Monroe quickly climbed down onto the platform holding a brown suitcase, studied the crowd, and quickly looked to his left and right. “Mrs. Holland?” he called out.
“Monroe, over here!” Heather yelled and began waving his picture in the air. “Monroe, it’s me, Heather Norton! We danced together at the Under the Stars spring dance, remember?”
Mary studied Monroe’s face and quickly worked her way over to him. “Hello, Mr. Baker, I’m Mary Holland,” she called out in a loud voice and pointed at the mayor. “Mayor Darfield is expecting you.”
“Oh yes, of course,” Monroe said and followed her through the crowd of screaming women yelling his name and begging for an autograph. “Not now, ladies…later…I promise…please…let me through…not now,” Monroe fussed as he followed Mary.
Mary led Monroe to the mayor and stepped aside. Betty, William, and Millie rushed up to her and waited for the mayor to begin his speech. The short little man promptly shook Monroe’s hand and welcomed him to Pineville.
“Today is a momentous occasion,” the mayor began to speak as the band slowly grew silent and settled down. “Today we welcome one of our own back home.”
The crowd erupted into applause, calling out Monroe’s name. Mayor Darfield beamed from ear to ear, grabbed the lapels of his suit, and waited for the crowd to wear itself down. Monroe slowly put down his luggage, glanced back over his shoulder toward Sheriff Mables, and then focused on the crowd with worried eyes.
“Yes, today we welcome one of our own back home on this joyous occasion.” Mayor Darfield turned to Monroe. “Monroe Baker, on behalf of myself, the fine citizens of Pineville, and the beautiful state of Tennessee, let me be the first to say: Welcome home.” Mayor Darfield grabbed Monroe’s hand again and began shaking it as the crowd once again erupted in claps and cheers.
“What’s he scared of?” Mary whispered to herself, reading Monroe’s face and eyes.
Monroe kept his eyes on the crowd. “Thank you, Mayor, for such a warm welcome,” he said and cleared his throat. “I’m honored to be…back home…in Pineville. Pineville holds a very special place inside of my heart.”
Mary folded her arms. “That’s not what you told me on the phone,” she whispered again.
“I look forward to hosting the talent show and raising money for our wounded soldiers,” Monroe continued, gazing across the crowd of strange faces. “Raising money for our wounded soldiers is why I’m here.” The crowd erupted, and Monroe raised a nervous hand. “I look forward to getting to know old friends,” he said, “however, it has been a very long trip and…” Monroe looked at Mary. “I’m getting over a sickness. I’m very grateful for everyone standing here, but if it wouldn’t be too rude of me, I would like to be taken to my room and rest.”
“Sickness?” Mary asked herself. “You were playing tennis not too long ago.”
Mayor Darfield quickly waved at Sheriff Mables. Sheriff Mables rolled his eyes, walked up to Monroe holding a large golden key, and held it out. “Monroe Baker, before you go, I would like to present to you the key to the city,” Mayor Darfield said in a proud voice. “Welcome home.”
Sheriff Mables handed the key to Monroe and faded back. The crowd clapped and cheered as Monroe forced a fake smile to his face, nodded his head, and thanked the mayor. “Thank you all for showing me such…kindness.” Monroe looked into the crowd. “I’m glad to be…back home,” he said and hurried over to Mary. “I would like to be taken to my room.”
“This way,” Mary said, pointing to her tan 1936 Chevy Slantback parked in front of the train station in a gravel parking lot among a sea of other cars and trucks. “Betty, honey, you can ride back into town with William and Millie.”
“I think I’ll walk. It’s such a nice day,” Betty told Mary as she cast a nervous glance at Monroe. “Hello…Mr. Baker.”
Monroe quickly said hello back and urged Mary to take him to her car. Mary spotted Heather pushing her way through the crowd and shook her head.
“This way,” she said and hurried away. As she did, the band began playing and the crowd began clapping. “Forgive me for saying this,” Mary told Monroe, stepping out under a clear blue sky, “but you seem bothered about something.”
Monroe handed Mary the key to the city and focused on making it to her car. “I’m very tired, that’s all. California is a long way from Pineville.”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” Mary agreed as she walked around the side of the train station and entered the sea of vehicles. She spotted her car parked at the far end of the parking lot and aimed for it. “Was your trip comfortable?”
“Fine, fine.”
“That Streamliner you arrived on looks very cozy,” Mary continued.
“Yes, yes, cozy,” Monroe said and looked over his shoulder. He spotted Heather Norton staring at him from the train platform. A man wearing a black suit stepped up behind Heather, looked out into the bright afternoon, and then vanished back into the crowd. Monroe felt panic grip his chest.
“Mrs. Holland, I would like for you to arrange for me to have a car of my own while I’m in town. I don’t want to be dependent on you. You understand,” Monroe finished in an uneasy voice.
“Uh…sure,” Mary said, arriving at her car. “I’m sure someone will be kind enough to loan out their car to you.” Mary spotted Heather Norton trying to wave to Monroe. “Mr. Baker, please turn around and wave to that poor woman.” Mary pointed at Heather. Monroe turned around, spotted Heather, and threw her a pity wave. Heather jumped for joy and waved back until her arms nearly fell off.
“I would like to have the car by tonight,” Monroe told Mary. He studied her car and then climbed into the front passenger’s seat.
Mary paused, examined the large crowd on the platform, and then climbed into the front driver’s seat. “Mr. Baker, is something wrong?” she asked.
Monroe put his suitcase down on his lap and shook his head. “Take me to my room, please,” he told Mary. “Once you get my car, you may call me.”
“Are you planning to take a trip?” Mary asked. She brought her car to life and eased away from the lovely train station. When she reached a quaint two-lane road, she took a right and drove back toward town.
“I would like to visit my parents,” Monroe explained. “They live in Chattanooga. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen them.”
“Chattanooga is a long drive, Mr. Baker.”
“I’ll pay for the fuel I use,” Monroe snapped at Mary. He caught his tone and offered a fake apology. “My mother is…sick,” he said. “I’ve been worried about her for some time.”
Mary thought back to the phone call she had with Monroe the day she tried to convince the man to send someone else in his place. Monroe had said he was planning to play tennis, sounded very rude and snotty, and didn’t seem concerned one least little bit for a sick parent. Now the man appeared to be a scared cat trying to escape a hungry bulldog.
“Well…wish your mother my best,” Mary said and grew silent. A minute later, her mind screamed at her that Monroe’s parents lived in the northeast part of the state, not in Chattanooga. What could she say? So she said nothing. Instead, she drove into town and left Monroe to his business. Mary had no desire to get involved in the business of a man who was full of lies and arrogance. Whatever hole Monroe had dug for himself was his concern. All Mary cared about was the talent show and raising money for wounded soldiers.
Millie didn’t want to give up her car. She liked the 1940 Chrysler Highlander her parents had bought her for a graduation present. “No,” Millie fussed, plopping down in a wooden chair in the front room of the newspaper office. “I just had the motor worked on, too.”
Mary watched Millie straighten out her soft black hair and then brush down the front of her yellow dress. Millie was a beautiful young woman—intelligent, brave, and even daring at times—but she was not very helpful when it came to loaning out her car. Mary surely couldn’t force Millie to loan Monroe her car. She looked at William, who shrugged h
is shoulders.
“I don’t own a car. I walk everywhere I go,” he told Mary in an apologetic voice. “And speaking of walking, it’s supper time. Mind if I walk down to the diner?”
“Go ahead,” Mary sighed.
“I think I’ll join you,” Millie told William. She looked at Mary with worried eyes. “You’re not mad at me, are you, Mrs. Holland? You understand, don’t you?”
“Of course, I understand,” Mary said, forcing a smile to her face. “Go eat supper.”
Millie stood up. “My parents were very upset when they learned they bought me a car with a poor engine. Daddy has been putting so much extra money into…” Millie looked at Mary and then glanced at Betty. Betty nodded toward the front door with her eyes. Millie sighed. “I’ll be back after supper.”
“No, no,” Mary said, “you and William can call it a day.” Mary studied the front room. “Tomorrow I need you to go around town and conduct interviews…get a feel for how people are feeling about the talent show, ask them their thoughts, that kind of thing. William, I need you to write up a fancy piece that will grab people’s opinions and yank them in.”
“The talent show opens in two nights,” Betty pointed out. “We’re putting out an early paper on Wednesday.”
“Which means we’ll all be working very late tomorrow night,” Mary said.
William shoved his hands down into the pockets of his pants. “Come on, Millie, let’s go get something to eat while we can.”
Millie waved at Mary and Betty and walked away with William. Mary waited until her team was out of sight before she sat down. “I really can’t loan Monroe my car,” she said. “I need it for work. And after the conversation I had with him earlier, I shouldn’t even be looking for a car for that man to drive.”
Betty’s ears pricked up. “What’s wrong, Mary?”
Mary leaned forward and tapped the typewriter sitting on Millie’s desk. “I’m not exactly sure,” Mary confessed as she began playing with the typewriter keys. “Monroe seems to be…scared.” Mary shook her head. “That man’s business is none of my business.”
“Right,” Betty said. “We have to focus on the talent show.”
“Right,” Mary said in a distracted voice, keeping her eyes on the typewriter. “I mean, if Monroe Baker is in some kind of trouble, that’s his business…not ours.”
“Right,” Betty said again. She looked toward the front door and began counting backward in her mind.
“I mean…so what if he lied about wanting to drive to Chattanooga and see his parents…could be he’s wanting to see an old girlfriend.”
“Right.”
“So what if he lied to everyone on the train platform…” Mary stopped playing with the typewriter keys. She looked up at Betty. “Of course, I do have a certain duty to chase down stories that will benefit this paper,” she pointed out.
“Right,” Betty said again and pointed at the front door. “I’ll be here when you get back from the hotel.”
Mary smiled. “Why don’t you go join Millie and William at the diner? I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
Betty considered Mary’s offer. She was hungry, and the sun was growing low in the sky. “Okay.” She smiled and grabbed a dark green purse that was, well…just plain ugly. “I’ll order you a dinner plate, Mary. My treat.”
“Thanks, honey.”
Betty began to leave, and then she paused, spun around, and ran back to her desk. “My pen.” She blushed and quickly picked up her special pen and tucked it into her ugly purse.
“Your pen.” Mary smiled. Betty blushed again and hurried outside, leaving Mary alone.
Mary took a few minutes to gather her thoughts. Then she grabbed her purse up off Betty’s desk and left the newspaper, walking the two blocks east to Milton Wyman’s Hotel. The hotel was a simple two-story brick building that housed ten rooms. Mary thought of the building as more of a boardinghouse than a hotel, but Milton Wyman insisted he was running a hotel, not a home for drifters; Mary wasn’t sure what the difference was. What she did know was that Milton Wyman and his wife, Sheila Wyman, had turned an ugly old building into a fancy, luxurious palace filled with soft beds, antique furnishings, lush carpets, and beautiful walls. And of course, Mary thought, approaching the hotel, the beautiful flower gardens sitting around the hotel were an exquisite touch that complemented every sweet aspect of the building.
Mary paused outside the front of the hotel and looked across the street. She spotted a man wearing a black suit staring at the hotel and holding a cigarette in his mouth. When the man spotted Mary looking at him, he turned and walked away.
“I wonder who that is. I’ve never seen him before,” Mary whispered and hurried into the front lobby of the hotel.
Milton Wyman was sitting behind a hand-carved, wooden counter that smelled of furniture polish and peppermint. He was reading the daily paper. When he saw Mary walk through the front door, he lowered the paper and sighed. “Mr. Baker is never going to get any rest with all the visitors he’s been having.”
Mary walked over to Milton. “Visitors?” she asked, tossing a quick eye at Milton’s bald head. The poor man was tall, thin, and balder than a bowling ball. He looked like a…well…a goofy clown with a big nose; a clown with no hair to boot.
Milton put down his newspaper, brushed at the gray suit he was wearing, and nodded his head. “Mostly fans,” he complained. “But just a few minutes ago his agent paid him a visit.”
“Agent?”
“That’s what the man said he was,” Milton explained and nodded at the front door. “He just left no more than five minutes ago.”
“Was he wearing a black suit?”
“Why, yes he was,” Milton told Mary.
Mary looked across a fancy lobby, past the wonderful paintings and lovely antique furnishings, and found the green carpeted staircase leading up to the second floor. Monroe Baker was staying in room 10—the best room the hotel had to offer.
“Mr. Wyman, I need to go up and speak to Mr. Baker. He requested I find him a car to use and so far, I’m coming up empty-handed.”
“I see,” Milton said, rubbing his chin. “Well, I would offer the use of my truck, but I have to drive over to Brown Derry tomorrow and pick up a coffee table the wife ordered. It’s arriving special delivery from Ireland and Mr. Hatfield has agreed to examine it for flaws before I pay full price.”
“I understand,” Mary said and began easing toward the staircase. “I won’t be but a minute.”
Milton waved a hand at Mary. “You better hurry, Mary. Heather Norton will be back after supper and then you won’t have any time.”
Mary rolled her eyes and hurried up the staircase. On the second floor, she hurried down a hallway glowing with polished hardwood. When she reached room 10, she quickly drew in a deep breath, calmed her nerves, and knocked on the door.
“Mr. Baker, it’s Mary Holland. I need to speak to you about the car you requested.”
No answer came.
Mary waited a few seconds and knocked on the door again. “Mr. Baker, this is Mary Holland. I need to talk to you. I’m afraid I haven’t been able to locate a car for you to use.”
Still no answer.
Mary waited a few more seconds and then knocked on the door a third time. “Mr. Baker, this is Mary Holland. Are you in there?”
Mary wondered if Monroe had escaped out the back door to evade Heather Norton. Or maybe he was napping.
“Or maybe he’s in trouble,” Mary whispered as a bad feeling gripped her chest. “Mr. Baker!” she called out and tried the doorknob. The door was unlocked. “Mr. Baker, I’m going to open your door…if you’re in your room, please don’t be alarmed.”
Mary twisted the doorknob and eased open the door. “Mr. Baker?” Mary stuck her head through the door and saw a fancy, delightful, and cozy room lined with soft blue walls, a lovely brown carpet, a king-sized bed covered with a white and blue blanket, a white sitting chair, an antique bookshelf holding classic books, an
d sweet paintings of faraway lands that lured in the imagination. What she didn’t see was Monroe Baker…that was, until she stepped deeper into the room and saw a pair of legs on the floor, protruding from the far side of the bed.
“Mr. Baker!” Mary yelled. She ran around the bed and to her horror saw Monroe Baker lying face down. “Oh dear!” Then Mary spotted a knife sticking out of his back and gasped.
She spun around, ran to the room door, and called out: “Mr. Wyman! Mr. Wyman!” A minute later Milton came running up the stairs. “Mr. Wyman, call Sheriff Mables!”
“What in the world?” Milton said.
Mary pulled Milton into the room and showed him Monroe Baker.
Milton nearly fainted. “Goodness,” he whispered. He stumbled out of the room and worked his way back downstairs.
Mary remained in the room. “How horrible,” she whispered. She carefully walked back to Monroe and looked down at him. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I should have known…I just didn’t want to care…you sounded so awful on the phone.” Mary shook her head. As she did, her eyes caught sight of a brown suitcase resting on the sitting chair. Seeing that it was open, she walked over to the suitcase and looked inside. She spotted a couple of suits that had once been neatly folded but were now crumbled up into messy pools of cloth.
“Someone went through his suitcase,” Mary said and thought of the man wearing the black suit. “Now don’t go jumping to conclusions. You have no evidence that proves that man killed Monroe Baker.”
Mary walked away from the suitcase and carefully investigated the room. As far as she could tell, Monroe Baker had not even sat down on the bed, let alone made himself comfortable enough to disturb anything in the room.
Clueless Chase Page 3