Murder on the Mullet Express

by Gwen Mayo

  “It certainly sounds so,” Cornelia said. “I’d much rather be pursuing a bird of prey than the old buzzard I’m chasing. By any chance, have you seen my uncle?”

  Mrs. Carson tried not to giggle.

  “Not since he woke us last night. He seems to be more of a handful than both my children together. I don’t envy you the task of keeping up with him.”

  “He left early this morning,” her husband said. “I was out on the patio having a smoke when the old gentleman came out carrying his motion picture camera. He got into one of the company cars. That is your uncle, right?”

  Cornelia shook her head.

  “Did you see which way he went?”

  “Toward town. He’s probably just shooting more of his film.”

  He put an arm around Rosemary. “I have to agree with my wife. At eight-and-a-half and five, our children are a handful, but I would rather have them at their worst than keep up with your uncle.”

  “I would have to agree,” Sheriff Bowden said, joining the four of them. “I haven’t met the Carson children, but your uncle is more trouble than a whole passel of young’uns. I’ve had to lock him up as a material witness—although, really, more for flagrant disregard of my orders.”

  Cornelia tried not to gape. “What?”

  “Professor Pettijohn hopped the morning train and disembarked before it reached its final destination. Then, he hired a private driver who could have taken him anywhere, and loaded what looked like a suitcase into the trunk. Andy had the local authorities hold him.”

  She could barely breathe. “Where is he being held?”

  “In the Crystal River Jail. He is a likable enough fellow, and seems like an educated man. What part of ‘please stay put until you’re cleared’ do you reckon he failed to understand?”

  “Crystal River isn’t that far. Maybe he forgot about your request.”

  Incredulity crossed Sheriff Bowden’s face.

  “Miss Pettijohn, I’ve interviewed the professor at length. He is not a man who forgets anything. Yet, he didn’t see fit to tell me that he was suing Mr. Janzen. In combination with his actions today, that’s very suspicious behavior.”

  Cornelia tried to keep the worry out of her face. He hadn’t seen fit to tell her he was suing Janzen, either. Still, with all the contracts for his inventions, he might not know the particulars of every case. No, she was making excuses. Deep down, she knew the sheriff was right about her uncle’s memory. Uncle Percival’s body was frail, but his mind was as sharp as ever. If the sheriff wanted to know when she had lost her first baby tooth, Uncle Percival could probably tell him to the exact moment it happened. He remembered every detail of everything he saw.

  “Can we see him?” she asked.

  “Of course, I was coming to fetch you. We can go now if you would like.”

  When Cornelia and Teddy saw Uncle Percival, it was in the city jail of Crystal River. The sheriff, who had given them a ride, escorted them out of the car and into the small building constructed of stone blocks. It couldn’t have contained more than three rooms.

  “This is some way to spend a birthday,” Cornelia muttered.

  The sheriff nodded to the jailer and walked toward a wooden door on the left. Cornelia tried to follow him, but Davidson blocked her path.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the sheriff needs to speak with him first. In private.”

  “You can’t talk to my uncle without an attorney present!” Cornelia shouted at Bowden’s back. “I demand to know what you intend to do with him.”

  The sheriff stopped and turned. “Miss Pettijohn, all we want to do right now is ask him some questions. From what you told me earlier, he’s quite familiar with our legal system. Right now, though, he’s not formally under arrest. He’s a suspect who skipped town.”

  “Skipped town?”

  “Everyone was asked not to leave Homosassa, ma’am. Not even to go sightseeing in another town.”

  “That was because of Mr. Cardona, though—not Mr. Janzen,” Teddy protested.

  “A distinction I’m sure he regrets now.”

  The ladies missed lunch. Cornelia spent the time fuming while Teddy chatted up the jailer. Percival Pettijohn was being held overnight as a convenience to Sheriff Bowden. After that, the sheriff might release him or, alternately, have him transferred to Inverness, the county seat.

  What were they supposed to do if her uncle were formally charged with the murder? Would his attorney be willing to travel so far, even for a client that kept him on a hefty retainer?

  The jail’s interior felt like a cave, despite the front windows. Cool and clammy. She was certain there were no windows in the holding area. What effect would it have on her uncle’s lungs? What if the pneumonia returned?

  Two hours passed before the sheriff and his deputy left, allowing Cornelia and Teddy to enter the room. Instead of cells, there were cages from wall to wall. The old man sat on a cot inside a cage that was barely his own height, leaving him to face Cornelia’s wrath without an escape route. Seeing his misery only made her angrier. This could have all been avoided if he’d confided in her.

  Once they were alone, the irate niece confronted her dissembling uncle. “We had a fine interview with the sheriff this morning. You were in the process of suing Mr. Janzen, and didn’t see fit to tell either of us.”

  “It didn’t seem relevant when I was planning the trip. I intended to tell you before actually meeting with the gentleman. I use that term loosely. My research indicates that he has been involved in a number of shady deals.”

  “Is that why we made this trip?”

  “Not entirely,” the professor said, tapping the bars with the tip of one shoe. “I didn’t mislead you about wanting to look into the Floridian climate for its health benefits.”

  “Since the air in Arkansas didn’t agree with you?”

  He sighed. “Corny, I’m used to handling my own financial affairs. Unfortunately, it seems that my health is not quite what it used to be.”

  “Don’t call me Corny. Why didn’t you stay home and let your attorney handle this?”

  “Why shouldn’t I call you Corny? You’re just like your father, only with longer hair and a shorter temper!” the old man sputtered.

  Teddy stifled a giggle behind Cornelia. She ignored it. “What did you hope to accomplish by coming here?”

  “I wanted to confront the scoundrel myself,” Pettijohn said. “I wanted to let him know that he wouldn’t get away with swindling a Pettijohn. Once I settled that account, I planned to warn others of his scurrilous business practices. Your Grandfather Pettijohn would have challenged him to a duel, but modern law frowns on that. I’ve had to fight my battles through our somewhat flawed justice system.”

  Cornelia took in a long breath, then released it. “I can see where you would want to fight your own battles, but I wish you’d given us more warning of your real purpose in coming to this land sale.”

  “I intended to discuss it with you eventually, but the man managed to get himself into a world of hurt before we even arrived in Homosassa.”

  “Eventually, eh? The sheriff knows that he sat next to you on the train.”

  “Yes, which was a source of curiosity to him. Especially combined with the lawsuit.”

  “What did happen during that ride?”

  Her uncle shook his head. “Not much. It was clear that Janzen didn’t know who I was.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Mostly, ‘excuse me’. He was having a bad time.”

  “You didn’t talk to him about his swindle at all?”

  “Didn’t have the chance. Every time I tried to strike up a conversation, he’d clutch his stomach and run to the lavatory.”

  They were both silent for a moment. Teddy jumped in. “So, what did the sheriff say when you told him that?”

  “He didn’t say much. He was mostly angry that I went to Crystal River to film some different scenery. As if I knew that he wanted to question me!”


  “His view of your behavior is dim. I wish you’d let us know where you were,” Cornelia said.

  “I didn’t want to wake you. I knew you’d had a long night, and that Teddy, at least, wouldn’t be getting up any time soon.”

  Teddy stuck out her tongue.

  The old man managed a smile. “Cornelia, it’s already done and over. Since you have been kind enough to visit me during my captivity, could I persuade you to bring me some pajamas and a change of clothing? The jailer has my key. Perhaps Mitch would be kind enough to transport you. I think he finds us amusing.”

  “I bet he does. Are there any new booby traps I should watch out for?”

  “Just the bucket.”

  “The bucket? But how did you get out of the room?” Teddy asked.

  “I held the transom up with my cane and slid through. Just open the door slowly and have Cornelia use yours.”

  “He’d rather that I get conked than you,” Cornelia said.

  “You have a harder head, dear.”

  “Not as hard as yours. Next time you go off on a jaunt, please slide a note under the door to our room,” Cornelia said.

  “It won’t be necessary. As per the orders of the Citrus County Sheriff’s Office, if, and only if I am released, I am not to leave town again until I am cleared of suspicion. The news should confirm all of Mrs. Minyard’s theories.”

  Mrs. Minyard. Now Cornelia truly needed to speak to her.

  Tiny was glad he was talking to Leo on the telephone instead of in person. The boss was furious when he got Tiny’s news. Giving them the slip was one thing, but letting the cops nab him and take the camera? Tiny hoped the operator wasn’t listening in. She probably didn’t understand Italian, but curse words seemed to be universally identifiable.

  He held the receiver about a foot from his ear. Listening while he waited for Leo to take a breath. “Boss, we’ll make it right. On my grandmother’s grave.”

  Cesare, who was supposed to be keeping the yokel from overhearing the call, tugged his sleeve. “Hey, I gotta idea. He can't have all his film with him. Gramps’ room is gonna be empty for sure.”

  “Basta! Not you, boss. There’s a chance the particular goods might be back in his room. He’s filmed a lot of palm trees."

  The driver perked up and Tiny signaled Cesare to get back to the car.

  "Yeah, yeah. Don't worry boss. We’ll have it in your hands tonight,” Tiny promised.

  He hung up and walked back to the yokel's car. “Good news. It’s almost quittin’ time. You’re taking us back to the train station. And there’s an extra fin in it for ya if you keep your mouth shut.”

  Cesare said, “Couldn’t he just take us all the way back? It’d be faster.”

  It was a tempting proposition. The Mullet Express was a rickety old tin can that lacked fans or padded seats. Tiny eyed the lanky man who’d been their driver. “Nah, this pitcher has long ears. I’d have to pin ‘em back if we did that.”

  “Right.”

  The yokel finally looked disturbed. He’d gotten the message but good.

  “What was that location again, ma’am?”

  “The jail in Crystal River. Do you know where it is?”

  “Yes, we do.” The concierge for the West Coast Development Company was quite courteous and managed to keep most of the curiosity out of his voice. Cornelia appreciated it.

  The concierge assured them that Mitch would be dispatched immediately. In fact, the man allowed, Mitch had taken a liking to the Pettijohns, and said he would be happy to drive them anywhere they needed to go. They must be a charming family.

  Their uncle was right; Mitch did find them amusing. She hoped that nosiness was the reason and nothing more. Cornelia hung up the phone and thanked the jailer for its use. “We’re leaving, but we will be back as soon as we can with some personal items for my uncle. Nothing dangerous, just some pajamas and fresh clothing.”

  “Does he use a denture cup? You might want to bring it if he does.”

  “No, but thank you for being so thoughtful. Is the jail heated at night?”

  The man laughed, and she saw he was missing a few teeth of his own. “Cold ain’t usually the problem here. If it gets chilly, though, the night man lights a fire. He has rheumatism.”

  Cornelia made a mental note to bring extra socks and his heavy robe.

  Mitch arrived and helped them into his Cadillac. “Just the two of you?”

  “Yes, just us.”

  Cornelia pressed her lips together until they disappeared. Why couldn't he just take them back to the Lodge? She needed quiet to gather her thoughts.

  “Is your uncle staying here? What did he do?” His questions fired one after another.

  “Never you mind,” Cornelia snapped. “We need to return to the hotel and get some things for him. I hear you always have time for us, so I expect you’re free to bring us back here.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  As they pulled onto the main road, Cornelia saw another chain gang of men painting what appeared to be a school. She tried not to picture her uncle among them.

  It was getting on to dusk by the time they arrived in Homosassa. The deeper they went into town and its canopy of palms and live oaks, the darker it got. Mitch put the headlamps on, but they were of little use this time of day.

  They had to slow as they got close to the river. Cars lined up in front of the Riverside Lodge to transport the guests to tonight’s moving picture show at the Homosassa Hotel. The lights that had been of little use in seeing the road glittered off the sequins and spangles of the women’s party gowns.

  A pang of guilt tugged at Cornelia's emotions as Teddy's forlorn expression reflected back to her from the window. They hadn’t even eaten since breakfast. Instead of laughter and good company, they were playing nursemaid to her uncle. Cornelia turned to Teddy.

  “You don’t have to go back with me, you know,” she said. “Once we get my uncle’s things together, you could stay behind and have some dinner. Or go to the party—I know you love them. Uncle Percival managed to turn the surprise on us, but that shouldn’t stop you from greeting the guests. If I need help carrying Uncle Percival’s things, Mitch can help me.”

  “No,” Teddy said. “I’m not leaving you and the professor in the lurch. I might get my tin of Oreos out of our room, though.”

  Mitch turned in his seat. “There’s a couple of places in town you could get a sandwich. Nothing fancy, but it’s quick. You could get something for the old guy, too. I don’t know what they feed ‘em in jail up here, but it’s probably not what he’s used to.”

  The suggestion made remarkable sense. “That’s a good idea. Let’s get what Uncle Percival needs out of his room, then see about some dinner.”

  “I think I still want those Oreos,” Teddy said. “And I could get the Gertrude Stein book for the professor. It should take his mind off his circumstances.”

  “I think jail might be preferable.”

  Mitch went in with them, ostensibly to help them carry anything heavy. Maybe he was just being helpful, but Cornelia wasn’t so sure.

  When they reached the door to their room, Cornelia turned to him. “You stay here. I don’t want you seeing any of our unmentionables.”

  The man grinned and nodded. He was beginning to get his evening stubble again. A man like him should shave twice a day, she thought.

  Once they were in the room, Cornelia went to the nightstand. She gave Teddy the cookies and the book, then took the Colt M1911 out of the drawer. She put it in her leather bag and left the top unlatched. She wouldn’t take it into the jail, but if their eager driver was more than he seemed, she wanted to be prepared.

  “Do you think we have time to change clothing?” Teddy asked. “It’s been a hot day.”

  Cornelia did not want to sit through another long session of makeup and hose-smoothing. “I think not. When we get back, though, baths are in order for both of us. I’m sure I smell like an infantryman after a ten mile hike by now.”

>   They emerged from the room. Mitch was leaning against the wall watching their door.

  “Thank you for waiting. Give him your cane, Teddy,” she said, as they approached the professor’s room. “I’m going to unlock Uncle Percival’s door, and then you, Mr.—”

  “Grant,” Mitch said, taking the cherrywood cane.

  “Mr. Grant will open it slowly.” She pointed to the transom. “Can you see the bottom of the bucket balanced above the door? When you open the door, use the cane to keep it from falling while we slide through.”

  “And if it slips, be sure to jump back,” Teddy added. “It leaves a painful bruise on the head.”

  “Just don’t stand behind me,” he said, and began easing it open. “And there it is.”

  “Okay, just prop it up while we—”

  But Mitch had other plans. He pushed the transom up and the door forward at the same time, and the bucket dropped neatly into his hands. Teddy’s cane clattered on the hardwood floor.

  “That was very clever,” Teddy said, retrieving her accessory. “If only Mr. Hoyt had been so quick.”

  Mitch set the bucket down near the door. “Do you want me to try putting it back up before we leave?”

  “No, Mr. Grant, with everything that’s going on, one of us is liable to forget at the wrong time. Besides, he’s in a safe place at the moment.” Cornelia emptied one of her uncle’s smaller cases and set it on the bed. “Find his heaviest robe, Teddy. It may have to double as a blanket if the night is cool.”

  Teddy handed Mitch the book. He studied its contents, frowning, while she explored the wardrobe. “His jackets are in here, too. What color shirt are you packing?”

  “Just grab one. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does.” The clack of clothes hangers vied with her voice. “Your uncle is rather the peacock. You should see the suit he wears to University of Kentucky sporting events, Mitch. Brilliant blue broadcloth and a cane with the head of a wildcat.”

  Their driver chuckled. “I’ve seen it. He’s a real character.”

  “I wish I could blame his erratic behavior on his age,” Cornelia said, “but Uncle has always been irascible. It is humiliating to be reduced to searching his room to find out what other trouble he might be in.”