by Gwen Mayo
When called upon, the bespectacled young lawyer stood. “Your Honor, after consulting with the sheriff’s office, it is the people’s considered opinion that…” he glanced down at the paper clenched in his hand, “Mr. Pettijohn is a material witness to and suspected participant in criminal activities.”
“He means the old fossil’s a murderer,” a voice boomed from the back of the room.
The whole crowd erupted in roars of laughter and shouting, punctuated by the steady hammer of the judge's gavel.
The attorney gave up on reading the affidavit, unclenched his fists, and dropped the crumpled paper on his table. He stood for a moment with his back to the judge.
Cornelia watched him as he looked at the faces in the crowd. The silence lasted only a few seconds, but the sobering effect it had on the courtroom lingered. She wasn't sure who the youngster was, but he was no fool. When he was a little more seasoned, he would play the emotions of a jury the way she played her fiddle.
His voice jarred her from her thoughts.
“Your Honor, Mr. Pettijohn resides nearly a thousand miles from the great state of Florida. He is a man of considerable means, and has a known disregard for requests from local authorities. We must consider him a flight risk.” The rather serious young prosecutor never glanced at her uncle, as he continued in the same quiet voice. “In light of the evidence, it would be foolhardy to not ask that Percival Pettijohn provide the court with a cash bond in sufficient amount to discourage him from leaving the county until the investigation is closed.”
“Do you have anything to say for yourself, Mr. Pettijohn?”
“Your Honor, Sheriff Bowden is an honest man in a difficult job.”
His voice no longer had the deep richness Cornelia remembered from her youth, but she could tell he was getting ready to spread a thick coat of horse manure around the courtroom.
“I have no ill will over spending my birthday locked in a six-by-four cell because I ventured a little too far from my hotel. Had I realized filming a few alligators in their natural surroundings would cause so much trouble, I would have stopped. Maybe then he and his deputies would have gotten around to investigating some real criminals.”
He continued. “I'm offended that repeated attempts to break into my room were ignored. In light of the murders, it seems that the theft of my personal property by a pair of hoodlums is not all that important. Those hoodlums remain free to travel wherever they wished unmolested. They were only identified when my niece took action.”
He turned and smiled at Teddy and Cornelia, then lifted his arm, pointing them out to the assembled gawkers. “These angels of mercy who gallantly braved the French trenches to tend our wounded in the Great War were here for me in my hour of need. They risked their lives to chase down criminals that the police couldn't be bothered with. While I was caged, these violent criminals robbed me and shot at my family.”
After a dramatic pause, Professor Pettijohn turned to the judge. “Your Honor, as a visitor to your state, I am obliged to remember that I am only a visitor. Florida is not my home. All I ask is that the court takes into account that I am a guest in your home, reduced to the station of an unwelcome guest, and deprived of the freedom to leave.”
The judge lowered his head.
Cornelia figured he was trying not to laugh. She had never seen her uncle spout so much hogwash.
“Professor Pettijohn, in the past twenty-four hours I have spoken at length with Sheriff Bowden, Kentucky law enforcement, the prosecutors’ office, and Judge Bullock. You, sir, hold a place among the most intelligent men in the country. You also have an impressive reputation for causing trouble. The state would be remiss to allow you unfettered freedom. In the interest of justice, I am releasing you on a 1,000 dollar cash bond and your word of honor that you will not set one foot outside of Citrus County until this matter is resolved.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
Once the judge announced his decision, Tiny and Cesare rushed out of the courthouse. It wasn’t like either of them had never been arraigned before, and they needed to beat the exiting crowd.
Tiny wished his last lawyer had been half as good at bushwa as the old geezer had been. He’d practically laid it down with a trowel. Tiny could’ve done without the ‘hoodlum’ part, but he’d been called worse.
They reached the car and Cesare took the driver’s seat. They cruised to a spot where they could see when their mark left, and follow him home.
Cornelia shook her head in disbelief. Her uncle had to be the only person alive who could walk out of jail with the jailer carrying his bag. The old man slapped him on the back as he got into the car. “Now don’t forget to stop by for supper before you folks head back up North,” he said as he slung the professor’s bag into the back of the black Cadillac. “My wife will fry you up a mess of snapper that will make your mouth think you’re dining on manna from heaven.”
“It will be our pleasure.”
The professor’s smile told her it would be his pleasure. She marveled at his ability to find enjoyment in the most unexpected places. He had been locked in that dreadful cage on his birthday instead of visiting the Million Dollar Pier as he had planned. He was keen to see this engineering marvel, but when his plans went awry Uncle Percival managed to befriend a small-town jailer who was holding him in custody.
“I am sure we can find time for another friendly game of checkers too, if you’ve a mind to get beaten again,” the professor said as Teddy emerged from the jail’s office.
“The party’s on!” she announced. “Peter said he’d handle everything.”
The trio piled into Mitch’s car for the drive back to Homosassa. Cornelia settled into the back seat and took a small notebook from her bag. Her uncle chatted with their driver, but she kept her mouth shut on the way back to their hotel. There was no benefit in trying to chasten him. Every attempt to curb the irascible old coot’s mischief provoked him into more tomfoolery. He lived his life as if every day was a grand adventure designed for his amusement.
She couldn’t find any amusement in his current predicament. Didn’t he realize someone was trying to frame him for murder? She busied herself thinking about the motives the other people on the Mullet Express had for wanting Mr. Janzen dead. There were too many possibilities. What she needed was a way to narrow the list. She and Teddy had already scratched Rowley; he had motive, but lacked the opportunity to poison Janzen. Besides, he wasn’t at their hotel when that bottle of savin was planted in her uncle’s room; Teddy had confirmed that with Mr. Hoyt. The killer was either someone staying at their hotel or one of the goons that kept trying to break into his room.
Before she had time to order her thoughts, they pulled up to the doors of the Homosassa Hotel.
Peter had moved quickly: a small crowd of greeters were in front of the grand hotel to welcome them. The Carsons, Chago, Peter Rowley, and several members of the staff filled the entrance. A porter opened the car door and assisted the professor to the curb. Chago helped Teddy out. Mitch tried to follow suit with Cornelia, but she waved him aside. “I’m fine. Will you be joining us after you park?”
The young man grinned. “If I’m invited.”
“Yes, of course.” She knew he was probably thinking of his story, but an extra pair of eyes might keep her uncle safer. Not everyone at his belated birthday party would wish him well. There was a murderer lurking somewhere among the partygoers.
She entered the hotel, and saw that Peter had taken charge of things. He was currently tying a blindfold on the professor. “Miss Cornelia, Miss Teddy, go ahead. I want him to get the full effect in one view - kapow!”
The ladies entered the ballroom to find it blanketed in orange and white banners. Tropical flowers decorated the tables, blazing creations in crimson, gold, tangerine, with touches of blue or purple. The centerpiece of the room was an enormous white cake studded with fresh orange slices. The sweet aroma made Cornelia’s mouth water, and reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since b
reakfast.
“Mr. Rowley has outdone himself,” she said, admiring the straw boater hat that topped the enormous cake and the charming model train circling its base.
“This is utterly darling,” Teddy gushed. “It was so nice of Peter to help arrange things in our absence.”
“I think he hopes to make a good commission,” Cornelia said, “but he is going to be disappointed.” Her uncle hadn’t come to Florida with the intent of buying property here, and probably wouldn’t; this was merely where he could confront the man who had cheated him. Now, he was suspected of murder. They might celebrate today, but what would happen tomorrow?
“Here they come,” Teddy said, breaking her brown study.
After the men walked in, Rowley removed the blindfold. Everyone shouted, “Happy birthday!”
The professor beamed at the display. “Marvelous! All this for me?”
“We need to outshine Saint Petersburg tonight,” the land agent said. He gestured to the gallery, and the musicians broke into ‘Bugle Call Rag’.
Tiny Belluchi loitered in the halls outside the grand ballroom of the new hotel. He had chosen his spot well, and moved into the shadows whenever a guest passed close to the alcove where he kept watch on the professor's party. Right now, the old man was the focus of all eyes, but as the party progressed, people would get distracted. Especially after imbibing the punch Wall’s men had provided. The Cuban stepped into the hall, and Tiny retreated further, waiting until his counterpart had disappeared in the direction of the stairs.
Having one of Wall’s men gone made it all the better for him. He sidled into the ballroom through one of the smaller doors; the party decorations provided some cover that way. People were chattering, but the music drowned out most of the talk. That’d be useful if the geezer put up a squawk.
Those old bags, the one built like a fire plug and the face stretcher, were talking to the land agent. Tiny’s target was studying the cast-iron toy train with fascination.
Must be in his second childhood, Tiny thought.
When the women moved to the main entrance to greet newcomers, he approached the table. The blindfold had been discarded on a nearby tray; he picked it up, twisting the ends in his large fingers.
“Surprise,” he said, stopping behind the old man. He dropped the fabric over his prey’s eyes and tied it.
“Another one? Wonderful!” the geezer said, tucking the small black locomotive into his pocket.
Leading him to the side door and out of the ballroom was a piece of cake. Tiny had the old guy stuffed into his Ford before anyone knew he was gone. He nodded to his compatriots crouched behind another flivver. If anyone followed in pursuit, they were gonna get their own surprise.
“I can’t believe a charming man like you isn’t married,” Teddy said, her hand on Peter’s arm. “Handsome, a veteran, a hard worker, dedicated to selling land…”
Peter flushed, and not from the punch. “I hope to establish myself first, Miss Lawless. I’m not just a land agent, I’m a customer. You know that private fishing lodge down on the river? I’m looking to get the money up to build my own lodge nearby, for hunting and fishing.”
That made a fair bit of sense to Cornelia. There were plenty of waterfowl here for the taking, if one avoided the alligators. “So you intend to host sportsmen coming down here to hunt?”
“Not just host them; be their guide. I’ve got a good-sized boat I restored and I’ve hunted here my entire life. I know all the good spots, and nothing tastes better than food you’ve caught yourself.”
“Including alligators?” Teddy asked.
“It’s good fried,” Peter replied, and they laughed.
Listening to this, Cornelia thought of a way her uncle could apologize to her for his deceit. Helping the young man who had rescued them achieve his dream would be excellent, and much more satisfying than an apology after the fact.
She glanced around the room, looking for her uncle, but didn’t see him. Strange; he was normally very hard to miss.
As she searched the crowd, Mitch arrived and joined them. “Hey, great setup!”
Peter frowned. “Aren’t you one of the drivers for the Company?”
“We engaged him for the day,” Teddy said, “and he’s our extra man for the party.”
“That’s me, Mister Extra,” the reporter quipped.
The music started again and Peter asked Teddy to dance. She must have seen the concern in Cornelia's face, because she hesitated. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t see Uncle Percival. I thought he was playing with the train, but he seems to have gone elsewhere.”
“Perhaps he needed to visit the water closet,” Teddy suggested.
That was logical, but Cornelia wasn’t so sure. There were a number of people who would profit if something bad happened to her uncle.
“Perhaps I should check,” Mitch said.
Mitch, the designated water closet checker, found no one inside. When they made a sweep of the lobby, Chago came thundering down the stairs and shouted in Spanish to his companions.
“Las habitaciones están vacías. Los hombres se han ido.”
The rooms are empty. The men are gone.
Cornelia’s stomach clenched. “They have him. Let’s go!”
A heavy dark car was leaving the hotel driveway. Chago and his men were crowding the door in their haste. The two women prepared to follow them out with Mitch, but stopped at the sound of gunfire. Shrieks followed.
Mitch peered through the tall arched window. “Those torpedoes are Antinori’s; I’d bet my rent on it.”
A surge of screaming guests, clutching cigarettes and hand fans, poured in through the front doors. Wall’s men fanned out to the sides of the lobby, where there was a little more cover, and returned fire.
“We need to get out there,” Cornelia shouted, above the sound of breaking glass and general uproar. “Otherwise, we’ll never catch them.”
Mitch gaped. “Are you nuts? It’s a war zone out there.”
“We’re not the main targets. Remember the trenches? Stay low.” She scuttled down the hall, Teddy close behind.
“Oh, applesauce!” Mitch fell in line.
The left wing of the hotel had a smaller entrance. Cornelia scanned the lawn and lot. She spotted three men crouched behind a sedan. One popped up above the hood and fired another shot into the lobby. The response was quick and loud.
The old nurse took advantage of the distraction to drop behind a row of decorative bushes. She scuttled along the line toward the parking lot. The branches clutched at her, scratching her head and shoulder, then sprang back to confront the next intruder.
“Ow ow ow,” was Teddy’s response, while Mitch opted to mutter obscenities.
When they arrived at the edge of the building, she decided to risk poking her head above the foliage. Two of the invaders were looking for targets in the lobby windows, while the third was changing guns. There was, perhaps, fifteen feet of open space between them and the first parked car.
“Go!” She charged from the bushes and ran for it, followed by her companions. The air was sharp with the scent of gunpowder, and they were running for cover. Just like the trenches. Cornelia fought a shudder.
The man changing guns spotted them. “Hey! Get outta here!” He raised his weapon, but was brought down by a shot from behind the trio. Chago was at the exit they’d just left.
They snaked between the vehicles until they reached Mitch’s. Cornelia slid into the driver’s seat. She pushed the starter button and the Cadillac vibrated with life.
A hand shot in and grabbed her arm. “It’s my car. Let me drive.” Mitch shouted.
“Get in the other side and prepare to shoot,” she snapped, pulling his gun out of the car door’s side pocket. She slapped the butt in his palm.
Mitch stared at her, nodded, and ran around to the other side.
Teddy threw herself onto the back seat, gasping for air. “Not…again.”
“Hang on!” Corne
lia shouted, and they were off.
They reached the Dixie Highway, and Cornelia hesitated. North or south?
“Turn right,” the reporter said. “They’d head for Tampa.”
She jerked the wheel to the right and stomped on the gas.
As she made the turn, though, another vehicle shot out from the other side of the highway, from the promised Great White Way, with the sound of a siren. She jerked the steering wheel hard, but the heavy frame of the Cadillac still slammed into the side of the sheriff’s vehicle. She could hear the wood splinter inside the body of the car.
Was the driver Andy Davidson, or Sheriff Bowden himself? Cornelia didn’t take the time to look. She threw the car in reverse. Her turn was so sharp, Teddy slid to the opposite side of the back seat.
"Hang on again," Cornelia yelled. She slammed her foot on the accelerator, and they lurched forward.
Behind them, an Oldsmobile also made the turn, fishtailing in the shells.
“We’ve lost them,” Teddy moaned from the back. “The shootout cost us too much time.”
“Not yet,” Mitch said. “There aren’t many turnoffs ahead. But zikes! The car! I’ll be paying for the repairs out of my paycheck.”
“Don’t worry about your car. See if you can spot theirs.” Cornelia said. She gritted her teeth and leaned forward, willing the Cadillac to move faster.
The city disappeared quickly behind the trees at the perimeter of the developed town. Soon, clouds of dust and ground shells floating above the road told them that they were getting close. The wail of the siren behind them was nearly drowned out by the roar of motors and wheels echoing through the trees. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know who was cranking the siren. Whoever it was would probably arrest all of them when this chase ended. Not that it mattered. She would rather be thrown under the jail than let these gangsters hurt her uncle.
Then, Cornelia caught sight of Tiny Belluchi’s Ford. The driver of the Olds must have spotted it at the same time, because it veered left to go around her. She stood on the accelerator, but the Olds passed them anyway. Soon, the Ford and the Olds were vying for the same share of road. Sparks flew as they collided, spattering her windshield with dust and paint chips.