Murder on the Mullet Express

by Gwen Mayo

  “Ah, yes, the rail embargo.”

  “Our car broke down near Ocala. Mr. Rowley came to our rescue and acquired seats for us on the Express. Not that the Mullet Express is in any way rapid transit. It stopped every few miles.”

  “Still, it was very good of him. I think I know which one your uncle is. The bearded man with the camera?”

  “That’s Uncle Percival. The camera was his gift to himself for Christmas.”

  His eyebrows, which were thick and curly, rose. “Percival?”

  She chuckled. “We also have a Gareth and a Roland.”

  “What about Lancelot?”

  “No, but we did have a Galahad. My grandmother had a fondness for knights. And Shakespeare.”

  Leo grinned. “My mother must have wanted a genius, or at least a good painter for the—” He looked past her. “Bella signora, I just saw a gentleman I desperately need to talk to. Would you excuse me?”

  “Of course,” she replied, but he was already gone. Who was she to stand in the way of a quick sale? He had been courteous enough to call her pretty, though, something she had rarely heard even when she was young.

  She turned her gaze to the dance floor and spotted Chago. He was coming her way with Teddy, who now hung onto his arm for real. Kathleen trailed behind them, looking scared.

  Cornelia went over and helped Chago lower her to a chair. “Teddy, you should know when to stop by now.”

  “But I love the Charleston,” Teddy said, then gasped for air. “I just didn’t know—that so many other songs—had Charleston in the title, too.”

  Chago’s linen suit crinkled as he knelt by her. “It is my fault. I was too vigorous.”

  “No, I loved it.” Teddy began coughing hard, and grabbed the clutch from Cornelia’s hand. She yanked out a handkerchief and covered her mouth. The coughing continued.

  The burly youth patted her back clumsily. “Should I find a doctor, Señora Cornelia?”

  “No,” Cornelia said, “She’s done this before. She loves dancing, but her lungs are not what they used to be.” She checked Teddy’s nailbeds for her circulation. Waste of time—the nails were bright red with that damned Cutex stuff. Naturally, Teddy also had lipstick and powder on her face, making her job harder. Fingertips weren’t blue, though.

  “Do you think punch would help?” Chago asked.

  “Yes, get some. It should help with the cough.”

  The young man headed for the nearest party table, shoving people out of the way.

  “Must you do this to me?” Cornelia hissed as soon as he was out of earshot. “You’re going to drop dead if you don’t learn your limits.”

  “I don’t notice limits when I’m dancing,” Teddy said, then coughed again. “It’s when—the music stops—that I feel them.”

  Kathleen asked timorously, “Will she be all right?”

  Cornelia started. She’d forgotten about the girl. “Probably—despite her best efforts otherwise.”

  Their male companion returned with two cups. Teddy took a swig, then another. “Wonderful!” She finished the first cup, and held out her hand. “Next.”

  “Let me guess,” Cornelia said. “They’ve juiced it.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She sipped at the second cup. “A vast improvement. Is there more where this came from?”

  “Let me make up to you for my exuberance,” Chago said. “Some friends of mine are having a private party upstairs later tonight. If you like this punch, I know you’d love a Mary Pickford.”

  “Mary Pickford? I thought she was an actress.” Teddy’s cough was already subsiding.

  “In Havana, she is also a drink. With cherry.”

  “Oh,” Teddy said, “She sounds very refreshing.”

  Cornelia unlocked the door. “Stop singing. People are trying to sleep.”

  Teddy did, then giggled like a schoolgirl. “I think Mary Pickford is my favorite movie star.”

  “Until you find a drink you like better.” She hustled her tipsy companion into their hotel room.

  “You make me sound fickle.”

  “Yes, you’re going to break the heart of all those other cocktails you’ve discarded like yesterday’s mail.”

  Teddy tossed her headdress in the direction of the wardrobe and collapsed onto the bed. After a moment, she lifted a leg so she could pull off her shoe. “I will suffer later for my infidelities.”

  “Yes. I estimate that will begin in about four or five hours. I’m headed for the bath,” Cornelia said. “I reek of cigar smoke.”

  She ran the lizard out of the tub and wiped the porcelain down. The reptile eyed her while she turned the faucets and adjusted them to the best temperature. The cigar stench permeated her good clothing. Her foundation garments she could wash by hand, but the dress needed professional attention. She put it aside and turned off the faucets.

  Her resident gecko peeked at her from behind one of the tub's claw feet. The thought of Mrs. Minyard finding him there made her smile.

  Cornelia addressed the little lizard. “And what are you looking at? You'd better leave before the ladies next door wake up. Go on now. Shoo!”

  Teddy was still in her party frock when Cornelia returned in her cotton robe and pajamas. At least she’d gotten the other shoe off before flopping backwards on the bed.

  “It’s stuffy in here,” drunk Teddy complained.

  “You’re just flushed from too much fun with Mary. You’ll cool down soon enough.”

  “No, it’s from your bath. All that hot water.”

  Cornelia went around her bed and pushed it toward Teddy’s. “I used tepid water. I wasn’t cold.”

  “I bet you cooked yourself like a lobster.”

  “No, you’re just stewed.”

  “Don’t sleep too close to me. Open the window. I need air,” Teddy said. “I’ll get sick if I don’t have some fresh air.”

  “You’ll get sick anyway,” Cornelia said, but reached for the window. She lifted the sill, but it slid down as soon as she let go.

  “That wasn’t enough air for a mouse. Open it again.”

  “The darn thing won’t stay up.”

  “Use the book.”

  Cornelia shrugged and took the Gertrude Stein book off the nightstand. She normally treated books with more respect, but Gertrude lacked respect for her readers. Tugging the window open again, she shoved the book under the sill. “Glad to know it’s useful for something.”

  The voices woke her up. Were the walls that thin? No, they were from outside. She could hear the footsteps. Revelers coming from the same party they’d attended, no doubt.

  She still had the window propped open. That was why the voices seemed so loud. Cornelia sat up, and immediately shivered. What was the temperature in here, fifty degrees? In the faint light, she could see that Teddy had crawled under the covers at some point. Time for her to find some extra blankets, and time to close that window.

  Her robe and slippers were a minor improvement. She peered outside. Two shadows, one an enormous hulk, tromped across the grass. They were backlit by the distant streetlight. She reached for the book, prepared to close the window on a pair of drunks. Her hand paused when she heard the next few words.

  “The old geezer’s on the side facing the river. Second from the end.”

  There was only one true “geezer” in this hotel, and they’d just described his room. These men were looking for Uncle Percival.

  There were no telephones in the rooms. She rushed for the nightstand, stumbling over one of Teddy’s shoes enroute. Her sidearm and a torch were in the drawer, right beside the Gideon Bible. She smiled, remembering that her father kept a drawer at his bedside with much the same supplies, except his always had a bottle. Bullets, bourbon, Bible, and a torch to light his way onto the road to either salvation or perdition, was what her mother always claimed. Cornelia tucked the memory away and withdrew the pistol.

  The hallway was empty when she opened the door, but she didn’t trust it to stay that way. Would the invaders
enter her uncle’s room from the inside entrance, or try to force the window from the outside? They could probably break the window without waking him—the old coot was half-deaf.

  She scooted down the hall and tried his door. Locked. Prudent, but inconvenient to her. Cornelia thumped on the door, then began pounding. Peter Rowley poked his head over the upstairs railing.

  “What’s up? Is something wrong with the professor?”

  “I heard men outside. They were talking about breaking into Uncle Percival’s room.”

  Rowley came down, stopping on the stairs when he saw her gun. “What men? What did they want?”

  “I didn’t ask their names.” She continued to pound, and finally the door opened.

  The little old man squinted at her, then adjusted his spectacles. “What’s wrong? Is there a fire?”

  Cornelia pushed past him into the room and turned on the lights. Everything looked as it should—notebook on the nightstand, suitcases stashed away, camera and tripod parked in one corner, and clothing laid on the chair for the morning. Plus, three wind-up clocks. The window was closed and, when she checked, locked. She opened it and peered outside, shining her torch onto the grounds beyond. Nothing. She turned to face an angry Santa Claus.

  “Do you mind telling me what’s going on?”

  She looked past her uncle to the faces in the hall. “Everything appears to be in order. I’m very sorry for waking everyone, but I thought I heard someone trying to get in.”

  Everyone quickly returned to their own rooms to check for signs of burglary. Everyone except Peter.

  His eyes looked concerned. “Are you sure everything is all right?”

  “For the time being, Mr. Rowley. Thank you for being so quick to respond. I need to speak to my uncle privately now.”

  She closed the door and locked it again. It was blessedly warm in his room.

  Percival climbed back into bed, pulled the covers over his legs, and put on his hearing aid. “Speak.”

  “I heard some men’s voices outside,” Cornelia told him. “They seemed to be taking an unhealthy interest in you. They described an old—older gentleman and where his room was located in this hotel. It was your room.”

  “Really? How interesting.”

  “Interesting isn’t the word I’d use,” she said.

  “Did they say they were going to rob me?”

  “No.”

  “Kill me?”

  “No.”

  “Offer to sell me a tropical paradise somewhere else?”

  “No! But Uncle Percival, people do not creep up on hotels at—” she checked one of the clocks on the dresser—“at four-thirty-five in the morning with good deeds in mind.”

  “Your hearing is better than mine. The only thing I’ve been able to hear from outside are the boat motors in the morning.”

  Even the earthworms could hear those motors. Cornelia rubbed one frozen foot. “My window was open.”

  “On a night as cold as this?”

  “Teddy was overheated.”

  He chuckled. “Too much antifreeze again?”

  “You know her well.”

  Chapter 6

  Dawn arrived two hours later. Cornelia spent that time napping in the lone chair the hotel had provided for a bachelor’s room. Years of sitting watch served her well, but it was still uncomfortable. If they didn’t find out what was going on, Teddy might need to trade beds with her uncle so Cornelia could keep an eye on him. No, that wouldn’t work. The intruders would come looking for the professor, and find Teddy instead. Who knew what would happen then?

  Either they were going to have to find a room for three, an unlikely proposition in Homosassa, or Cornelia needed to learn who was taking such a keen interest in her uncle.

  When Cornelia crept back into her own room, her companion was still asleep.

  She poked the younger woman’s backside. “Wake up, Theodora. We have a problem.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “I'm serious, Teddy. Someone tried to break into Uncle Percival’s room last night. You need to get up so we can decide what to do.” She grabbed the edge of her bed and pulled it away from Teddy’s.

  The screech of metal on wood made Teddy pull the covers over her head. “Please stop! I’m dying.”

  “No. You’re hung over. Get up. We have a real emergency.”

  “No, we don't. If he were dead, you would have said so.”

  “They may have meant to kill him.”

  “You said ‘tried to break into’. That means they didn’t," she mumbled from under the covers. "Please go away. Mary Pickford is a real mean Jane in the morning.”

  “That’s what you get for taking advantage of her. I need your help, dear.”

  The lump under the covers shifted. A mop of tousled silver curls appeared, followed closely by one bloodshot eye. “Could you shoot me in the head first? I’d feel better.”

  The three of them sat at a small table for breakfast. Cornelia was grateful that none of the other hotel guests had joined them. They needed to figure out who was interested in her uncle and why.

  Professor Pettijohn began to order sausage with his eggs.

  "That's not a good idea." She indicated Teddy, who was greener than the palm fronds. He wisely switched to bacon.

  Cornelia ordered orange juice, eggs, and grits.

  Teddy ordered coffee and a bag of ice.

  After the waitress left, Cornelia lowered her voice. “Why would someone want to break into your room?”

  Pettijohn shrugged. “I brought cash for a down payment. Maybe they wanted it.”

  “A number of other people here have cash, too. Probably some brought more than you did, especially the ones in that fancy new hotel. Why you?”

  “Maybe they have a list, and it was my turn.”

  “I don’t think that’s it. If I were that sort of crook, I would break into a binder boy’s room, not yours,” Cornelia said.

  “They wanted to start small?”

  She gave him a disgusted look. "Will you please take this seriously?"

  The waitress arrived with the coffee and orange juice. She also had a bag of ice on her tray. She handed it to Teddy, who lifted her broad-brimmed hat long enough to tuck it inside.

  “There’s my camera,” the professor said. “It’s valuable.”

  “Most of the visitors can afford one of their own. If they can afford a winter home in Florida, they can afford a camera. Even one as nice as yours.”

  “Perhaps it’s a pair of locals. Men in need of money, and ones who don’t have a car. It’s a fair walk to the new hotel.”

  “So, now you’re suggesting they picked you because they were lazy?”

  Teddy’s voice, acidic, broke in. “Figure out who they were first. If you know the who, the why might solve itself.”

  “Good suggestion,” the professor said.

  “I need out of the sunlight,” she replied. “I thought I’d hurry the two of you along.”

  “How will we identify these people? What did you see, Corny?”

  Cornelia winced at the use of the nickname. “Very little. One was average size, the other was huge. That’s about all I could tell.”

  “But you heard their voices.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, we match the voices to the people,” he said. “I think we should do some socializing with my potential neighbors today.”

  “Speak more quietly,” Teddy muttered. “I have a fat head.”

  The professor ignored her. “Should we begin with the people on our floor?” he asked his niece.

  “No,” Cornelia said, “I don’t think they’re staying or working at this hotel. We’ve eaten here every day. I know every voice by now. These men were strangers.”

  They began their search at the Homosassa Hotel. The largest number of people, and the most talking, was done in the new hotel’s lobby or on the covered patio. The three of them had mingled there during their previous visits, walking under the Spanish-style arches or
sitting around one of the small tables. They were not disappointed by today’s crowd. Groups of people sat at tables, on benches, talking, negotiating, smoking. More than once Cornelia spotted a silver flask being passed discreetly under a table as waiters pretended not to notice. Teddy, fortified with a hefty dose of BC Headache Powder, perked up at the sight of so many people.

  What followed was the most boring circuit of conversation Cornelia had ever heard, and she’d been in enough hospital staff meetings to be a good judge of dullness.

  A red-faced man with a Midwestern accent was pelting Rowley’s binder boy with questions. “So, if I put down fifteen hundred, what return could you get me by next week? There’s a property in Clearwater I’m looking at.”

  Mr. Hofstetter was earnestly talking to a stone-faced couple who appeared dubious of his sales pitch. “The bottom’s falling out of the Miami market. No passenger rail, plus that sunken ship blocking the harbor? You’d lose everything buying there. The Gulf is where things are going to boom next. Get in on the ground floor, while the land is still cheap.”

  “Already trying to resell his own purchase,” Pettijohn said, shaking his head as a pair of doormen in smart red jackets held the lobby doors open for him. “Doesn’t anyone buy land to live on any more? Yesterday, I saw the same piece of property change hands four times.”

  Their tour of the first floor was a big zero. Conversation inside the hotel was much the same as that outside. There were sitting areas on the upper floor, Cornelia knew. She decided to leave the professor with Teddy, who was chatting up her new friends from Tampa about the party last night. It was a good thing they’d loaded up on headache remedies before leaving Kentucky. Between Teddy’s parties and her uncle’s shenanigans, they would probably use every packet before they got home.

  She went to one end of the second floor and worked her way down. The first sitting room was all female and working on gossip as much as embroidery. Maybe she would assign Teddy to that detail if it proved necessary. Two men were sleeping in the next area. She couldn’t very well poke them awake to hear their voices.