The Baron Blasko Mysteries (Book 1): Fangs

by Howe, A. E.

  Blasko threw up his arms dramatically. It was an old trick that he hoped would work as well in the parlor as it had on the battlefield—when faced with defeat, one should make a dramatic withdrawal.

  “What are you accusing me of?” he demanded, confident that she didn’t have enough evidence to come up with a good answer.

  “I don’t know. But you’re hiding something.”

  “Bah! Enough of this talk. I’m going out.” Blasko strode from the room, trying to look indignant.

  “Fine! Run off. I don’t care. I’ll conduct my own investigation!” Josephine shouted to his retreating back.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When Josephine turned around, Grace was casually picking up a glass from an end table. “’Bout time you figured out you can’t trust that man,” she said, wiping off the table where the glass had been.

  Josephine just glared at her, causing Grace to huff and leave the room.

  Standing at the parlor window, Josephine tried to remember back to when her father was still alive and life had been normal. But it was no use. Now she felt like she had a house full of boarders, each with their own strange agendas. She couldn’t imagine when she might ever again feel relaxed and confident of her future.

  She slapped her hand against the window glass. I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit around here and just let him do whatever it is he does, she told herself, turning and stalking off to the kitchen.

  “Anna cooked up a ham this morning. Wrap it up for me, please. I’m going to take it over to the Ericksons.”

  Grace’s mouth fell open. Josephine had turned to go before she recovered enough to speak. “Now’s not the time for takin’ food over there, Miss Josephine. You know that. You’re goin’ to get yourself in hot water for sure. You know they don’t want no one botherin’ them tonight.”

  But Grace was talking to the wall. Josephine was already upstairs.

  Half an hour later, she was walking across the street to the Ericksons’ house. She’d practically had to wrestle the ham out of Grace’s hands. Holding the ten-pound platter and knocking on the door was awkward, but she managed.

  Clarence opened the door, looking surprised. “Miss Nicolson, we’re…” Then he paused, noticing the ham. The custom of bringing food to a grieving home was well established, so he had no choice but to take it from her. “I’m sorry, but no one is in the mood for company,” he said bluntly.

  “I just want to give everyone my condolences,” Josephine said. When he still hesitated to invite her in, she added, “I’ll be quick,” and stepped forward, causing him to instinctively back up. She used the opportunity to get past the threshold.

  “What do you want?” came a voice from above. Josephine looked up the staircase to the second floor to see a scowling face staring down at her. “Haven’t we been through enough?” Carrie asked in a tone that would have caused soldiers to snap to attention as she stomped down the stairs.

  “I just brought over a ham for the family,” Josephine explained.

  “We buried our father today and learned that Amanda was beaten to death. And still you have the nerve to come over here with a ham? You’re just a snoop,” Carrie said angrily.

  Josephine knew Carrie didn’t have the warmest personality, but now she seemed to be coming unglued. Josephine knew she was pushing things by coming over this evening, but this still felt like an overreaction.

  “I understand—”

  “You understand what? You understand what it’s like to have two of your closest family members slaughtered in less then a week? I don’t think so.”

  Carrie had pushed forward as she spoke, forcing Josephine back almost to the door. Josephine looked over at Clarence, but he seemed to be ignoring the whole altercation. Was he used to his sister’s outbursts of temper or was he just stunned by the murder of his father and wife? Finally admitting to herself that the visit had been a mistake, Josephine looked for a way to extricate herself before Carrie actually took a punch at her.

  “That’s enough,” Clarence finally said to Carrie. His tone was flat and hard. She wheeled around on him.

  “I don’t need your advice, that’s for sure,” Carrie said, giving him the same red-hot stare that she’d focused on Josephine.

  Clarence didn’t back down, returning her fury with a cold look. Josephine thought they might come to blows, but like two wild animals trying to establish dominance without suffering an injury, they both just puffed up and tried to intimidate each other. Clarence blinked first, turning away from Carrie’s gaze.

  “I think you ought to go,” he said to Josephine.

  “I’m sorry,” she said weakly. But as she turned to the front door, Lucy walked in from the parlor. Her eyes were red, but she gave Josephine a small smile.

  “Thank you for being so thoughtful,” she said, nodding toward the platter that was still in Clarence’s hands. Lucy reached out and gently took it from him.

  “We are suffering so much. I don’t know what we’ve done to deserve all of this heartache.” Lucy shook her head. “I just have to go on, that’s all I can do. Clarence, would you come help me in the kitchen? Carrie, you need to remember, in these trying times we’re going to need the goodwill of all of our neighbors.”

  Carrie looked like she might throw up. She opened her mouth to speak, only to clamp it shut and stalk away.

  “I can see that you all want to be alone,” Josephine said, opening the door while she tried to separate all of the weird vibrations she was getting from the family.

  “Thank you again,” Lucy said, while Clarence stepped over to the door and ushered Josephine the rest of the way out.

  Blasko was searching for Matthew, who was now more difficult to find without the strong odor of alcoholic sweat. At last, he discovered him standing on the front porch of an old Greek Revival mansion facing Main Street. A sign out in front of the house read: Sumter View Boarding House. There were several old men rocking on the porch and talking. As Blasko approached, he heard words such as “murder,” “club,” “blood” and “Erickson,” but when the men saw him, all the conversation ended.

  “You the royal fellow living over at the Nicolson house?” The man who asked had fewer teeth in his mouth than he had fingers on his hands. Grey, scraggly hair fell down from an old, wide-brimmed felt hat.

  “I am Baron Dragomir Blasko,” he said with a slight bow.

  “We don’t have no kings and shit on this side of the ocean,” a man sitting next to the first man said. He had a huge potbelly, no hat and no hair. His bald pate reflected the light coming through the windows.

  “I admire your democracy,” Blasko lied. The truth was, he found it all very confusing and, for the most part, a lie. There was clearly still a class system with the black man at the bottom and the rest stratified based on income and family history.

  The men laughed and coughed. Matthew stood apart from them, leaning on the porch railing and smoking a cigarette.

  “You know anything about these murders?” the potbellied man asked.

  “I’m sure I don’t know anything more than you,” Blasko assured them.

  “Hear they got the killer locked up over at the jail. We’re waiting to see if there’s going to be any action tonight,” Scraggly Hair said.

  “Damn lucky he was killing Ericksons. Not much hot blood in the clan,” Potbelly said.

  “They killed the mean one. Old Man Erickson might have given the coward a fight for his money.”

  “You worked for him, didn’t you?”

  “Hell, yeah, musta been twenty years ago. I did some collection work for him. Someone wouldn’t pay, I’d ask Old Man Erickson what he wanted me to do. If there was something to take, we took it. If not… things got broke. That’s all I’m sayin’. Now, his daughter, she takes after him.”

  “I hear that,” Potbelly agreed.

  They were quiet for a moment and Matthew moved away from the railing. “I think I’ll walk down to the jail,” he said, stepping on his cigar
ette butt.

  “You’ll let us know if there’s going to be a lynching?” Potbelly chuckled.

  “I’ll be sure to tell you,” Matthew said sarcastically.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll walk with you,” Blasko said, more for the benefit of the old men on the porch than really asking permission.

  “So they caught the killer?” Matthew said, once they were out of earshot of the porch.

  “No. They have not.”

  Matthew stopped walking for a moment and turned, trying to see Blasko’s face in the moonlight. “You seem very sure.”

  “All I will tell you is that the man in jail has an alibi.”

  Matthew started walking again.

  “Are you staying at that boarding house?” Blasko asked.

  “Living on the streets doesn’t have much appeal when you’re sober.”

  “You have a job?”

  “Funny about that. I have a lot of time to fill now. Not drinking is boring as hell. So, yeah, I got a job. I’m working at Kelly’s cotton warehouse down on the river. Probably just for a few weeks until they’ve shipped out most of this year’s crop.”

  “Did you see Thomas Kelly today?”

  “No. Wouldn’t expect to with the funeral.”

  Blasko wondered how the funeral had gone. He probably should have asked Josephine. She was supposed to have been there. He tended to forget about events that he couldn’t attend, but at eleven o’clock in the morning there was no chance of him being there. He was having a hard time adjusting to living in a world that revolved around daylight.

  The courthouse came into sight. Even from several blocks away, they could see bright lights and several people in the town square.

  “A lot of unusual activity for this time of night,” Matthew observed.

  “They wouldn’t really hang him now, would they?” Blasko asked.

  “Not likely. Logan may not be much good as a detective, but he’s not bad when it comes to maintaining law and order. I saw him in action when there was a run on the banks and people were getting a bit twitchy. He deputized a dozen men and had everything on lockdown for over a week. He ran it like a regular military operation. I bet he was hot stuff as a staff officer in the Army.”

  “Good to know,” Blasko said. As they got closer, they could hear yelling.

  The sheriff’s office and the jail were across the street from the courthouse on the south side of the square. There were a dozen cars and trucks parked out front and several men were standing on the sidewalk, but all the yelling was coming from one man. It was Thomas Kelly.

  By the time Blasko and Matthew were crossing the street to join the group, they could tell that the rest of the men were a bit embarrassed by the ruckus Thomas was causing.

  “Bring him out here! I’ll kill him myself!” Thomas screamed, walking up the steps and pounding on the door of the sheriff’s office.

  “Thomas, settle down. We’re with you, but this ain’t helping,” said a man wearing an old fedora and brown jacket.

  “Logan’s going to come out and throw you in jail,” warned a short fellow in a dark suit.

  “You’re all a bunch of cowards,” Thomas said, turning and speaking to the small assembly.

  “That’s not fair,” the man in the brown jacket protested. “You know that ain’t fair.”

  Blasko looked around at the gathering of rabble. It was clear from his experience with mobs that only a few of the men seemed close to supporting Thomas. The rest were there for the entertainment.

  Before Thomas could turn back to the door, it opened behind him. Sheriff Logan stood inside the doorway, holding a Winchester shotgun.

  “Go on home,” he said, looking at no one but Thomas, who was clearly surprised to be face to face with the sheriff.

  “Give us Hopkins,” Thomas said through clenched teeth.

  For just one second, Logan’s eyes shifted to the group behind Thomas. All of their eyes immediately found somewhere else to look other than at the sheriff. “I think you mean you, Thomas. Nobody else is causing trouble,” Logan stated.

  “I want him. He killed Amanda Erickson.”

  “And what’s that to you?” Logan asked.

  The question took Kelly by surprise. “I…”

  “Go home before you embarrass yourself more. You got a wife. I’d suggest you go to her.” Logan’s voice was dripping with disdain.

  Bobby Tucker drove up in his patrol car. Before he could even get out, the crowd had started to move away.

  “What’s all this?” Bobby said in a commanding voice that caused most of the crowd to quicken their pace as they walked away. Thomas and Logan were still locking eyes on the steps.

  “Is that you, Kelly?” Bobby asked as he walked toward the building. Thomas didn’t answer him. Bobby turned and saw Blasko still standing off to the side with Matthew. His expression darkened.

  Blasko could tell that the deputy wanted to come over and confront him, but the situation with Thomas took precedence. Bobby turned back to the steps and asked the sheriff, “Everything okay?”

  “Thomas was just leaving,” Logan said. The spell was broken. Thomas turned and bumped shoulders with Bobby as they passed each other.

  Blasko and Matthew quickly walked away into the night.

  It was midnight when Blasko got back to the house. He saw that the lights were still on in Josephine’s room. With a deep sigh, he entered the house and walked upstairs.

  “Yes?” Josephine said in answer to his knock on her door.

  “It’s me.” Why am I always on the wrong side of her door? he asked himself.

  “Just a minute.”

  Wearing her dressing gown, Josephine opened the door and invited Blasko to sit with her in the window seat. Each related their evening’s adventures.

  “You need to be careful. The killer is still on the loose,” Blasko told her. “Going over to their house was taking a risk.”

  “The atmosphere over there and the way everyone was acting was creepy as hell,” Josephine said, ignoring the warning. As though summoned by the mention of hell, Poe jumped up on her lap, giving Blasko a yellow-eyed stare before nesting in the folds of her gown. “And how exactly do you know that the killer is still loose?”

  “I’d rather not tell you,” he said

  “Are we in this together or not?” Josephine asked, with a slight edge to her voice.

  “We are.”

  “So then why don’t you want to tell me?”

  He thought of all the honest yet obfuscating answers he could give, but rejected them all. Reluctantly, he said, “I took some of Hopkins’s blood last night. I left him in a stupor to the point that he couldn’t have killed Amanda Erickson.”

  Blasko watched Josephine’s reaction closely. Her face seemed to vacillate between disgust and anger. “Why would you do that?” she asked, her tone making it clear she’d settled on anger.

  “Because the blood that you provide for me is only good enough to keep me alive. Nothing more.”

  She stood up, displacing Poe. “Let me understand this. You attacked someone and left them helpless because you wanted to feel better?” Disgust seemed to be taking over now.

  “I wouldn’t phrase it that way,” he said, trying not to get angry and defensive. He knew she had a right to feel betrayed.

  “I don’t care how you would put it! This man is at risk of being hung for a murder he didn’t commit because of what you did to him.” Josephine was pacing the room in irritation.

  “Hopkins is a despicable man.” Blasko felt obliged to offer some defense of his actions.

  “That’s no excuse for you attacking him. He’s still a human being, for God’s sake.”

  Blasko narrowed his eyes. “Are you suggesting I am not?”

  “I don’t know what you are!” Josephine threw out without thinking. Her blood was so hot that she didn’t immediately regret the words.

  “How dare you!” Blasko stood up. “I have always treated you with respect. I e
xpect the same,” he said, his own anger building.

  “Respect? You attacked me!”

  “Oh, must we always go back to that?!”

  “So I’m just supposed to forget that you tried to kill me the first time we met?”

  “Bah! I don’t have to stand here and listen to your insults and accusations.” Blasko stalked to the door, turning as he opened it. “I would leave here if I could,” he said and slammed the door behind him.

  “And I wouldn’t let you stay if I had a choice!” Josephine shouted after him.

  Damn it! Damn it! Blasko berated himself as he hurried downstairs away from her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Amanda was buried the following Tuesday. Josephine went to the church service and listened as each surviving member of the family came to the pulpit to provide a eulogy.

  Clarence told the story of how he and Amanda first met, and talked about how much he would miss her and what she had meant to him. As he spoke, his eyes looked unfocused. To be fair, though, everyone at the funeral seemed dazed by the events of the previous week.

  “Amanda had a big heart. I don’t think anyone could deny that,” Clarence said toward the end of his speech, looking right at the Kellys. They were sitting about halfway back in the church, their bodies rigid in the pew and looking for all the world like people who were waiting for their turn on the rack.

  Clarence’s expression turned dark as he looked at Thomas Kelly. Josephine wondered how many people in the church recognized the significance of that stare. Probably several. Sumter was a small town and, by now, almost everyone would have heard about the scene Thomas had caused at the jail and guessed the reason why.

  Lucy spoke next. She was hesitant at first, but once she got started she told what seemed to be an endless number of stories about her and Amanda. She kept looking over at the coffin as she spoke, which Josephine found a little odd. The casket was closed due to the damage that had been done to Amanda’s face. She hadn’t suffered quite as much as her father-in-law, but she’d still been struck multiple times. Mr. Connelly had explained to the family that the mortician’s art could only do so much.