Book Read Free

Murder in the Grand Manor

Page 10

by Tom Hoke


  The little man pushed himself away from the bar and carefully took his foot off the rail.

  With some difficulty he stood upright. Then he said, "You are insulting my dearest friend.

  He is not trying to get himself killed!" Then he shook his head, almost lost his balance, and steadied himself against the bar. A horrified look came over his face. "Oh, no," he shouted, as he stumbled over to the bench along the south wall of the room. He leaned over.

  "You ain't dead, are you, Ed?" he said beseechingly, poking at a figure lying on the bench.

  The guy moved. He was far from dead. Jim had not seen him because he was not looking for him. There he lay, drunk as a loon, the long tall salesman was stretched out on the bench with his mouth unappetizingly open.

  Chapter 11

  Jim had hoped it was the long, tall salesman whom he had seen dodging about upstairs and outside the kitchen door. Now he knew better. It was a futile hope, and here was the proof.

  He could still hear Beau Mitchell's voice, "I don't like double-crossers." Jim could see him standing in that cul-de-sac in San Antonio with his hands outstretched. He recalled the amazement on Mitchells face. And he could remember too well the pleasant tone when Mitchell talked to Jerry Duprey on the telephone from his office. Jim could have dealt with Duprey on his home grounds with no trouble at all. But there was more to it. Beau Mitchell had stumbled quite recently into something that really held his attention. Jim guessed the answer was concerned with the Grand Manor. He sensed Beau Mitchell was in the hotel, but he couldn't quite see Leddon and George as his henchmen.

  If he had kept Jerry Duprey in Fort Worth, he would never have known the difference. But, not only was Duprey in a mess of trouble, so was Jim. The whole bit spelled money, but he didn't have a single answer. Maybe, if anyone could bless a hurricane, he guessed he could, at least for a moment. Bertha gave him time to find some answers.

  Mrs. Benning had owned the hotel for years.

  The question kept repeating in his mind. Why now? Why now? What drew Jerry Duprey here now, and why had Mrs. Benning been removed right at this particular time. Here's where Reese came into the picture, the quiet little man in the seersucker suit. Reese had blurted out something about correspondence with Mrs. Benning. He had come to see her and was quite upset by her death. He, at least, was available for questioning. And Jim had one trump card, Mrs. Benning's heir.

  The short salesman was still poking at his recumbent friend. George was smiling slyly at Jim over the bar. He ignored him, took a couple of glasses and a bottle from the shelf behind him, and started for the lobby without protest from either of them.

  In the lobby things had changed. There was not one more window to tape. This left a bunch of frightened people huddled around speechless in wobbly rattan chairs. They were in little groups as if they didn't know the rest were there. Aunt Annie and Lena were seated close together. In another corner, the bride and groom were seated closer together. The Tribbles had retired to the dining room where she had put her head down on her arm on a table. Reese sat alone staring at the east wall as if it would collapse at any moment. Leddon leaned on the desk, but he was still definitely gone. They all looked like they were waiting for doomsday. Maybe this was it. How would they know?

  Jim looked for Mrs. Wharton and found her sitting on the second step of the stairs. She was smoking a cigarette, leaning against the wall, and staring at the ceiling. Of all of them, she was quite composed. He walked across the lobby, and put the bottle and the glasses beside her. "I'll be back shortly," he said. "I want to have a word with Reese." Jim nodded in his direction. She shrugged and he picked up a chair and descended on the man in the seersucker suit. Reese seemed quite aloof. This might be hard sledding, but Jim had to have a go at it.

  "Mr. Reese, you said you had correspondence with Mrs. Benning?"

  Reese gave a long, cool stare from under colorless brows and lashes. Finally he nodded.

  This was going to be rough, just as Jim predicted, unless he got Jerry Duprey into the act right now. "You are looking for Mrs.

  Benning's heir?" Jim asked. Reese nodded again, but his mouth tightened. Jim came up with a small lie. "I represent Mrs. Benning's nephew. Is your business with him of great importance?"

  Dryly he replied: "Yes, my business is of GREAT importance. Do you know where Mrs.

  Benning's nephew is, sir?" Before Jim could answer, he asked another question and made a comment Jim had not expected. "By what authority do you represent her heir? You do have a name?" He looked Jim straight in the eye and added, "I am a numismatist."

  "My name is Jim Smith, and I am connected with a firm of private investigators in Chicago.

  I have been hired to take charge of Mr. Duprey, Mrs. Benning's nephew." This was no lie, but it did indicate incompetence where Jerry was concerned. "The man is completely sane, but inclined toward the bottle."

  Reese looked over at the bottle Jim had set beside Mrs. Wharton. His eyebrows went up eloquently. Jim said quickly, "If you choose to tell me of your correspondence with Mrs.

  Benning, the matter will go no further. It is strictly a matter of ethics." He took out his wallet and handed Reese his credentials before Reese could get around to asking for them.

  "You know where Mrs. Benning's nephew is?"

  Reese asked again. Jim said, "Yes", hoping he was right as to Jerry's whereabouts.

  He must have sounded sincere. Reese mopped his forehead with an immaculate handkerchief and leaned toward him. "You will, I trust, put me in touch with this Mr. Duprey as soon as possible?" Jim nodded.

  Reese didn't appear to be quite as stern. He said, "Mrs. Benning wanted to discuss a coin she said she had found. She sent me a picture of it. I was shocked by what she sent." He eyed Jim cautiously.

  "I don't know much about coins," Jim replied, leading him into the discussion with practiced skill.

  "She sent me this photo." Reese took out a picture of a gold coin. "Do you know what this is?" he questioned in a voice rising with excitement. Without waiting for a reply he said, "It's an 1861-O double eagle in uncirculated condition!"

  "So, whats the big deal over one measly coin?"

  Jim asked with interest.

  "Because" Reese replied intensely "there are no known 1861-O $20 gold pieces in this condition. Look at how perfect the date 1861 appears in the picture. Every coin in existence today shows a dropout in the bottom part of the date, especially in the 8 and the 6. There were three sets of dies sent in December, 1860 to the New Orleans mint. The $20 gold pieces produced in January, 1861 by the United States Government must have been perfect, like this coin. Those in existence today must have been made after the State of Louisiana took over the mint in February, 1861."

  He paused to let this sink into Jim’s skull. "This coin is worth a minimum of $10,000, and probably a whole lot more."

  "So you came all the way down here to buy this coin?" Jim asked quickly.

  "I came for three reasons" Reese replied. "First, to see if this coin was real and not a counterfeit, second, to discuss the purchase of the coin, and third to talk to Mrs. Benning about where she found the coin."

  "Why?" Jim asked bluntly. "Did she have more than one?"

  Reese stopped and looked at him sternly, then managed to completely evade the question.

  Jim had learned all he wanted to know from Reese. Also he had to play fair with him. He said, "I will take you to Mrs. Benning's nephew as soon as this hurricane lets up. He is close and available. Why don't you go into the bar and have a drink. We will simply have to wait out the storm."

  Reese rose, nodded in Jim’s direction, and went toward George's department. Jim walked across the lobby and sat down on the step next to Mrs. Wharton. She was the neat type. She had an ashtray beside her on the third step and a drink in her hand. He poured one and stretched out his legs. Aunt Annie and Lena showed no interest in the booze, which proved how completely undone they were. The wind seemed to be getting under everybody's hide but Ledd
on. Lucky guy!

  Jim leaned over and put his mouth next to Mrs.

  Wharton's ear. "Let's talk about why you are really here."

  She flashed a wary look, and then she realized he knew she had come to the Grand Manor for a reason. "I don't make much money as a Librarian Mr. Smith", she said softly. "When you stopped by earlier today and you said you were writing about Mississippi history and you asked about legends, I thought to myself just maybe I could help you and maybe make some money on the side. Of course I didn't want to do it on company time!" She looked through him.

  "There are several legends in Hancock County which could be useful to you. But this might take all night to explain."

  So what? They had all night, if the hotel didn't crash down about their ears or get inundated.

  Jim trusted Aunt Annie where the last was concerned. He had to. Mrs. Wharton smelled good, she was very pretty, and she knew a lot of things which might prove useful.

  He glanced over at Aunt Annie and Lena.

  They looked shrunken and spiritless. He hated to see them like this, so he came up with an idea. Turning to Mrs. Wharton, he asked,

  "What's your given name, Toots?"

  "No, Janet," she replied without missing a beat.

  She raised her eyebrows. "Surely yours isn't really Charlie Smith? There is no such name."

  He grinned at her. "As far as I know you are half right. Really, it's Jim, but the last name is Smith."

  He rose. "Those two old gals insisted on calling me Charlie, so I went along with them.

  They need therapy." He looked down at her.

  "We've got a long, long wait. After I dream up something to bring them back to life, we'll have a talk, huh? What else is there to do?" He had a few good ideas, but they seemed impractical at the time. "I need a good old-fashioned history lesson, and I'm not kidding."

  He crossed into the dining room, picked up a small serving table and set it between the two old ladies. "Aunt Annie, why don't you and Lena try a couple of hands of double solitaire?

  Where are the cards? There must be some someplace."

  Aunt Annie looked at him and her backbone stiffened.

  "Solitaire!" she shouted. Her tone was scandalized. "Of course I know where the cards are." Then she added gently, "Charlie, you bring us both a Camille. Lena and I can play a snappy game of gin at two bits a game?"

  He started for the bar, relieved. Aunt Annie went over to a shelf at the end of the room and picked up a pack of dog-eared cards from the second shelf.

  Jim had to make the Camilles. George was in no mood. Reese was smoking a cigar over a tall glass. When Jim went back into the lobby with the drinks, Lena was protesting. He moved the lantern so they could see the cards more easily. "Four bits a game," Lena was insisting.

  He looked around the room. The man in the shorts had somehow managed to fall asleep in his chair, and was making small snoring noises. Mr. and Mrs. Tribble were making an attempt to sleep in the dining room. Leddon had apparently retired to the little room back of the desk.

  About this time the groom came up with a notion. He seemed quite firm about it. His bride looked helplessly receptive. He picked up a candle, put his arm around his bride and announced loudly, which was unnecessary because Jim was the only one listening, "I think we will retire." They marched self-consciously past the desk and disappeared into the long side of the hotel. Now there was a guy with a great idea!

  Jim hurried back to Janet Wharton and settled a little closer to her than he had before. She noticed. "Hurricanes demand companionship, so how about the history lesson and the legends of Hancock County?" Jim suggested.

  Something came down with a great clumping noise just outside the front door. He was glad it was dark outside. It was just as well they couldn't see the havoc. The noise didn't disturb Janet. She just looked at him with a question in her eyes. He obliged her. "When this wasn't Mississippi, what was it and when?" he asked.

  She took another swallow of whiskey, smiled at him from under those terrific eyelashes and asked, "Which legend do you want to hear, the one about Napoleon's gold or the one about Buried Treasure?" She smiled a provocative smile as he decided.

  "Napoleon's gold might be interesting," he offered, "but personally I would prefer to hear about Buried Treasure."

  She lit a cigarette. "The Southeastern States, way back when, were known as The Independent Nation of West Florida. The Spanish, the French, the English, and just plain Americans all had a hand in settling The Independent Nation of West Florida." She seemed quite earnest.

  "Where does the buried treasure come in?" he interrupted.

  "Wait. In 1822 Mississippi was finally under the jurisdiction of the United States Government. The land was given, over prior claims, to the settlers who lived on it and worked it." She paused for effect, then continued. "Many of the early settlers were Americans who settled up and down the Pearl River, just to the west of here. She sipped her whiskey like it was lemonade and mused, "The early settlers were hardy characters, because this whole area was packed with privateers, thieves, and killers. The only accessible path was The Old Spanish Trail, part of which is Highway 90 now. All the rest was wilderness.

  Believe me, the whole Gulf of Mexico was a pirate's dream."

  Right now, it didn't look like things had changed much. Whatever it had been, the Grand Manor was scarcely a deluxe spot on the Riviera. It seemed to still be a hideout for thieves and killers. It wasn't hard to imagine the way it must have been early in the last century.

  "At the beginning of the Civil War, there was a family of Choctaw Indians living on one of the bayous west of here and north of Highway One rainy night in the middle of March, a wagon came from the Old Spanish Trail. The wagon was driven by a uniformed Confederate officer. Two black slaves were in the back."

  She looked to see if Jim was paying attention.

  He was.

  "The Confederate officer stopped the wagon, had the two slaves dig a deep hole, and once it was dug he had them unload the wagon into the hole. They worked quite awhile unloading before they realized they were never going to get out alive. One of them tried to hit the Confederate officer with a shovel, but he was shot in mid-swing. Then the officer shot the other black man too." Mrs. Wharton stopped.

  "And how do you know this actually happened?" Jim asked in anticipation.

  "I know because there was a Choctaw Indian boy hiding in the woods when it happened.

  In 1954 when he was 99 and blind, he told this story to a newspaper reporter who wanted to know what he attributed his old age to.

  Apparently the old man was barely 6 years old when the incident took place, but he remembered it like yesterday." Janet glanced at Jim to make sure he was listening.

  "So, why didn't he dig up what was buried?"

  Jim asked quietly.

  "Because the Indians felt it was an evil spot and the spirits were bad in that particular area. The Indians wouldn't go anyplace near there because of the two murders. "

  "So, what was buried by the Confederate officer?" Jim questioned.

  "Well, that's the hard part. No one really knows. In those years when something was buried, the person who buried it always left a marker near the top of the site to identify what was below." Janet was talking a bit louder.

  This was a mistake because it brought the Tribbles to life. Jim got a disapproving glance from Aunt Annie. Lena yelled "GIN!" Mr.

  Tribble helped his wife to her feet and up the steps from the dining room as they approached. At least Jim looked like he was running the ship.

  "Sorry to bother you, young man," said Mr.

  Tribble kindly. "We were not given a room. It seems ridiculous to sit out this storm. We either blow away or we don't." He turned to his wife. "Isn't that right, Lover?" She nodded agreement, "Yes, Lover." He smiled and asked,

  "Can you give us a room?"

  Jim pushed himself to his feet and went behind the desk and looked in the cubbyholes holding keys. "How about 110?
" he asked, sounding quite professional. He looked for the registration book in vain. Leddon must have taken it to bed with him. Jim wished he had thought of it sooner. He handed Mr. Tribble a key. Tribble went to pick up two bags in the corner of the room, and Mrs. Tribble followed with a candle into the corridor looking for 110.

  Jim did catch Mr. Tribble throwing an admiring glance in the direction of his history teacher, so Jim returned to class.

  You've either got it or you haven't. Janet had it. It wasn't just those legs. She looked healthy, and there was more. She had a certain spark one gal in a thousand showed. Jim had to get back in her good graces and keep his mind on her story.

  "What do you think about the story?" he asked, trying to get her going again. "Do you think it's true?"

  "I've researched the subject intensely," she replied. She raised her eyebrows slightly and then captured his full attention, "In 1861 the Civil War started. The only link to New Orleans, except by water, was along the Old Spanish Trail. The wagon came from New Orleans. I studied the microfilm files from the Times Picayune, and apparently the New Orleans mint was in a state of confusion because the State of Louisiana was about to take over, and the Confederate government also wanted the mint. The New Orleans Mint history records indicate there was the possibility the mint was robbed because there were three funds which were supposed to be turned over to the Louisiana Government, and at the same time the United States Government wanted the mint funds returned to them. The Superintendent of the Mint refused to turn over the funds to the United States Government or the Louisiana Government."

  Janet glanced up to see if he was still paying attention.

  She continued. "The Superintendent of the Mint managed to stall both the United States Government and the Louisiana Government, and with the mint and the entire city in a state of chaos, the 5,000 $20 gold pieces and 330,000 silver half dollars minted in January, 1861 by the United States Government were never turned over. Mint records showed all of the gold and lots of the silver was traded for British gold sovereigns and then deposited into Citizens Bank in New Orleans. On March 15, 1861, those 5,000 double-eagles minted by the U. S. Government and some 330,000 silver half dollars were turned over to the Confederate States of America by the Citizens Bank." Janet looked at him for relief.

 

‹ Prev