The Candy Man: A Jack Daniels P.I. Novella #1

by John Holt

  Helping her as best I could, we made our way into the building and up the stairs to the third floor. As usual the elevator was taking a rest. At the end of the corridor, just past James Hutton, Accountancy Services, and opposite Ashby Fashions, is room 304.

  The office is quite small, but it is serviceable. Easy to look after the landlord had said, you don’t want one of those large offices that cost a fortune to maintain, and to heat, do you? I guess he had a point. It was just the one room, with a small kitchenette area to one side. What else do you need? Oh sure one of those. Well the shared facilities, should you need them, are down at the end of the hallway.

  I don’t have a lot of furniture cluttering up the room. I mean what do you need? I’ve got a desk, and one of those fancy swivel chairs. I’ve got a bookcase, I got a cabinet thingy, I don’t know what you call them, but there is a cupboard at the bottom, and some shelves on the top. I’ve got a couple of filing cabinets, you know just enough for my papers. There’s a small sofa, and two chairs for visitors. I’ve got a telephone, a typewriter, and a kettle. I guess you can say that I’m comfortable. Anyway it suits me just fine.

  “Sit yourself down,” I said to her, as I picked up a pile of envelopes lying behind the door. Nothing but bills I guessed, or more of those begging letters you get from charities, you know the ones. “If you could see your way to donating just $3 per month”, or “$10 would feed a family of four for a week.”

  Now don’t get me wrong, and don’t think that I don’t support some charities. I’m as generous as the next man. I give to one charity for homeless children, and one for the animals. You can’t forget the animals can you? Anyway I tell her to sit down, indicating the sofa. “I’ll get some coffee,” I said and headed towards the kitchenette area. “I’m sure you could use one. I certainly can.”

  * * *

  A few minutes later I returned with the coffee, and the last of the cookies. She’s sound asleep, so I fetch a blanket from the cupboard, and cover her. Clearly I wasn’t going to get any information out of her tonight. Somehow, in the circumstances, coffee didn’t seem quite right. I pushed the cups to one side.

  I opened the bottom drawer of my desk, and took out a bottle of scotch. I poured a healthy measure and added a hint of water. I then sat down in my fancy swivel chair, put my feet up on the desk, and took a large drop of whiskey.

  It probably wasn’t that long before I too was sound asleep.

  * * *

  Chapter Three

  Benny’s Diner

  It was probably the noise of the traffic down in the street that woke me. Though to be honest I wasn’t really sleeping, not that well anyway. I was probably only dosing. I have to say that a chair might be fine for taking a nap, but it isn’t the most comfortable way of having a deep restful sleep. Take my word for it. The pains in the side of my head, and at the back of my neck, hadn’t helped either.

  Besides I’d spent most of the night thinking about Miss What ever her name was. Who was she? Where was she from? And where did she get the bloodstains? Why was she crying?

  Over and over these questions came into my mind. Perhaps I should have just taken the easy way out and just handed her over to the City’s finest. That’s what most people would have done. Why was I so concerned anyway? She was nothing to me.

  I just felt sorry for her that’s all. No mystery, no big deal. She looked scared though. Besides anyone looking the way she did just couldn’t be someone the police would be interested in. She was just a lonely, frightened, young girl, no more than that. It was my duty to help her in any way that I could.

  Suddenly ma’s words came back to me. “Beware of strange women, especially good looking ones.”

  I shook my head, trying to shake the thought away. What did ma know anyway? I looked at my watch. It was a little after eight. I looked over at where she lay, still sound asleep. “You’re wrong ma, you’ll see,” I murmured, as I stood up and made my way to the kitchenette area. Coffee seemed like a good idea.

  She was beginning to stir as I returned with the coffee and donuts. “Brought you some coffee,” I said brightly. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  She smiled, and said that she was feeling much better, and that really she ought to be getting back. Back where she never actually said.

  “We’ll talk about that later,” I replied. “In the meantime drink your coffee while it’s hot, and these donuts are great.”

  It was then that I realized that I hadn’t got to Mama Dell’s the previous night. I was feeling pretty hungry. I hadn’t had my chicken and ham pizza, and everything that went with it. I was beginning to get withdrawal symptoms.

  “Eat up” I said, “And then we’ll take a trip over to Benny’s Diner for breakfast.” She sat up and took a bite of the donut. “Do you feel able to talk,” I asked.

  “Talk?” she repeated, looking puzzled.

  “Yes,” I replied. “You know, talk. You open your mouth, wiggle your tongue around, and words come out.”

  She continued to look puzzled. “Let’s start with your name, shall we?” I coaxed. “And then we’ll go on to other things like where you’re from?”

  She shook her head. “Why are you so interested, anyway?”

  I dunked my donut in to the coffee cup and took a bite, crumbs and sugar dropping down on to my shirt. It was a good question and I wasn’t sure that I had a good answer.

  “I’m a private detective,” I said, as though that explained everything. “And I’m guessing that you’re in trouble, and I’d like to help if I can.”

  She shook her head once again. “What makes you think I’m in trouble?” she asked.

  I finished chewing on my donut. Still hungry I was hoping we could get down to Benny’s some time soon. “Let’s just say I’ve a nose for that kind of thing,” I replied. “It comes from years of experience.” I took another bite of the donut. “You looked scared when I saw you last night. Then you collapsed against that street light,” I continued. “And it’s not usual for people to go around with a large blood stain on their clothes.”

  She looked down at her coat, which was draped over a nearby chair. “Guess not,” she replied quite simply. She drained her cup. “What were you saying about breakfast? Mr. err?”

  “It’s Daniels, “I replied. “Jack Daniels. And I thought that maybe a ham and eggs, and all the trimmings might be a good start to the day. I could certainly do with something. I haven’t eaten since yesterday’s breakfast. What do you say?”

  I didn’t wait for an answer. I stood up, put on my jacket and was over by the door waiting before she realized what was happening.

  * * *

  Benny’s was already filling up when we arrived. The owner saw me as we entered and gave a wave, and a “who’s the dame?” questioning stare. I smiled back non-committed. He smiled and pointed to a table on the far side, which was just being vacated.

  To be honest although known as Benny’s Diner, there hadn’t been a Benny for almost forty years. The Diner was now owned and operated by Simon, Benny’s grandson. Apart from that nothing else had changed at the Diner since it had opened in January 1946.

  After a brief struggle we arrived at the table and sat down. A few moments later we had given our order. I had gone for the complete works; eggs over easy, ham, hash browns, mushrooms, you name it, I went for it. The young lady, however, had settled for just toast and coffee.

  “Now let’s get down to business, shall we?” I said.

  She looked at me as that I had just asked her to explain some difficult scientific theory. “Business,” she eventually repeated.

  I nodded. “Yes you know, let’s start with a name shall we?”

  She was hesitant, and clearly reluctant to give any information, but I figured that if I was buying the lady a breakfast, then I was entitled to something in return. Call me mercenary is you like, but I only want to help, and I couldn’t do that without some information.

  “Your name,” I coaxed. “Mine’s Jack
Daniels, but you already knew that.”

  “It’s Cathy,” she replied. “Cathy Robinson.”

  I gave a loud sigh, and shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  She repeated her name. “It’s Cathy Robinson.”

  I gave another loud sigh. “So what’s with the initials L.M., that are all over your powder compact?” I asked.

  She looked up at me. “How do you know that?”

  I shook my head. “I have to admit that I took a peek while you were asleep.” I replied. “It’s one of my bad habits, comes from being a detective I guess. So are you going to tell me or not?”

  She remained silent.

  The waitress brought over our order and placed it on the table. “Enjoy,” she said and walked away.

  I took a deep breath. “Look, let’s get something straight shall we. If you want my help ….”

  “It’s Linda Marshall,” she interrupted.

  “That’s better,” I replied. “But why did you lie about your name?”

  She looked down at the ground and started to fiddle with her hair. She took a deep breath and looked up at me. “It was silly of me,” she replied. “I was just being careful I suppose.”

  “Being careful,” I repeated. “I’m not sure that I understand.”

  “The thing is I don’t know you, do I?” she started to explain. “I mean you are a total stranger to me, so how was I supposed to know whether I could trust you or not?”

  That made perfect sense to me. I was a stranger, so why should she trust me? Maybe her mother had warned her about strange guys. Who knows? I suddenly felt bad about searching through her handbag, behind her back.

  “So what about now?” I asked. “Do you trust me now?”

  She smiled and nodded. “I think I can now,” she replied.

  “Good. Now we’re getting somewhere. Have your toast.” I started into my breakfast. “This is good,” I said to nobody in particular. “So where do you live, Ms. Marshall?”

  “Call me Linda,” she said, then took a bite of toast.

  “Right,” I replied. “So where do you live …. Linda?”

  “The other side of town,” she replied. “Hatfield, do you know it?”

  I knew it. It was one of those fancy areas, where even the chauffeurs had chauffeurs. Frankly she didn’t look the type, but I decided to leave that for the time being. “We are making progress,” I said. “Now, what about the blood stains on your coat?”

  She shook her head. “You know I didn’t even know it was there until you mentioned it.”

  “It happens, so what about it?” I asked once again. “Where did it come from?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “I don’t really know, I ….” She hesitated. “It was probably Joe.”

  “Joe?” I repeated. “Who Joe?”

  She looked puzzled for a moment, and then she realized what I was asking. “Oh, Joe Philips, that’s who.”

  “So who’s Joe?” I asked. “Your husband maybe or perhaps he’s a boy friend?”

  She shook her head again, and laughed. “Oh nothing like that, I’m not married, and I don’t have a boy friend.” she replied.

  I shook my head. “I don’t believe it,” I said. “A good looking girl like you, you must have dozens lined up just waiting.”

  She smiled, and shook her head. “No, she said shyly. “Joe’s just a friend, that’s all. In fact I was waiting for him outside that bar, Jerry’s, but he never showed up.”

  “One thing at a time,” I interrupted. “What about the blood staining?”

  It seems that Joe had cut his arm somehow. “He was trying to fix something on the car,” she explained. “I don’t know exactly, but one minute he’s trying to tighten something, and the next there’s blood pouring from his arm.”

  Okay so that was that, nothing too sinister I guess. Accidents happen. What about his not showing up? What’s the story there? “Can you give me that one more time,” I said. “You were due to meet this guy at Jerry’s bar, and then what?”

  “It wasn’t in the bar,” she explained. “We had just arranged to meet near the bar. But he never turned up. He never even phoned. I just don’t understand it.”

  No one just arranges to meet near a bar. In the bar, yes, but near a bar just didn’t make sense, not to me. “So after you were to meet, what then?” I asked, not that it was really any of my business, but if she wanted my help then a few answers to a few simple questions, wasn’t that much to expect was it? Of course maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t looking for my help anyway. She never actually asked me after all. I just kind of assumed. Maybe I was being a nuisance, interfering like this. Maybe if the truth be known I wasn’t actually required.

  Me interfering, or being a nuisance, that didn’t sound like me. No way. I dismissed the thought out of my mind. But if that was what she really thought, then why not come right out with it, and say something. You want me gone you only have to say. I don’t need to be told twice.

  “So what were the plans once you had met up,” I asked. “Were you going to take in a movie or a show perhaps, maybe dinner?”

  She shook her head. “No, no, no,” she replied emphatically. “There was nothing like that. I told you.”

  I wasn’t satisfied, but decided to leave that one for the moment as well. These little inconsistencies were beginning to build up.

  “You looked so scared when I saw you, and then when you fell, I got quite worried,” I continued. “So what happened there?”

  “I wasn’t so much scared, as nervous,” she explained. “I just fainted that’s all.”

  She finished her coffee, and pushed her plate to one side. She had hardly touched the toast. I on the other hand had cleared my plate. “I feel a bit faint right now,” she said.

  It was time to go. I stood up. “Okay, no more questions. Let’s get back to the office, and you can have a lie down and a rest.”

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  Something Wrong

  It was almost one o’clock when she eventually woke up. I had just finished my lunch, a ham and pickle on rye. “Feeling better?” I asked.

  She smiled and said that she was feeling much better. She sat up.

  “Good to hear it, how about some coffee?” I asked as I walked over to the kitchenette.

  “That’s sounds good,” she replied.

  “How about something to eat?” I asked. “I’ve got donuts, and donuts, and more donuts.”

  “Just the coffee,” she replied. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble to you.”

  I laughed it off. “Ah, you’re no trouble. I have more trouble starting my car,” I said. “It’s a funny thing, though. Nerves I mean. They cause all kinds of trouble, especially when you least expect it.” I paused for a moment, and poured the coffee. I walked back to my desk, and placed the two cups down.

  “You know one minute you’re fine, and then something happens. Someone or something upsets you. Your nerves say hey what was that all about, and the next thing you know, you’re laying on the ground. Your head aches, you’re having trouble breathing, you have pains in your stomach. You name it you’ve got it,” I continued. “The question is what was it that made you so nervous? Who, or what, upset you?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, picking up her coffee.

  “Last night, near Jerry’s bar,” I explained. “What made you so nervous, so much so that you fainted?”

  “Oh that,” she said.

  “Yes that,” I replied. “You had me quite worried.”

  She looked at me for some time, not saying anything. Then she smiled. “You know, it’s not that I’m not grateful, or anything like that, but why did you stop and help me?”

  I took a deep breath, and I could feel myself blushing. “Do you know the Bible story of the good Samaritan?” I asked. “There’s this guy, he’s been beaten up, and he’s just lying there, you know, on the ground. He’s in pain and he’s bleeding, and everything. Well a lot of people walk along a
nd they just go right by. They barely look at the guy lying there. Then there’s this one guy who stops to help, and he takes care of the guy.”

  She nodded. “Yes I know that story.”

  “Well let’s just say that’s how I would like to be, and leave it at that, shall we?”

  “If you say so,” she replied. “But I am grateful to you.”

  “That’s okay,” I replied. “But you still haven’t answered my question.”

  She took a drink, and shook her head. “Something’s wrong, that’s why. That’s what made me so nervous,” she said. “It’s not like Joe not to keep an appointment. Something’s happened I just know it.”

  What made her so sure I wondered? It just seemed a little melodramatic somehow. So the guy didn’t show up. Nothing unusual in that, it happens all the time. I’ve missed no end of appointments. If I had a dime for every time that I’ve been stood up, I’d be a wealthy man. Things happen, you get delayed. The car breaks down, or there are no buses, or you just don’t feel well, you decide to stay home. Maybe there was a ball game on the television that he wanted to watch, or a couple of the guys dropped by with a six pack. Who knows?

  She wasn’t having any of it though, and kept insisting that there was something not quite right. I looked over at the telephone. “Why not give him a call?” I suggested. “Put your mind at ease, you’ll see. I’m telling you everything’ll be fine.”

  She looked at me, and then looked at the telephone. She stood up and walked over. “I think I will,” she said picking up the handset and dialing the number. The number rang and rang. “There’s no answer,” she said, getting nervous once more. The telephone continued to ring, still there was no answer. She replaced the handset and looked at me. She was crying again. “I told you, there’s something wrong,” she said. “I just know it.”