law. Do you think if we went through France, we could sneak him onto the ferry or maybe the Chunnel and get him to London? I know he’s not a bloodhound, but I bet he could track Harry.”

  Janie’s babbles evoked questions from Evelyn and Kantor. They were snuggled into the middle seat while Bailey was delegated to the back one. Evelyn sure had become fonder of Kantor again when she realized he was not only not going to be without money, but probably even a little better off after the final settlement from USA.

  Kantor was quiet. In shock, I surmised. On the one hand, he was cool and debonair about his loss. On the other hand, he was devastated. He just stared at the passing scenery as Evelyn rearranged what was left of his life.

  “Kantor can research his book at the TCU library, and I’ll stay home and keep dear Bailey company. I think it is so wonderful that you and Janie are going to England, Honey. You must not be as desperate for money as you pretend. You girls! If you only knew what real poverty was. Ya’ll just go on and have your English fling.”

  “We’re not going to London,” I muttered under my breath, but it sounded just like that: sputtered mutterings, signifying nothing.

  TWENTY–ONE

  Everyone fell into an exhausted sleep except me, the driver.

  I ran through options in my head as the van ate up the four hours of road between Austin and Fort Worth. I could cash in the English pounds and have a small reserve. I could go to London and find Harry. I could hire a real private investigator to find Steven Bondesky in Mexico. I could go to the police. I began the litany of choices for the tenth time when I heard Janie talking in her sleep.

  “One hash brown. One grits. Waffle Plate over light, scrambled, hold the grits.”

  If Janie could dream about going to work, well, so could I. I remembered a training seminar I had attended at Constant Books. The counselor had taught that if you couldn’t come up with a creative solution, to stand on your head. “Look at the problem upside down,” she had instructed. “Forget traditional methods. Be creative with your problem solving.”

  Maybe it was time for me to learn acrobatics.

  Traditional methods sure weren’t getting me anywhere. Janie and I had concluded in a roadside rest stop that Evelyn was lying, lying, lying about knowing where Bondesky was. And that she had shared the information with Kantor and that neither one was going to spill the beans.

  “It reassures me that Evelyn doesn’t seem worried about Bondesky,” I told Janie over the stainless-steel stall. “That’s a good point. Means he’s not kidnapped or arrested or anything. Bad point is that I still don’t have information about my money. Another good point is that I don’t believe for a second that Kantor would keep something from me that would hurt me.”

  “You know, I think Evelyn really doesn’t know about the money, but she did get twitchy when you asked her if she knew what Wigmore Street meant. I wish she wasn’t so loyal to Bondesky. I thought when you quit working for someone, loyalty went out the window, but oh, no . . . not with our Evelyn. She absolutely refused to confirm whether Harry is Mr. Bondesky’s client or not.”

  “Well, she is dead set on us going to London. Maybe that’s a clue without telling it outright?” I stared at myself in the stainless-steel mirror. “These rest stops are sure vandal proof. You can’t even get a clear image in these fake mirrors. I know I can’t look that bad!”

  Janie raised her eyebrows. “You haven’t had a shower since Padre. Or changed your clothes. You’ve been though a hurricane and a tornado in those shorts. I’d say the mirror is pretty accurate.”

  We got back in the van, and my four passengers dropped off to sleep, leaving me with the road and my thoughts.

  I had it all worked out by the time we reached Washington Avenue.

  Janie ushered Evelyn and Kantor into the house while I walked around back with Bailey. The dog’s needs always come first.

  First thing I noticed was Sledge Hamra’s black truck parked in the clinic parking lot that adjoined my property. It looked shiny and clean, but when I walked over and ran a finger under the front bumper, loose sand fell into my hands and onto the asphalt. The kind of sand you find at a beach. “Aha, Bailey,” I said in my Sherlockian voice. “Our PI has been on a vacation, too. He was at Padre. I didn’t imagine it all.” I looked up at the architecturally starved third floor of my house. “I have a few questions for you, my friend,” I shouted to the vacant windows.

  Janie came running out the back door. “Honey, we’ve been robbed.”

  My first thought was that we had nothing to be robbed of, then I realized there is more in the world than money to steal. “Oh, lord, I knew I shouldn’t have left that man here. What’s missing?”

  “Strange things. I mean we’ve been robbed and not robbed. Exactly. He left notes.”

  I followed Janie into the kitchen. There was a gap on the cabinet where my new microwave had stood. A grubby Post-it note declared that the microwave was “on loan” while our heroic PI financed his newest lead. He had taken the microwave as well as my big-screen TV, my new Dell computer, and my new dishwasher.

  “Nothing seems to be missing of your mother’s, Honey.”

  “I’m not surprised. I told Sledge I would kill him if he touched one thing that had belonged to my mother.”

  “Where do you think he’s gone? The notes say he will pay you back for it all. Should we call Silas? Oh, dear, I just don’t know what to do.”

  “I do.”

  “You’re so calm. I thought you’d die when you found out you were right about Sledge Hamra and I was wrong.” Janie’s cornflower-blue eyes filled with tears.

  I always do best with a plan. My mother had taught me that. It wasn’t my natural inclination to think ahead, but her years of training hadn’t been in vain. “Get me my Day-Timer,” I bossed. “I’m making out a list.”

  Two hours later, I was down to the last item on my inspired list.

  First had been a bath.

  Second was to throw away the clothes I felt had become a part of me and as hard to remove as dried dog food from a fender.

  Third was a call to Constant Books.

  The fourth I implemented when I dialed Minnie Hudson.

  Minnie was the friend I should have had growing up, but I got Stev
en Hyatt instead. I loved Steven Hyatt, but the giggling and head-knocking girl talk Minnie and I had enjoyed at The Bargello during the summer had reminded me that my childhood had been less than classic. Minnie was my age and weighed about a hundred pounds more than I did. Her mother dragged her to the spa whenever she could, although losing weight for Minnie would cause a drastic career change. Tall and beautiful beyond words, Minnie was a successful plus-size model who laughed and toned during her weeks at The Bargello with her mother. “I love Ma, but, good honk, I wish she would accept me as I am.”

  We had first met under false pretenses; she had thought I was Janie’s daughter and very, very rich. (Well, I had been then.) That she hadn’t turned her back on me after the truth came out gave her a permanent top-of-the-list mark in my book.

  We had kept in touch and had promised to meet again. I knew where to find her.

  She was living in New York, working on a spring catalogue.

  I tracked her down at the studio.

  “Honey Huckleberry? Is this really you? How in the hell are you?”

  I ran through my mental catalogue of recent complaints and decided the weather bulletins and robbery, not to mention the loss of my money, could wait. I got right to the point. “Minnie, are you up for a trip to London?”

  “You’re heading across the pond, are you? I love London. Yes, yes. Count me in. When do we leave?”

  Evelyn brought me in a grilled cheese sandwich and iced tea. As she sat it down by the telephone, she whispered, “Ask her if she knows Wigmore Street.”

  Stunned though I was by Evelyn allowing a disloyal clue pass her lips, I did just that. After all, it was the next thing on my list.

  “Wigmore Street? Near Selfridges? I know exactly where it is, honeychile. Near Saint Christopher’s Square where they have this darling little Italian restaurant that serves the world’s best tiramisu. Why? What’s on Wigmore Street?”

  I looked down at the two brass keys I had put on a special key ring. One was to Harry’s Sandscript Bookstore in South Padre Island. I just knew the other would fit a lock at 20 Wigmore Street. I just knew it, but I told Minnie, “A hunch. It came to me when I was standing on my head.”

  TWENTY–TWO

  As Minnie put words into action, I remembered another reason why I wanted my money back.

  Money talks.

  And what it said to Minnie was that she could take my two tickets to London and upgrade them to first class so that they would be next to hers. “You sure didn’t think I was going to park this classy ass down in a tourist seat for ten hours, did you?”

  Janie was relieved that she was still included in the expedition. “You ever heard of the Three Musketeers, Janie?” I had asked her. “Well, that’s us. You, Minnie, and me. You surely didn’t think I would leave you alone at home when there is real detecting work to be done. Why, I wouldn’t know anything at all about mysteries and murders if it wasn’t for you.” Before either of us could figure out if that was a positive conclusion, we were packed and on our way to London.

  I had thought to reassure and entertain Janie on her first airplane flight as Steven Hyatt had done for me. It turned out that I wasn’t over my flying jitters as much as I had thought, and it was Janie who wound up holding my hand and forcing Bloody Marys down my throat while the plane bounced over the remnants of Hurricane Charley as it continued to spread out toward the east.

  She chattered incessantly, but that was nothing new. “Did you see that woman with the babies? I just know she’s leaving her husband and going home to Mama. And did you notice that one man with the little boy? He’s a divorced father and only gets the boy during the summer. I think they’re heading for the Riviera. I hope he doesn’t leave that boy alone while he gambles. I’m sure he has a gambling problem. That older couple behind us? You didn’t notice them? I don’t see how you could have missed them. I bet they’re on their second honeymoon, returning to France where they went on their first honeymoon. And . . .”

  “How do you know all this stuff? You’re making it all up.”

  “I am not. I’m just a good guesser. And you know how everyone looks like someone you know? I mean, that woman in the third aisle over looks just like Arthur Wescott’s Aunt Selena. The spitting image. And I’m sure I saw Betty Turner from West back there near the toilet. I bet she is dying for a cigarette.”

  I fell asleep on my postage-size pillow while Janie rattled on about how much Betty Turner smoked. I went out so hard I didn’t even see the Statue of Liberty when we arrived in New York. Janie punched me in the ribs with her elbow to wake me up to see it, but I missed it. We landed in New York in silence as the awesome sight of the statue stunned Janie to dumbness. I wished there had been a replica of it at the D/FW Airport.

  She stayed quiet until we spotted Minnie by our London check-in counter. “Minnie, I saw the Statue of Liberty. I never thought I’d ever live to see the Statue of Liberty. I’ve got to come and see it in person. I mean not from the air, you know? And, oh, the things to see in New York. Times Square. I want to see Times Square. You must make me a list of things to see when we come to Steven Hyatt’s premier.”

  “Janie, you ol’ scoundrel you, give me a hug. I declare, I still think of you as Honey’s ma. Been up to finding any killers lately? If you two don’t beat the band, I’ll eat my hat. And speaking of hats, I gotta say that’s a mighty stylish one you’re wearing.” Minnie crushed us both in bear hugs. Her saucer-sized brown eyes were full of excitement, and there was no denying the delight she felt at seeing us. I let go of my guilt over asking her along.

  Janie touched the brim of her tan straw hat. “You like it? Oh, good. I worried.”

  “That I wouldn’t like your hat?”

  “Well, with you being a model and all . . .”

  “It’s perfect. That red rose makes it.”

  “Oh, good. Yours and Honey’s are in my sack here. Honey wouldn’t wear hers.”

  “I can’t imagine why, Janie. Give me mine. Look, perfect fit. Honey, I insist. You put yours on, too.”

  Minnie clamped the straw hat on my head, and we all stood there like three members of the Clampett family just in from the hills. Arriving passengers made wide detours around us, snickering behind their hands.

  “I will not wear this hat,” I hissed.

  “Better than an umbrella like the tour guides use,” Janie declared. “We’ll never get lost from each other.”

  “That’s the point,” I said. “We’re supposed to be anonymous while we’re looking for Harry. Not like a hillbilly band marching down the middle of the street.”

  “Oh, ho. So, there is a purpose for our trip to London?” Minnie cocked the brim of her hat and looked like she was ready for a fashion shoot. Janie just looked like Janie in a hat. As for me, I never wanted to see a mirror again if I was doomed to wear the group badge for the whole trip. Instead of the Three Musketeers, we looked like Larry, Curly, and Moe.

  I took off the hat and pointed Janie toward the rest rooms. “Hurry,” I told her. “We start boarding in just a few minutes.” I confided in Minnie, “She wouldn’t go on the flight from Dallas. She thought they would dump the toilets out like they used to do in trains, and she didn’t want to ruin someone’s picnic.”

  Minnie was almost bent over double from laughing. “I’d forgotten what a hoot you two are. Are you sure you’re not really mother and daughter? And what’s this about finding Harry? Isn’t he that guy that lives on South Padre Island? Why do you think he’s in London? And why are we searching for him? You’re not pregnant, are you? Bet Steven Hyatt won’t like that.”

  I sighed and began the tale that I thought she wouldn’t buy if I had told it to her on the phone. I was as chatty as Janie as I related the events of the past week. The story took us onto the plane, into our seats, and way out onto the Atlantic before I drew a breath.

  Minnie hung on every word, and we neither one paid much attention when Janie tried to tell us she swore she had seen her tenth-grade biol
ogy teacher sitting next to Sledge Hamra back a tourist class. Having heard about my erstwhile private eye, Minnie wanted to go take a peek, but I continued on with my story, waving aside Janie’s declaration with “Oh, guess my microwave didn’t cover a first-class ticket. Reckon I should go back there and remind him that he didn’t get my laptop computer? It might have made the difference in the cost of his ticket. Now, where was I in my story?”

  Minnie worried, “Don’t you think we ought to check?”

  I smiled my Janie-wise smile, “Trust me, it’s not him.”

  TWENTY–THREE

  “Okay, so tell me more about your Harry. If we’re going to try to find him, I have to know more about him other than he has red hair and owns a bookstore.”

  Minnie and I were nestled down in our big beige leather seats, head to head, rehashing the particulars of the story I had told her. Janie was happily ensconced in a similar seat across the aisle with headsets donned. Every scene of the current Julia Roberts movie was reflected in her face as she listened to the sound track of the movie showing on the screen in front of her. It was a good time to confess to the secret I had withheld from Janie.

  “Minnie, before I tell you about Harry, I want you to know that this expedition is not just a lark. It’s deadly serious.”

  “How deadly?”

  “The real dead kind. You remember I told you about our rescue during the hurricane?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Right before the Coast Guard drove up to the bookstore, there were two men outside. One of them had a gun and was trying to break into the store.”

  “Oh, lord. And what was the other man doing?”

  “They weren’t together. This one man had just broken the window over the door with his gun, and this other guy came out of the shadows — it was dark during the hurricane — and they started fighting. I’m positive it was that man I told you about, Sledge Hamra.”

  “The one Janie swears is a tourist?”

  “Oh, don’t pay any attention to that. I’m sure Sledge is on his way to Mexico to find Steven Bondesky. All he cares about is his money and his next meal. Janie has been seeing people she knows ever since we hit the D/FW airport. No, Sledge followed us to Padre because he thought we knew where Bondesky was hiding.”