The Paradoxical Parent (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 13)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  I crossed the great room and walked into the office. There was a phone extension on my desk. The receiver was lying on its side. I picked it up and said, "Hello, doll."

  "Hiya, Nick. How are you?"

  "Fine. What's up?"

  "I have to confess something."

  "What?"

  "I told my mother about your mother."

  I sighed. Marnie, besides being the best secretary a guy could ever have was also my step-sister. Her mother, Lettie, had been married to my father for almost a year. My own mother had disappeared back in '29. My father had only told me the truth, that she had left because they thought she had cancer, a little over a year earlier.

  However, while we'd been in Australia, I'd found a hidden stash of letters that my mother had written my father starting in '30 and going through '35. Whatever had been wrong, it wasn't cancer. She'd left for Acapulco to die alone, something I'd understood as soon as I'd learned about it. But, when she arrived in Mexico, she began to get better. Or that's what I'd learned after reading the first of the unopened letters she'd written to my father that someone had hidden away in the trunk we'd used on our trip.

  On the previous Saturday, I'd asked Carter to read her first letter out loud. I'd only read the final letter of the bunch and had waited until we got home to read the others. Mike Robertson, my best friend and first lover, had been in the room, along with Marnie and her husband Alex, when Carter read the letter. I'd made them all promise to tell no one and they had. I wanted to find out the whole story before telling me father about it. I was afraid he would take the news badly and I didn't want to give it to him in pieces.

  "I'm really, really sorry, Nick."

  "Is that why you just ran in and ran out this morning when you brought the mail?"

  "Yeah."

  I sighed again. "Look, doll. I guess I knew this would happen. I know how close you and your mother are. Don't worry about it. Besides, now that she knows, there's not a damn thing you or me or anyone else can do. She's gonna take charge of the whole thing."

  "Yeah." Marnie sounded doubtful.

  "What?"

  "I'm worried about what might happen, you know..."

  I could feel the tears coming up. I took a deep breath. "You mean, if my mother is still alive?"

  "Yeah. That would make your father a bigamist."

  "Yeah." I was torn. I wanted her to be alive because she was my mother. But I hadn't heard from her since I'd become infamous and had my name and face plastered on newspapers all over the country. I was afraid to find out that she was still alive and didn't want to see me since I was a homosexual and living with a man. Not to mention that I was also sleeping in the very bed that she and my father had once slept in.

  "I'm real sorry, Nick."

  "Don't worry about it, doll. I mean it. I'm glad you called and told me."

  "You sure?"

  "Of course I'm sure. Carter and I are planning on coming to the office after we have lunch. So, we'll bring you news of whatever happens." I took a deep breath, feeling a knot forming in my stomach. "Marnie, don't worry about it. OK?"

  "OK."

  "I love you. You know that?"

  "Sure, Nick."

  "OK. Gotta get ready. See you after lunch."

  "Thanks."

  I put the receiver back on the hook and wondered how it was all going to work out.

  . . .

  Carter and I were standing in the bathtub together. He had the shower head pointed at his face while I waited for him to finish washing his hair.

  "How are the kids?" Carter was asking about Tom Jenkins and Bobby Stanhope, two Australian kids we'd brought back with us when we'd left Australia. We'd been kicked out. They'd been strongly advised to leave in order to avoid prosecution for unnatural acts. They were staying with us until we could get them set up in one of my apartment buildings.

  "They're out looking at an apartment."

  "Where?"

  "The Russian Hill building."

  "The one with all the views?"

  "Yeah. By the way, Marnie called."

  "Everything OK?"

  "Dunno. She told Lettie about my mother."

  Carter stopped. He reached above me and pushed the shower head down so that it hit my back. "Oh, shit."

  "Yeah."

  He kissed me on the forehead. He suddenly laughed.

  "What?" I asked.

  "Actually, it's a big relief. That means she's in charge of whatever you were going to do."

  I nodded. "But what if my mother is still alive?"

  Carter whistled. "Right." He paused and then grinned. "There's gonna be some judge somewhere who'll be sorry he ever heard the name Williams."

  I laughed at that. "That's damn right. And, when Lettie gets through with him, he won't know what hit him."

  . . .

  Carter held out his arms. I inserted the sapphire cuff link on his right shirt sleeve. "What do you want?" he asked.

  I fastened the left shirt sleeve and asked, "What do you mean?"

  He reached over and grabbed the emerald ones as I stuck out my arms. "I mean, what do you want to happen with your mother?"

  I sighed and fought back the tears again. "That's a shitty question to ask, Carter Jones."

  He nodded. "I know. I figure I should ask it instead of you going round and round with it on your own. Better you get mad at me than gnaw on that bone by yourself."

  I pulled my sleeves down and walked over to pick up the pair of brown oxford brogues that I liked to match up with my tweed suit. I pulled the left shoe on, bent over to tie it, and said, "I really don't have a fucking clue. If she's alive that's almost worse than if she's dead."

  I stood up and grabbed my right shoe. As I tied it, Carter said, "I know, son. And I'm sorry that it's happening like this." He walked over to the edge of the bed and sat on the bench that we'd moved over there on Sunday night. He was pulling on his left shoe, one of a black pair that he liked to wear with his dark navy suit, when I noticed there was a scuff on the toe.

  I walked over to the shoe box and grabbed the brush and a rag. I knelt in front of him and brushed the toe of his shoe. "That's why what you said in the shower about Lettie makes me feel better about all of it." Once the scuff was gone, I spit on the rag and began to shine the leather briskly. "She'll do what's right for my father and that's all that I really care about." I stood, walked back to the shoe box, dropped the brush and rag inside, and closed it. 'He's the one who's gonna be hurt by all of this."

  Carter stood and pulled me in tight. "You're not gonna have it that easy, yourself."

  I leaned into him. "I know. It's a good thing my father and I have the smarts to be married to good people."

  Carter ran his hand down the back of my pomaded head. "Married. Now when are we gonna get married?"

  "Last I heard it was in the year two thousand and three. The wedding is at a resort on Mars and our honeymoon is on Jupiter."

  Carter laughed. "I hear that July on Jupiter is really something."

  . . .

  It was a beautiful San Francisco day as we walked through Huntington Park over to my father's apartment. I noticed that, while we were gone, the City had finished installing the fountain in the middle of the park. There was no water flowing yet, but there was a small sign that said there would be a dedication coming up in the near future.

  As we made our way across California Street and up the steps, past the doorman, and into the building, I could feel my anxiety growing.

  Carter pressed the doorbell and kissed me on the forehead while we waited.

  The door opened and, to my surprise, Carter's mother, Louise, was standing there, instead of Rosemary, the woman who was Lettie's housekeeper and cook.

  She looked at me with concern on her face. "Lettie told us all about your mother. How are you, Nick?"

  I nodded. "Fine." I wasn't sure I was ready to deal with not just Lettie, but the powerful quartet of ladies that I'd nicknamed The Four Terrors. Lettie was th
eir ringleader, followed by Geneva Watkins, a Negro woman who'd started off as Lettie's housekeeper and become the second in command on all of Lettie's many projects. Aunt Velma and Mrs. Jones rounded out the group. Individually, they were forces of nature. Together, they were like the lava that consumes entire villages before anyone can blink an eye.

  Their main project concerned prison reform and prisoner rights. They'd recently met with Governor Goodwin Knight up in Sacramento and, from all accounts, had raised holy hell about the conditions at Folsom Prison. I hadn't heard what effect they'd had, but I doubted Governor Knight was the same man after meeting with them.

  She nodded and let me give her a kiss on the cheek. She wasn't very affectionate but I liked her, even if Carter was still on the fence about how to deal with the fact that his mother had suddenly moved to town and had taken residence in an apartment in the same building with Aunt Velma.

  Once Carter had dutifully kissed her, as well, we followed Mrs. Jones into the living room that looked over the City. My father was standing by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. He seemed to be lost in the view.

  Lettie, Aunt Velma, and Geneva were standing in a huddle by the kitchen door. I walked over and was hugged and kissed by each in turn. Once that was done, I left Carter with them and walked over to stand by my father.

  He was smoking his pipe and didn't say anything at first. After a long pause, he said, "Nicholas, I hope you don't think—"

  I cut him off. "Of course, not."

  He nodded and didn't immediately say anything. After a couple of beats, he whispered, "Zelda." She was the housekeeper who'd been hired by my mother at some point in the late 20s and had worked for my father until he and Lettie had moved out of the big pile of rocks over on Sacramento Street. When Carter and I had moved in and they had moved out, the entire staff had quit. They didn't want to work in a house with two men sleeping together in the master bedroom.

  I replied back, "I know."

  He cleared his throat. "I suppose Mr. Robertson is already following all the leads, as you would say."

  I nodded. "He is. He's supposed to give us his first report after lunch today."

  My father turned and faced me. He was drawn and looked much older than I had ever seen him. "I..." He sighed. "We both thought it was the right thing to do, for her to go to Mexico."

  I nodded and put my hand on his arm. "I know, Father. I would have done the exact same thing in her place."

  He pulled back in surprise. "You would?"

  "Sure. As soon as I read the letter you gave me at Christmas before last, I immediately understood. I wouldn't want to waste away in front of anyone."

  He looked at me for a long moment and seemed to relax. "That's the part I've been most afraid of. That you wouldn't understand why she left in the first place."

  I smiled. "I do. It's the one thing that makes the most sense to me. When my time comes—"

  My father immediately said, "Not for many, many years."

  I nodded and smiled. "When it's the far-off future and we're all living on the Moon, I plan on making my own way out."

  My father lifted one eyebrow. "But that's a sin."

  I grinned. "I doubt St. Peter will be able to find that one, it will be so far down the list."

  My father laughed and nodded. "I suspect that would be true for us both, my boy."

  Chapter 2

  Offices of Consolidated Security, Inc.

  600 Market Street, 19th Floor

  Monday, March 7, 1955

  A little past 2 in the afternoon

  Lunch hadn't been as terrible as I'd been afraid it would be. Once the truth was out and everyone had been invited to our meeting with Mike, we'd actually settled into the meal. Carter and I had shared some of our stories from our trip, but not all of them.

  Consolidated Security, the company that Carter and I owned, was located on the top floors of my new office building. It was a perfectly square glass tower that sat on an odd spit of land at the intersection of Market, Post, and Montgomery.

  Everyone from lunch had followed us. We were all seated in the back part of my office when Mike walked in. He stopped for a moment, taken aback by the small crowd, and then politely said hello to everyone. Pointing his head towards the door, he asked, "Nick? Can I see you outside for a minute?"

  Without saying anything, I stood and followed him into the outer area by Marnie's desk. "What's up?" I asked.

  "You sure you want your father to hear all of this at the same time you do?"

  I glanced over at Marnie who was just then passing by with a tray of coffee. She smiled at us both and then walked into my office.

  "No. I don't want any of this to happen like this. But Lettie knows. My father knows. So, we might as well all face it together." I stopped for a moment and then looked up at him. "Why? What do you know?"

  He shook his head. "Nothing. Maria, Frankie, and Walter have been huddled all morning, comparing notes. The two of them, Frankie and Maria that is, just got back in on the American Airlines red-eye from New York around 9. They came straight here and have been getting ready for this meeting ever since. They were supposed to be back here on Saturday but stayed a couple of extra days to go on some wild goose chase. I don't have any idea what they found." He put his big hand on my shoulder and looked at me with his electric blue eyes. "Normally, I'd go over this first. I'd never meet with a client without knowing what I was going to tell him."

  I put my hand on his and said, "Me, neither. And I appreciate your concern. I do. But, short of pulling the fire alarm, I don't see any way of getting them out of here."

  We both looked over at the big red box on the wall behind Marnie's desk for a long moment before bursting out laughing.

  . . .

  Once everyone was settled in, Mike took charge of the meeting. As he'd said, I was his client in the case, and it was his presentation to make. I took a deep breath, leaned into Carter, who'd pulled his chair up close to mine, and listened to what Mike had to say.

  "Dr. and Mrs. Williams, before we start, I want to tell you that I really don't know what our three agents here have to say. I know I trust them and I know that whatever they tell us will be as close to the truth as is humanly possible to get." He looked over at me for a moment and then back at them. "I told Nick earlier that I never like to give clients a report when I don't know what it will be. I know how important this information is to everyone in this room and I want you to know how carefully our agents have researched what we can." He took a deep breath.

  My father got a determined look on his face and said, "Mr. Robertson, I've not been kind to you in the past..." He swallowed. His eyes, red at the edges, turned in my direction and held my gaze for a long moment. I wondered how hard it was to hear about the woman who'd abandoned him from the man who, to his mind, had taken his son away. Finally, he waved his hand at me. "And, of course, my son..." His voice cracked as he spoke.

  Lettie came to his rescue. "What Parnell is saying, Mr. Robertson, is that we trust you and your agents because we have complete faith in Nicholas."

  Carter squeezed my hand as I felt my eyes get wet.

  Mike nodded and said, "Thank you for that. I'm going to turn things over to Maria Vasco, who is the primary agent on this case. She was assisted in the field by her husband Frank Vasco and here at the office by Walter Marcello. Maria?"

  As Mike turned to look at her, I noticed that Maria looked tired, which made sense, considering they'd flown in that morning from New York. But there was something else on her face that I didn't recognize. She cleared her throat and said, "I hope you'll pardon me since I've never been given such an important job, really, in my life. I'm a little nervous so I think the best thing to do is to give you a chronology of events and, as I do, please feel free to stop me and ask any questions you have."

  She pulled out a notebook and opened it to the first page. "On Wednesday, the 23rd of February, Mike gave me what was described by Nick..." She paused and looked at Lettie. "I
hope my use of first names is OK."

  Lettie smiled. "Yes, my dear. Carry on."

  "Thank you. The letter was dated March 30th of 1935 and addressed from the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in Manhattan. Alexandra..." As if knowing the mention of my mother's name would cause a ripple to move through the room, she waited. Once everyone had shifted in their seats, she continued, "This was her last letter, that we know of, to Parnell." She blushed.

  My father smiled slightly and said, "That's fine, child."

  She smiled at him and continued, "In that letter, she mentioned previous attempts at contact. Not having the other letters to refer to, Walter and I started at the Waldorf and then made our way both backward and forward. I traced Alexandra's movements forward and he went backward." Turning to him, she asked, "Why don't you tell us what you found?"

  He nodded and coughed. "Instead of retracing, uh, my steps, I'll just give the chronology I was able to construct and then verify on Saturday once I had all the letters in hand." He pulled out a notebook and flipped to a page. "On or about Tuesday, July 16th of 1929, Alexandra boarded a chartered boat, The Sea Nymph, based in Alameda, which carried her down the coast to Acapulco. The captain of The Sea Nymph is still living. I was able to confirm her account of being seasick the entire voyage. On arrival in Acapulco, she moved into a large private home that took in American and European long-term boarders. Although Mrs. Rodriguez passed away in 1949, her daughter is still living and was able to confirm that Alexandra stayed with the family from Saturday, July 20th of 1929, until she departed on a private plane. That plane was operated, incidentally, by Mr. Wiley Post for the Connelly family out of Oklahoma. It departed on Thursday, January 9th of 1930 for Mexico City and then flew on to Tulsa. Traveling with her was one Mrs. Olivia Hollingsworth, a fellow resident of the Casa Rodriguez. Her title is Lady Eldredge, she is still alive, and is living in Acapulco in a small private villa."

  I started at that. "How old is she?" I asked.

  "59 this year," replied Walter.