Mystery: The Frank & Ernest Box Set - Mystery and Suspense Novels (The Frank & Ernest Files, Mystery, Thriller, Suspense Book 6)

by David Archer

  BOOK III

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  “Did you enjoy that, Sweetie?” Evelyn murmured as the two of them lay in the pulled-out version of the convertible couch in her studio apartment.

  “Have you ever known me to complain?” Ernie replied. “You are the best, Lambchop, better than all the rest, and that’s all there is to it.”

  “Oh, wow, than all the rest; check out Don Juan, here.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. What I meant is that you’re super, in the sack or out of it. This is not about me; it’s about the wonderful lady I love.”

  “Good, I’m glad I got you feeling all happy, because I have some news you may not be quite so happy about.”

  “Good Lord, is there someone else?”

  “More like something else.”

  “What, you’ve taken up with a robot?”

  “Ah, yes, always the joker, but this is no joke. On the other hand it’s not all that bad.”

  “Well, out with it, the suspense is killing me.”

  Ernie Campanella and Evelyn Klein had long since taken their relationship to the next level, which was fine with the both of them. Ernie had hoped to have a little more money socked away before he asked for her hand, and Evelyn, though she loved him dearly, was not in all that great a hurry to be asked. She had things to do yet, she said, and that’s where she left it. They had already reconciled their respective parents to the mixture of their eventual marriage, so that was not an obstacle. They just weren’t in any rush.

  “Okay, then here it is: I’m off to Paris for a year to study at La Sorbonne. It’s a chance I absolutely could not pass up.”

  Evelyn had recently graduated from the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, and Ernie had been wondering what the next step might be for her. He hadn’t counted on this, though.

  “Well, if that’s what you want, but I wonder,” Ernie pointed out, “why you would take all the trouble and expense to go to Paris for la sore buns, when I could turn you over my knee right now and give you all you wanted.”

  “Boy, you really know how to sweet-talk a girl, don’t you?”

  “That’s me all right, swayve and dee-boner, all the way. Seriously, though, Pork Chop, is this really necessary?”

  “Call me that again and I’ll give you la sore balls. And, yes, it is. A certificate from that school could enhance my reputation as an artist like nothing I could do right here in Philly.”

  “So, I take it it’s no go on my version of la sore buns?”

  “Not now, but I’ll tell you what. If you act like a brave boy and don’t whine or whimper about my trip, I’ll let you do that on our last night, you know, as a going-away present.”

  “Great, but, not to be picky, you’re the one who’s going away, yet I’m the one who’s getting the present.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” she said with a playful wink.

  While Fred Campanella, who liked to think of himself as a good Catholic, could eventually accept the notion of a Jewish daughter-in-law who, meaning no disrespect, sir, had no desire to become a Catholic, another person close to Ernie was having a lot more trouble getting used to another potential marriage. At least Ernie and Evelyn had not made it official. Frank Mueller’s sister-in-law Arlene Gomez, whom he genuinely liked and did not want to see get hurt any more than she had been, was formally engaged to Sean Higgins. Frank considered him bad news, and he certainly had his reasons. No, Higgins was not officially a criminal, yet Frank was sure he had known a few criminals he liked better than this guy. Rasta Pete, for example, God rest his conniving soul.

  He had tried to make his wife aware of his misgivings as subtly and gently as he could, and, when she finally took the hint, all Hell broke loose. How dare he ruin her sister’s one and only chance for happiness? Who did he think he was, anyway…etc., etc. It did not take Frank long to figure out this was a topic Sadie no longer wished to discuss. At that, she did seem to have a point. He had never seen Arlene happier. Oh well, he figured, at least they were taking their sweet time about setting a date. Thank goodness for small blessings.

  Chapter 1

  “The reason why I called this meeting is that we have a really big opportunity coming up,” George Harbison, senior partner of Harbison, Bell and Hallowell, told the assembled account executives. “As you may have heard, The Civic Center has ditched their public relations firm and invited us to submit a proposal. Of course, we will have competition, but I believe we have an excellent chance of winning the contract. To that end, I am giving this project to Smith, Jenkins and Gomez. I will expect you, not only to put together an attractive package for our bid, but to personally charm the powers that be at the Civic Center into giving us their business. Think you’re up to the job?”

  “Well, I know Miss Gomez will have the charm part covered,” Bob Jenkins chuckled. As he did so, he surreptitiously made an obscene gesture by inserting the index finger of one hand into and out of a circle he made with the other hand. Neither Mr. Harbison nor Miss Gomez could see it, but she was aware he was up to something. “Smitty and I can do the heavy lifting.”

  “I resent that, Mr. Jenkins,” Arlene Gomez responded. “I expect to do just as much of the serious work as you do—maybe more.”

  “Of course you will,” Ed Smith assured her. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt all of us to be nice to the client, now, would it?”

  “I can see who the diplomat on this team is going to be,” Harbison pointed out. “Smitty, you’re going to be the lead on this caper. Jenkins and Gomez, I have every confidence the two of you will work in harmony for the good of the firm. Isn’t that so?”

  “Yes, Sir, of course it is,” Arlene replied.

  “Fine by me,” Jenkins added.

  “Oh and one more thing, Mr. Jenkins,” Harbison continued. “I want you to search very carefully through your wardrobe and find a suit for the presentation that isn’t spattered with pizza grease. Think you can manage that?”

  “I have just the suit in mind. That one’s splattered with plum sauce from your Peking duck—lots more classy.”

  “Nobody loves a smart-ass, Jenkins. Nobody.”

  Arlene Gomez had started with the firm as a summer intern, between her sophomore and junior years at Temple. Through hard work and a cheerful attitude, she had worked her way up from girl Friday to account executive. It had been neither quick nor easy, but her talent and dedication could not be ignored. If the partners at HBH didn’t catch on, then it was only a matter of time before another public relations shop did.

  That said, Arlene was the second-least senior account executive on the staff, and, as the only woman in what was still considered a man’s game, she often felt that she was, in reality, at the bottom of the pile. Still, it beat fetching coffee and dry-cleaning for the big-shots. On the other hand, she harbored the suspicion she was not getting the same pay that a man in her position would. It would be a number of years before women’s organizations would make an issue of this, but it certainly was an issue for Arlene. She had recently been disappointed with the last raise she got, but was prepared to bide her time until the next salary review. Then, if the partners didn’t come through, she would have to look at her options.

  Although she had bristled at Bob Jenkins’ smarmy remarks about her ability to charm the client, there was no denying she had more of it than anyone else in the firm. Of course it didn’t hurt that she was a very attractive woman, while most of the firm’s clients and prospective clients were represented by men.

  Also, Arlene was enough of a pro to shrug off a nuisance like Jenkins and focus on the client. She was not a flirt—at least not conscious
ly so, but she was as sweet-natured on the job as she was well-informed. If that combination seemed to have a flirtatious effect on the men she dealt with, then so be it.

  She did not like being teamed with the guy, but she understood why the decision had come about. Jenkins had done extensive volunteer work for Frank Rizzo, Jim Tayoun and other successful Democrats, both in the city and the state. Any potential client with connections to the local government would seem to be a good fit for Jenkins and his political clout. The partners jokingly referred to him as “our token Democrat.” Of course none of them had bothered to ask Arlene about her politics. Were they even aware that—hold on to your hats, fellows—women had been given the right to vote? Maybe not, she thought.

  On the other hand, Arlene was confident that Ed Smith, in addition to being a seasoned professional, would look out for her if the other guy got rambunctious. None of the other account executives had treated her with more palpable contempt than Bob Jenkins, yet none, she supposed, harbored darker and more vivid fantasies about the sex they would have, given the chance. She could read it in his eyes. It seemed, when she thought about it, that Ed was the only man in the office who had not found some way, however subtle, to put her down. He had been on her side from the beginning, back when the partners weren’t so sure about promoting the office girl. On top of everything else, he had offered to haul her charts and graphs to the presentation in his van, leaving her free to hop into the Trans Am she loved to drive, rather than having to rent something big and clunky. As she drove to the Civic Center the morning of the presentation, Arlene was, not only optimistic, but excited. If this didn’t get her that big raise, then nothing would.

  The operation, as the saying goes, was a success, but the patient died. Arlene’s part of the presentation had gone off brilliantly. Smitty had certainly held his own, while Jenkins wisely confined his remarks to agreeing with him. As nearly as the partners could figure it, they had not done anything wrong, necessarily, but the firm that got the bid was a good deal bigger and more established.

  “Oh well,” George Harbison sighed, “I guess we knew it was a long-shot. Maybe next time.”

  If there was one fly in the ointment, it was the way Bob Jenkins kept leering at the prettier secretaries in the Civic Center—at least that’s what Arlene figured, but she kept her thoughts to herself. She very much doubted that the men who managed the Center were offended by Jenkins’ display of simmering lust, but they may have looked at him as a guy who could not keep his eye on the ball. The people at HBH would probably never know if that had been the case or not. No means no, and that’s all there is to it. The really sad thing was, Arlene realized, this was going to make it very difficult for her to get that big raise the next time. The partners would take little heed of the input they got from the Center about Arlene’s fine work. They would only remember the result.

  Ten days after HBH got the sad news about their bid, Arlene herself got some related news of a different sort.

  “Miss Gomez,” you have a call on line three. It’s a Mr. Ellsworth,” the receptionist informed her. Howard Ellsworth was one of the big-shots at the Civic Center. Had they changed their minds about the bid? If so, then why tell her and not Ed Smith or Mr. Harbison?

  “This is Arlene Gomez. How are you today, Mr. Ellsworth?” she greeted him upon taking the call.

  “Just peachy, thank you. Let me get right to the point. We were very impressed with your work in the presentation the other day. How would you like a city job?”

  “You mean with the Civic Center?”

  “Absolutely. Can we talk?”

  “Yes, actually, we can, but I would not feel right doing it on company time. Can I meet you somewhere after hours?”

  Chapter 2

  Life had become a lot more hectic for Detectives Mueller and Hilton. With the jailing of Delroy MacGregor, the now-leaderless Lehigh Avenue Rude Boys had split into rival factions over the question of who was going to take over. That left a power vacuum that was not so easily filled. With both MacGregor and the late Spencer Bennett out of the picture, there were no strongmen to set the boundaries and make whatever rules there were to be made. The result was a level of violence even the people of Strawberry Mansion had cause to consider alarming. If there was any silver lining at all to the cloud, there had been little mystery to the killings. Nobody in this next wave of thugs had anything like the smarts Bennett and MacGregor possessed. On top of that, both Frank and Biggie Hilton were a couple of savvy veterans, who, time after time, managed to get the culprits, even in a neighborhood where the residents shrouded their fear in the defiant slogan, “Don’t snitch!” Those few suspects they had not apprehended had the good sense to flee the premises, once they learned those two particular cops had been put on the case. Their excellent police work had not gone unnoticed. Both were promoted from Detective Third to Detective Second.

  Certainly nothing had come up where Frank had needed to call on Ernie for his insight. If the occasion came up where he might want to pick Campanella’s brain, it would not be as much of a problem as it had been in the recent past. Frank and Ernie had found a way to end their feud, even if Ernie was still unwelcome in the Mueller home. This was by order of She Who Must be Obeyed, as Frank sometimes referred to his wife. And though there was no physical restraining order in effect, both men knew that Ernie was forbidden from even looking at or asking about Sadie’s sister Arlene. She had despised Ernie even back when her sister considered him a quirky friend.

  This is not to say that Ernie and Frank saw nothing of each other. Sadie had given permission for Frank to meet his now boorish friend if, for Christ sake, he really had to—just not within her line of sight, OKAY? As a result, the two of them and their mutual friend Greg Martin, were able to get together from time to time and shoot the breeze. One big difference was that these meetings were never at a bar, as most of them had been when Frank was single and Ernie was a drunk. Aunt Sally’s Lawndale Ribs and Chicken in Frank’s precinct had been a popular meeting place. All three of the guys liked a good mess of barbecue. Of course, these meetings might get even more infrequent, now that Sadie was expecting their first child.

  For Ernie’s part, life had become a good deal better. Forget that his drastically reduced drinking schedule had left him with fewer hangovers. The people at the precinct were starting to take notice. With the promotion of Captain Williams to City Hall, his replacement, a no-nonsense, but fair-minded officer named Steve Kashuba, was willing to let Patrolman Campanella make a clean slate of it, if he was ready to put in the effort. After several weeks of exemplary conduct, Ernie had been able to get his old partner back. Fortunately, Leonard Tompkins had been almost as fed-up with his partner—a young white cop who clearly resented to being junior to his black partner—as Ernie was with the terminally-stupid Luther Porch.

  Not only that, but Ernie had been promoted at last. After all this time, he was finally Corporal Campanella. Keep this up, and he may even get a chance to take the detective’s exam.

  “Now that Spanky’s running the show,” Ernie told Leonard, “I’m gonna ask him about taking the test for detective, first chance I get. Though the guys respected Kashuba as a good cop, they had given him that nickname for his resemblance to the Little Rascals character from way back before they were born.

  “We’ll see,” the Captain had replied in answer to that very question. “You and I both know you got a lot of baggage, Corporal. I’ll need to sort through all of that before we start talking detective.”

  “Is this about that punk I killed by accident?” Ernie asked.

  “More like all the bottles you killed on purpose, some of them while you were supposed to be on the job, from what I hear.”

  “Not so, Sir. I may have been sicker than a dog with a hangover a couple of times, but I never drank on duty.”

  “Be that as it may, Corporal, I just only put you and Tompkins back together the other day, like the two of you have been badgering me about to no end. Ha
ving done so, I’d like to get a little work out of you two before you move on to greener pastures.”

  “Fine, Sir, I understand. All I ask is that you keep an open mind.”

  “That I will do. Dismissed.”

  Although the detective’s badge was still a ways off, Ernie realized, he had promised he would propose to Evelyn the minute he got promoted. Trouble was, she was off in France, painting up a storm, while he was stuck in Philadelphia, doing without.

  Chapter 3

  “I won’t lie to you, Ms. Gomez,” Howard Ellsworth said as they met over dinner at Bookbinder’s. “The Civic Center is in serious trouble. Reason why your firm got a chance to bid on our business was the people we had were not getting the message.” The executive had reason to worry. The newly-constructed Philadelphia Spectrum loomed as a threat to their convention business. The only reason the Civic Center had not lost more was that, on most days, the Spectrum was already booked. Come the end of the basketball and hockey seasons, though, that picture was sure to change and considerably for the worse.

  “Yes, Mr. Ellsworth, I am aware of the situation. All of us at HBH are. I hope you realize we would have addressed ourselves to the problem, given the chance.”

  “Now, now, let’s not cry over spilt milk. I think the people we hired are just as aware, plus they have a lot more in the way of resources, but I mean that as no reflection on you. You are just the person we are looking for to handle our in-house P.R.:

  “Ha! So you want a P.R. to do your P.R. That’s amusing,” she smiled.

  “I wasn’t going to say that,” Ellsworth admitted. “Still, it doesn’t matter to me whether you’re Spanish or Chinese or anything else. We think you got the goods, and that’s all that counts. By the way, I think you’ll be happy with your salary if you do come with us.” At that point, he scribbled something on a notepad he had pulled from his jacket pocket, tore off the sheet and handed it to Arlene. It was a four, followed by four zeroes. Way more than she was making at HBH.