The Paradoxical Parent (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 13)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  I nodded. My mother, if she were alive, would have been 52, having been born in '02.

  He continued, "She was widowed when she was 25. Her husband, Clarence Hollingsworth, Lord Eldredge, was wounded in the first world war, and died of pneumonia when he was only 26. She has no living children. Her only son died from the Spanish influenza in 1918."

  He flipped a page in his notebook. "After reading the rest of the letters, I was able to piece together what happened from January of 1930 to March of 1935."

  Carter asked, "When did you know about Nick's mother being in Acapulco? We only knew that from reading the first letter on Saturday."

  Walter, who was only 5'2" and easily intimidated by both Carter and Mike, smiled weakly. "That's a good question. The current general manager of the Waldorf-Astoria knew about the Casa Rodriguez. Mrs. Wil—" He cleared his throat. "Uh, Alexandra had told him about the place."

  Carter nodded. "Thanks, Walter."

  He smiled, tugged on his collar, and looked back at his notes. "So, both Alexandra and Mrs. Hollingsworth took the train from Mexico City to Dallas. She, Alexandra that is, mailed the first letter once the train crossed the border at Laredo. She moved into the Adolphus Hotel in downtown Dallas for nearly two months. I was able to confirm that on Saturday. Mrs. Hollingsworth told me—"

  Aunt Velma asked, "You've talked to her?"

  Walter looked up. As he did, he reminded me of an owl. "Yes, ma'am. I spoke with her on the phone yesterday. At length."

  My father said, "Velma, let's not get ahead of ourselves."

  With a deep sigh, Carter's aunt sat back in her chair and nodded. "My apologies, young man. Please go on."

  He nodded. "When I spoke with Mrs. Hollingsworth, she told me that she made her tour of the southern states, just as Alexandra had mentioned, during January and February of 1930. She then made her way back to Dallas, knowing that there had been no reply back from San Francisco."

  My father stirred at that.

  "They stayed in Dallas for another week until Alexandra decided to take the train to New York. Mrs. Hollingsworth said Alexandra claimed that she'd always wanted to see the city and used that as an explanation but she, Mrs. Hollingsworth that is, suspected that it was just an excuse to get as far away from San Francisco as possible without leaving the country."

  As he said that last part, he kept his head down and looked at his notes. I couldn't blame him.

  Aunt Velma had already pulled out a handkerchief and was dabbing her eyes with it.

  I looked over and noticed that Geneva was patting Lettie's hand.

  Walter said, "The rest of my report is straight-forward. Alexandra took rooms at the Waldorf-Astoria, starting on March 18th of 1930, and remained there for quite a while. I'll give the floor back to Maria for the rest."

  Marnie looked around the assembled group and asked, "Does anyone need anything before we go on? Coffee?"

  There was a thick silence. Finally, I said, "Go ahead, Maria."

  She smiled slightly at me and said, "In many ways, my job was easier than Walter's because I was able to start following the trail the same day Nick's letter arrived from Australia." She looked down at her notes. "Alexandra lived at the Waldorf-Astoria until May 19th of 1942. She then moved up to a small cabin she bought in Vermont, in a little town called Grafton."

  I leaned in, wondering what was coming next.

  "Frankie and I went to New York last week to meet with her friends from the twelve years that she spent in Manhattan. They told us that when she moved to Vermont, she stayed in touch with letters and cards, along with an occasional visit. All communication stopped in 1947, from what we could piece together."

  I waited for the shoe to drop. I knew it was coming. And it was beginning to make me feel crazy.

  "Last Friday, following nothing more than a hunch, we rented a car and drove up to Grafton to see what we could find. We talked to the sheriff on Saturday. He said that Alexandra had bought the cabin, which was out in the woods west of town, had a few close friends in town, and had mostly kept to herself. She attended the annual town meeting and voted but never participated in any of the discussions."

  Frankie spoke up for the first time. Grinning, he said, "Apparently those town meetings can get pretty rambunctious." The way he said that made everyone in the room laugh, which helped ease the tension.

  Maria continued, "The sheriff said that Alexandra closed up the cabin in June of 1947 and told her closest neighbors that she was going to Boston and then flying to London." Maria sighed. "And she never came back."

  Frankie said, "Sheriff Richardson took us over to the house. There was nothing out of place. The furniture was covered in sheets. The power had been turned off. The propane gas tanks had been disconnected. The only odd thing is that the plumbing had been winterized, as if she knew she would be gone for at least six to nine months."

  "What about the mail?" I asked.

  Maria replied, "The sheriff took us to see the local postmaster who told us they'd been holding her mail, although very little had arrived since about 1949. He said he'd been holding her mail even though he should have sent all of it to the Dead Letter Office. We asked him to hold on to what he had until we could get authorization for him to release it to you." She was looking at me when she said that.

  My father cleared his throat and looked at Mike. "I suppose you're specifically not mentioning what I did in 1937?"

  Mike nodded. "I'm the only one who knows about that."

  I suddenly realized what they were talking about. "You had her declared dead?"

  My father nodded but said nothing.

  "I understand, Father. She'd been gone for the seven years." I looked at Mike. "What about her trust at the Hibernia Bank?"

  Walter said, "I was able to finally confirm what happened to the money this morning. She moved her account from Hibernia to the Chemical Bank in New York in July of 1935."

  "After the last letter," I said.

  My father said, "But, when the court declared her dead, my lawyers sent a notice to the Hibernia Bank. They said the account had already been closed." He sighed. "Oh. I see. It was closed when she transferred the money out. I just assumed the trust had been wiped out in 1929." He took out his pipe and put it in his mouth without lighting it.

  Lettie, who'd been very quiet, asked, "What about Zelda?"

  At the mention of the housekeeper's name, I looked over at my father to see his reaction. His eyes locked on mine for a moment and then he sighed and looked away.

  Mike replied, "I've talked to her. And she's admitted everything."

  My father took the pipe out of his mouth, narrowed his eyes and, in a deadly voice, asked, "What precisely did that woman admit to?"

  Mike sat back with a look of surprise on his face. "She told me that she hid the letters, destroyed the telegrams, and refused to tell you about any of the phone calls."

  "Why?" My father's voice was icy.

  "Because she didn't want to upset the children." Mike stood and walked over to the windows overlooking Market Street.

  Lettie watched him as he did so. She asked, "Mr. Robertson, why do you think she did it?"

  Mike didn't turn. Looking down at the street below, he said, "Because she was in love with your husband."

  Lettie nodded with grim satisfaction. "I thought that the moment I met the woman. She was a sad figure, pining for someone and never daring to say anything."

  My father sighed. "Oh, she did."

  "She did?" I asked.

  He looked at me. "About a month after your mother left. She came into my bedroom late one night. It was rather tawdry. I told her to erase the matter from her mind and to never do such a thing again, otherwise I would have to dismiss her. And," he sighed, "she never did."

  Carter's mother spoke up. "Parnell, I see what you're doing."

  He put his pipe back in his mouth with a slight frown. "What's that, Louise?"

  "Blaming yourself. What she did has nothing to do with you. There
's something very wrong with that woman.."

  Geneva agreed. "There's something very wrong, indeed, with a woman who does something as evil as this. Very, very wrong."

  My father nodded silently.

  Lettie asked, "Do any of you have any idea where she might be now? Alexandra, that is?"

  Mike turned from the window and looked at Maria who shook her head. She said, "No. Now that we know she went to Boston and, possibly, London, we'll need to look into all of that."

  Mike ran his hand over his face and looked at my father. "Dr. Williams? I'm sure you've thought about this already, but, as a former cop, I want to remind you what might happen if she's still alive."

  I shook my head and said, "She's not. She can't be."

  Carter put his arm around my shoulder. "You don't know that," he said, quietly.

  I nodded. "But I do know. She can't be alive. If she was, why didn't she come to Janet's funeral? It's like you said in Sydney, my name and my face have been on the cover of every paper in the country since then."

  Geneva asked, "Nicholas, are you saying this because you're afraid of what it would mean if she were still alive?"

  I nodded but couldn't speak.

  She looked at me for a long moment. "My dear, I certainly don't have the same kind of bond as you do, as her son. You're the only one of us that is connected in that way that defies explanation. If you really can't feel her presence on this Earth, then I say you're right." She paused for a moment. She seemed to be considering whether to say the next thing on her mind. "But, consider this. It is possible she simply hasn't read a newspaper that has your name in it. You haven't been to London." She paused significantly. "Yet. And, as much as we all like to think that it is, San Francisco isn't the center of the world."

  . . .

  Once my father and the Four Terrors were gone, Carter went to his office to meet with his arson investigation team. Leaving him there, I walked over to Mike's office. The door was open, so I walked in and closed it behind me.

  I stood there, looking at him, while he talked on the phone.

  "Yes, ma'am. I understand." He looked over at me and nodded. I stood where I was.

  "Yes, I promise. We're looking into it right now. I have a man who's been following your husband all day. I should have his report in a few hours." He waited as she talked. He rolled his eyes and grinned. I grinned back.

  "Look. Why don't you come up here tomorrow morning at 9? We can go over what we've found then." He paused. "No, ma'am. I won't be able to meet with you tonight. Besides, my man will be following your husband tonight, just like you asked. There really won't be anything to report until tomorrow morning." He nodded as she spoke. "Yes, ma'am. Right where you came this morning."

  I chuckled.

  "That's fine, Mrs. Van Klein. We'll see you then." He paused. "Thank you, ma'am. Goodbye." He quickly put the phone on the receiver.

  I asked, "This morning?"

  He nodded and leaned back in his big leather chair. "Had to see the head of the firm. Had to get started today."

  "Cheating husband?"

  He nodded again and stood. "But, as we're getting more and more of, with another man. We hardly get any good old fashioned adulterers anymore."

  "Yeah. That's not nearly as modern as cheating on your wife with a man. Now that's the newest model for 1955."

  Mike walked around the desk and pulled me into a hug. I stood there for a moment as he rocked me. It felt good but I think he was doing it more for himself than for me. Kissing me on the forehead, he let me go and sat on the corner of his desk. "You OK?"

  I shook my head. "I dunno. That's a lot to consider. In a way, I wish Frankie and Maria had found a grave instead of an empty house and a stack of mail."

  Mike nodded. "I don't blame you."

  "But what was the thing you left out about Zelda?"

  "You caught that, did you?"

  I shrugged. "I'm guessing Zelda was poisoning my mother."

  Mike nodded. "She admitted to doing it and said she'd do her time."

  That took me by surprise.

  "I think she was relieved to see me."

  "Did she remember you?" I asked.

  He nodded. "Not sure why, but she took one look at me and said, 'You're the policeman who took in Nick, aren't you?'"

  That surprised me. I ran my hand over my face and asked, "What was she using?"

  "She wasn't sure. Or couldn't remember." He tightened his mouth.

  "Is that why you didn't take her down to North Station to confess?"

  He nodded. "I didn't think Rostenkowski would be interested." Lieutenant Daniel Rostenkowski was our primary contact in the S.F.P.D. He worked out of the North Station and didn't like us much. But Mike was building a small army of informants and steadily handed Rostenkowski the juicy bits that he got. The lieutenant tolerated us and tended to keep the police brass off our backs, as much as he could.

  "I'm surprised at you, Mike." I laughed. "Getting soft."

  He shook his head. "Pragmatic. That's all. So." He folded his arms, "When do you and Carter fly to Vermont?"

  I shook my head. "Not yet." But as soon as I said those words, I began to wonder where the nearest airport to Grafton might be.

  . . .

  Robert Evans managed all my properties. He was doing a bang-up job of it and I was really grateful. He was also living with Henry Winters, the engineer who'd come up with the idea for our office building. He was also Carter's best friend and first lover. They'd grown up together in Georgia and had moved out to San Francisco in the summer of '39, at about the same time my father had kicked me out of the house and Mike had taken me in to live with him.

  I knocked on Robert's office door.

  "Come in."

  Opening the door, I walked in. He looked up at me and grinned. "Welcome home. How are you, Nick?"

  I smiled as I sat down in one of the chairs across from his desk. The view from his window looked north and I could see the traffic on Montgomery Street down below. "Good. How's business?"

  "Never been better. Do you have time for a quick update?"

  "Sure."

  "Like you told me to do, I've been re-investing the money we're making and have picked up some new properties." I listened as he gave me names and addresses of apartment buildings and office buildings that we had bought in the previous month or that we had contracts on. Most of them were small affairs, mostly being sold by people who needed the cash. He knew what he was doing, so I didn't listen too closely and mostly looked at the Russ Building a couple of blocks north on Montgomery and admired its towers.

  "I also picked up two more planes."

  That got my attention. "Two?"

  Robert nodded. "I hope that's OK."

  I smiled. "Does this mean you have one that can take Carter and me to Vermont tonight?"

  "Sure. I picked up a DC-3 and—"

  "Wait. Why one of those old jobs?"

  "It's been converted into a kind of luxury taxi by some big-shot producer. He needed the cash and it checked out, so I bought it. I figured there's so many movie stars who fly up here from Hollywood on Fridays for the weekend, that we could cater to them. It's also good for trips to places like Carmel and Santa Barbara and Acapulco. You wouldn't want to fly over the Rockies in it, since it isn't pressurized but up and down the coast should be fine. And," he grinned, "it's already booked out until July for the weekend trips."

  "How'd you do that?"

  "Walter. He somehow has a connection to Hedda Hopper. We flew her up here and back, along with her son and his wife and their daughter. Miss Hopper talked about it in her column and the phone started ringing. In fact, I hope you don't mind, but I had to hire my own secretary."

  "Sure. That's fine. One question, though."

  "What?"

  "Did Hedda know it was my plane?"

  He grinned. "Nope. We're now operating as W.J. San Francisco Aviation, Incorporated. It's a wholly-owned subsidiary of W.J. San Francisco Properties, Incorporat
ed. All just like you wanted. The papers were filed at the beginning of February."

  "Impressive, Robert."

  He blushed and said, "Thanks, Nick."

  "What about us flying to Vermont tonight?"

  "Where?"

  "A small town called Grafton."

  Robert pulled out a notepad and started scribbling. "When do you want to leave?"

  "Well, the point is that I want to arrive as early as we can tomorrow morning. But not too early. Maybe around 8."

  He nodded. "I think the new Constellation should work."

  "So, that's a second Connie?"

  "Right. The Super Connie, The Laconic Lumberjack, is still down in Burbank at Lockheed going through its overhaul. Then the first Connie, The Flying Fireman, is in Florida right now. The DC-7, which still needs a name, is down in Rio."

  "Rio?"

  "Yes. A Brazilian movie studio is using it for a month."

  I nodded. "And now we got the DC-3 and this second Connie."

  "Yes. For the DC-3, I was thinking of naming it The Weekender."

  I laughed. "I like that. What about the new Connie?"

  He shrugged. "Nothing's come to me yet."

  I laughed. "Maybe we'll be inspired during this trip."

  Chapter 3

  Municipal Airport

  West Lebanon, N.H.

  Tuesday, March 8, 1955

  Just past 7 in the morning

  The Connie began to descend from the bright blue of the morning sky above the clouds into the darkness below. As we emerged out of the cloud cover, the exterior windows became streaked with water droplets. I looked out and saw the patchwork of forest and farmland that was covered with snow. The roads were clear and I was grateful for that.

  Frankie and Maria were in the row behind us. I was grateful they were willing to come with us back across the country after only being home for less than eighteen hours. They'd met the local sheriff and Frankie knew how to drive in the snow, something that neither Carter nor I had any experience in.

  As the plane landed at the municipal airport, it slid a little on the snowy runway. Captain James Kilkenny, our pilot, was an older man with a lot of flying experience that went back to the Ford Tri-Motors of the '30s. He had reassured us in San Francisco that he could land on just about any surface, even if it was icy. And, as he piloted the plane towards the small terminal building, he'd just proven himself right.