Sinbad and Me

by Kin Platt

  I thought the Sheriff would be raging mad but he wasn’t.

  “Why didn’t you shoot?” I asked, as I ran over to help him straighten up.

  He was laughing.

  He stopped long enough to motion with his hands. “There was a lot of traffic up here. An old lady, a kid and a bulldog. In a situation like that, when you can’t see what you’re supposed to be shooting at, you don’t shoot.”

  That made sense. “So what’s so funny?” I asked. “And how come you’re not going after him?”

  “Oh, he’ll show up again,” he said. “If he doesn’t I guess you’ll be able to point him out to me.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But what’s so funny about it?”

  He pointed to Sinbad. “I thought he was going to help me make the arrest. Instead, he just wanted to kiss Mrs. Teska.”

  I jerked my head around and it was true all right. The old lady had come to, after her faint, and Sinbad was kissing her and she didn’t seem to mind.

  “I guess we better get her downstairs,” the Sheriff said. Then, as I started forward, he gripped my arm and pulled me back. “That was nice going, Steve,” he said. “I liked the way you handled it.”

  “You mean you heard it?” I asked. “But how—”

  He chuckled. “Sinbad heard something moving around downstairs. I figured you had this situation under control so we hid out in the bedroom closet until your visitor came up on deck.”

  “How did you keep Sinbad quiet?”

  He rubbed his chin. “I pretended I liked him and was hugging him. He didn’t mind. I guess he figured he’d get around to this later.”

  I had to agree it was the best way to handle him. “Well, I’m glad you heard,” I said.

  He nodded. “Considering the effect, possibly saving the old lady from jumping, I don’t even mind the lie.”

  “What lie?” I said.

  “About Nick Murdock still being alive.”

  “That’s no lie, Sheriff,” I said. “He is.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Where is he alive?” he asked.

  “Naples, Italy,” I said.

  CHAPTER 45

  How To Handle Sleeping Dogs

  We were downstairs in the dining room. I pointed to the portrait of Captain Billy over the fireplace.

  “Notice the silver-headed cane? That’s how I knew the fellow on the roof wasn’t Captain Billy. Even when I saw Captain Billy’s ghost in my bedroom, he had the cane,” I added.

  “Oh, brother,” the Sheriff said sadly.

  “But the second clue was the eyes. If you notice, Captain Billy’s got jet black eyes. When the moonlight hit the fellow on the roof, his were gray, almost white. I knew something was wrong then. Anyway, now that I think of it, I’ve seen him before. So did Minerva.” I had to laugh at how dumb I was. “I should have known right then he was a phony.”

  “Why?” asked the Sheriff.

  “We both thought he was the ghost on the walk, coming back from Dead Man’s Cove that day. But he had blond hair.”

  “Anything else you care to tell me about him?”

  “He nearly made a liar out of me before,” I said.

  “When was that?” asked the Sheriff.

  I reminded him of the Riviera Buick not being where I said it was.

  “I guess he was the one that dumped it in the bay.”

  The Sheriff nodded. “Next time we see him we’ll have to ask him about that. Now let’s see what makes you so positive Big Nick Murdock is alive.”

  I showed him the Bay of Naples paper. I pointed out the big galleons and other ships of that day. Then I put my finger on what had been troubling me ever since I saw it.

  “Look at this little two decker paddle-wheeler. It doesn’t go with the rest of the print.”

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “Because this paper was printed in 1815. They didn’t have Mississippi River boats. And if they did, none of them made it to the Bay of Naples. Robert Fulton just had a simple little chug-chug going. And his was called the Clermont, not the River Queen.”

  The Sheriff looked closer. I hadn’t noticed that before either.

  “Okay,” he said. “So I see a Mississippi River boat in the Bay of Naples. On the famous, according to you, Bay of Naples paper. I guess you’re trying to tell me Murdock wanted somebody to know that’s where he was heading.”

  “Why else did he draw it in himself on the paper? He must have figured whoever knew enough about this house and the paper would know the only other two reasons for bringing him back.”

  “And what two reasons do you have in mind?”

  I was still a little puzzled. “Maybe it’s three.”

  “Maybe it’s a dozen,” he roared. “Maybe it’s a hundred! That still doesn’t prove he’s alive. Don’t forget he’s been gone a long, long time. He disappeared in 1920, my boy!”

  “I know,” I said. “But he’s been back since.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “That Federal door he had put in,” I said. He started to yell again. “I know the Federal style was over a hundred years earlier. But I bet he had that made so he could come back once in a while and check on things. You see, he was still looking for something.”

  “What?” asked the Sheriff.

  “A little white square.”

  The Sheriff was about to explode again. But he got himself under control. “Let’s have some of those other reasons,” he growled.

  “You won’t like them,” I said.

  “Maybe I won’t,” he said. “I don’t like you very much right now but I’m still talking to you. Now why won’t I like the reasons?”

  “You told me to let sleeping dogs lie,” I said.

  “That’s good advice,” he said. “Even coming from me.”

  “Maybe it’s not,” I said. “For instance, if you put in a call to Mr. Manning Bagler right now you could make him very happy.”

  “I’ll bet,” he said. “There’s probably nothing he’d like more than to have somebody wake him up out of a sound sleep. Do you realize it’s after midnight?”

  “He’d be happy to know his father didn’t kill himself,” I said.

  “Keep talking,” Sheriff Landry said between his teeth.

  “Of course that’s another reason Nick Murdock isn’t coming back yet.”

  Naturally he wanted to know what it was. I told him what Mrs. Teska had told me, about Nick Murdock killing the mayor. That straightened him up. Then I had to stick my neck out again.

  “But it’s the other good reason for bringing him back,” I said.

  “Statute of limitations doesn’t run out on murder,” Sheriff Landry said. “If he is alive he’d be a fool to come back.”

  “Not if you can prove he didn’t kill Sam Bagler,” I said.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Sheriff Landry roared. “How can I prove a thing like that?”

  “Mrs. Teska knows the real murderer,” I said. “She’ll tell you.”

  CHAPTER 46

  What Really Happened

  Sheriff Landry handed me the phone. “Go ahead,” he said. “You tell him. I think he’d like that.”

  “Hello, Mr. Bagler? This is Steve Forrester.”

  His voice was friendly enough. “What can I do for you, son?”

  I didn’t know exactly how to start it. But I had to begin somehow. The Sheriff stepped away. “Mr. Bagler, I know it’s none of my business. But I just thought you’d like to know.”

  “Know what, Steve?”

  “Your father didn’t kill himself.”

  There was an awfully long silence. I even wondered if he’d hung up in disgust. Then he came on again. “How would you know that, Steve?” he asked softly.

  I told him Mrs. Teska, who used to be Anna Myszka, was in the house the night it happened. That she was the witness!

  He asked me where I was and I told him and also that both Mrs. Teska and I were with Sheriff Landry.

  “There’s only one thing wrong
,” I said. “She says she knows for sure your father didn’t shoot himself. But I think she’s got the wrong man picked for the murderer.”

  He asked who and I told him, Nick Murdock.

  “I can’t believe it,” he said.

  “How about the partner?” I said. “Do you remember the partner’s name?”

  He gave me a name and I called the Sheriff over to take the phone. He looked mystified.

  “Sheriff Landry here,” he said. Then he listened for a while. “Do you want to come down here or would you rather we came to see you?” he nodded as he listened. Then he hung up and turned to me. I think it was the first time he ever really let himself go. He looked proud of me for a change.

  “Do you think I’m right?” I asked nervously. “It’s not a fact yet.”

  He let his voice get soft. “This is one time I want you to be right. It’s not a fact yet, of course. The old lady’s frightened and confused. But I think when we get over there—” Then the glow left his eyes and he became Sheriff again. “Let’s go.”

  Mr. Bagler had all the lights on in his house and his door open. He helped Mrs. Teska into a soft chair. That wasn’t too good for her bad back but I think she was so tired now she needed it.

  He shook hands with me and asked if Sinbad and me were hungry. I had to admit we were. So he took us into the kitchen and I had a couple of glasses of milk and a roast beef sandwich and Sinbad had the roast beef without the sandwich. I hoped he didn’t expect that afterward at our house. My old man would have a fit.

  Then we went back to the others. Sheriff Landry was sitting near the big library table with Mrs. Teska. He explained what he had so far.

  “The suicide is definitely out,” he began. “Mrs. Teska, or rather Mrs. Murdock then, was sitting waiting in the drawing room. She and Nick had just dropped in for a short visit with your father, the mayor. The library door was open and she saw another man in with him. They were having a loud argument about something. When Nick came in here they closed the door.

  He looked at Mrs. Teska and she nodded. “No see.”

  “Then she says the argument got a lot hotter. She heard a scuffle. Then a gunshot. She opened the door and came in. Your father was slumped over the table. He fell to the floor with Nick Murdock standing behind him, holding the gun.”

  Sinbad was stretched out on the carpet near the fireplace. I noticed he wasn’t sleeping. He had his head on his front paws in the old conference position.

  The Sheriff continued: “What I’d like to know is what happened to the other man? He never passed her at the door.” He looked across the room. “I suppose he could have gone out the window. But who was he? What was the argument about? And, if Murdock didn’t kill the mayor, why did he let the other man get away?”

  He leaned over Mrs. Teska’s chair. “You’re certain you never saw the other man leave?”

  “Nobody else in room. Only Nick and mayor friend.”

  “And your husband was definitely holding the gun when you came into the room?”

  She didn’t know what to say now and he repeated it. “You’ve got to tell the truth now, Mrs. Teska. It’s been hidden long enough. Was your husband holding the gun?”

  She still didn’t answer.

  “I don’t think he was her husband then, Sheriff,” I said.

  That staggered him. “Is that true, Mrs. Teska? That at the time you were not married to Nick Murdock?”

  “Not yet,” she said. “Still only sweethearts. We get married after. Right away.”

  “Immunity,” Mr. Bagler murmured.

  “Of course,” the Sheriff said. “He was able to protect his partner and seal her lips at the same time by marrying her.”

  “How could he do that, Sheriff?? I asked.

  “Wife cannot testify against husband,” he said.

  “But the way you’re doing it, it still looks like Nick Murdock killed Mr. Bagler’s father,” I said.

  “We can’t prove otherwise,” Sheriff Landry said with a slight smile. “Even though you might like your facts another way.”

  Something was wrong. How come Mrs. Teska still didn’t want to identify the other man in the room? How come he was gone so soon? I walked over to the big windows at the other end and pulled the curtains aside. Sheriff Landry saw me studying them and nudged Mr. Bagler.

  “He’ll get it,” he said. “He’s on a lucky streak tonight.”

  Mr. Bagler had an old house, too. Early Georgian. But it had the window style of the earlier Colonials. The upper sash was fixed in place, only the lower ones sliding up and down. Sometimes the upper sash is two panes high and the lower, three. Sometimes it is reversed.

  Mr. Bagler’s window was that way. The panes, or lights, were four across. Twelve on top. Eight below. I raised the lower lash.

  “If he got out this way he couldn’t have closed the window,” I said, looking. “There’s no outside sill and a big drop.”

  The Sheriff came over. “He’d have to be a small man as well, to fit through this opening. But I suppose I could make it, if I had to. What about it, Manning? Was our man small?”

  Mr. Bagler leaned back against the glowing oak wainscoted wall. “I was just a kid. But I think he was a big man. Almost my size.”

  Mr. Bagler hadn’t let himself get out of shape since he had been an All-American fullback. So, almost his size was still pretty big.

  The Sheriff gave it a chance. “What about it, Mrs. Teska? Was the window open when you came in?”

  We waited and waited. She couldn’t remember.

  “The only other way out was through the library doors, then, to the entry hall,” said the Sheriff, “and the front door. But she says he didn’t come that way. So I guess that’s it.”

  I still hated it to end that way. I guess I’m stubborn like Sinbad. He must have noticed I was having trouble for he heaved himself up, stretched and yawned, and padded after me through the double library doors.

  There wasn’t much to see in the hall: The black and white tile floor. A tall case clock. A walnut William and Mary side chair with the Spanish feet. A Chippendale chair with its triple curved top and the Cupid Bow upturned ends.

  The stairway was framed in a low arch with pilasters. So were the double doors leading to the drawing room. Just like the library. The ceiling was plain, the cornice simple and classic. The handrail of polished mahogany swept to a graceful turn at the upper landing where I could see a tall gold-crested pier glass. The walls were shining oak panels, narrow and beveled. There was no plaster treatment, no wallpaper. All beautiful quiet Early Georgian.

  I opened one of the drawing room doors. The room was lit by a bigger glass chandelier than the one in the library. The fireplace was small, faced with Dutch tile, with no carving on the moldings, no shelf or over-mantel. Just the glowing panels above. The rug was light green with a running entwined oval pattern. There was a Hepplewhite inlaid mahogany sideboard and a Sheraton armchair, with the long drooping arms. This was nearest me and I wondered if it was the one Mrs. Teska had sat on that night of the shooting when she was young Anna Myszka.

  Sinbad whined and cocked his curious head up at me.

  “We’re trying to reconstruct the scene of the crime,” I told him. “Okay, so I’m sitting here in this old chair. I hear a shot ring out. Bang! I leap up. I say, ‘Holy smoke! Somebody got shot!’ I run out of the room through this open door.”

  I did all that. Now I was in the center hall. I noticed they’d closed the library door I’d left open.

  Sinbad settled down into the conference position. This wasn’t really a conference but I let him do it his own way.

  “Okay,” I told him. “Now we do the murderer. You stay there. You’re Anna Myszka. Okay.”

  I backed up to the library door as close as I could get. “Now. I just shot the mayor. Bang! He falls down. I can’t get out the window. I’m too big. I run out this door. Okay. Here I come. Now I got to make it to the front door. Then I’m free and safe. Here we go.”


  I ran for the paneled front door with its semi-elliptical fanlight. I got halfway there when Sinbad left his position. He ran along with me a few steps, then got in front. My legs got tangled up with him and I went down with a big skidding crash.

  “Why didn’t you stay out?” I scolded. “You were supposed to be Mrs. Teska, I mean Anna Myszka. I had to go out the front door.” He didn’t even look sorry.

  The library door was suddenly flung open.

  “What happened?” Sheriff Landry asked, looking down at me.

  “We were reconstructing the crime,” I told him.

  “Nice going,” he said. “One more flop like that and you may have to reconstruct the house.”

  I watched him go back into the library. I couldn’t see Mr. Bagler. I sat up and rubbed my tail-bone, where it hurt the most. Then I looked at Sinbad.

  “Hey, did you mean that or was it an accident?”

  He didn’t bother answering me.

  By the time I got to the library door I was okay. Sheriff Landry was helping old Mrs. Teska up. He was having a tough time, too, because she’s so broad in the beam and no lightweight. When her back is stiff like that she really has to lean on you for support. Finally she stood leaning on her cane.

  “When did you hurt your back, Mrs. Teska?” I asked.

  “What?” she asked. She hated to be reminded that she was practically a cripple at times. Her face was flushed and angry.

  “When you were young. Right?” I said.

  She started to laugh. “What you know, Mr. Smarty Pants?”

  I pointed to her cane. “When you were very young, I bet. Just before you got married?”

  She shook her head patiently, some of her old good humor coming back. “It be long, long time ago, Stevie. This old lady got to remember too many old-time things tonight. I no remember when.”

  Sheriff Landry was puzzled by the way I kept at her. “What’s it all about?” he asked me.

  I pointed to her silver-headed cane. She let him take it out of her hand. I showed him the worn engraved initials in that Old English script: W. M. And explained “She’s got Captain Billy’s cane. She told me she never really lived at the Murdock house as Mrs. Murdock. So she must have hurt her back around the time of this accident, when she still knew Nick Murdock well enough to borrow the cane from the house.”