Carrie’s eyes went to the salt and pepper waves over his ears. “Yes, I know,” she said.
They went back to page-turning. Henry, now numb with fatigue, noticed his pages turned much more slowly than Carrie’s.
No other familiar names turned up until Carrie saw Everett Bogardus in the 1963/64 book. They followed him through school until graduation in 1966. “Maybe Vietnam next,” said Henry. “He’d be the right age.”
They finished the books without finding any more familiar names. “We have thirty minutes left,” Carrie said. “Let’s try phone books.”
Because of the short time remaining, they narrowed their search to the period from 1954 on. A “Bogardus, V. F.” was listed in all the books. There were several Trotters but no Marcus until 1960, a listing at the same address as “Trotter, Stephen.”
“So he’s back home from somewhere, probably law school given the time gap, and moved in with his folks,” Henry said.
They quickened their page-turning, following Marcus from the listing at his parents’ home to a separate address in 1962. Then, in 1968, both Stephen and Marcus, as well as the Bogardus family, disappeared from the books.
At no time had Marcus been listed as a practicing lawyer.
“So they were all gone after 1967,” Henry said, “and, according to Curator Sandemann, that’s the year the biggest close-down of gambling and other ‘entertainments’ began. I had time to ask her about it yesterday when we were waiting for Agent Brooks in her office. Of course the date could be a coincidence, but somehow I think not.”
“Shall we tell Brooks about this now?” Carrie asked. “We have to go soon if I’m to make the afternoon session, but maybe he can follow up and find out exactly what business all of them were in. Gambling, maybe? I’ll get him.”
After showing Agent Brooks the yearbooks as well as the phone book listings, Henry asked if his research had turned up anything so far. Brooks grunted, said, “Not much, but what you’ve found is a help.” Then he looked down at the open yearbooks and, appearing to be lost in thought, said no more.
After realizing the agent wasn’t going to tell them anything, Henry turned away, said, “Thanks, hope you’ll keep us in the loop,” and he and Carrie left the building.
As soon as they entered the Downtowner lobby, the receptionist called them over and handed out new room keys. She said that, in their absence, Agent Colin Bell had supervised the moving of their possessions.
“I completely forgot about the room change,” Carrie said as soon as the elevator door closed. “I wonder what kind of a mess we’ll find, though come to think of it, if Bell was in charge, I bet everything will be super-neat. Still, I hate the idea of other people, especially men, moving my stuff.”
Their doors were mid-hall, which suited Henry fine as a security measure. Doors too close to either a stairwell or an elevator seemed more vulnerable to outside intrusion, though come to think of it, trouble for them was more likely to approach from the floor they were on than from outside.
Thoughts about security reminded him of his pretend nephew, Hot Springs Police Officer Brad Jorgenson. He must have arrived by now, had probably helped Bell move them to the new rooms.
But there was no sign of a second resident anywhere. Henry had just begun to look around when he heard unlocking sounds from the connecting door between his room and Carrie’s, and he opened the companion door to find her standing there holding out something that looked like a muddy rag bag.
“My purse is back,” she said. “It was sitting in the bathtub. I checked inside; the contents look pretty much okay. I’ll have to call the catalogue people I bought it from and tell them this fabric really is durable, just like they said. The purse will probably be good as new after washing. For now, I’ve stuck my billfold and a few other essentials in my book tote.”
“Had the geologist’s pick rusted?”
She looked at her toes. “A little.”
Henry backed away from the door and she came through, glancing around. “Your room is as neatly arranged as mine, no surprise, but I don’t see any sign of Officer Jorgenson. I thought Bell meant he was to be here early this afternoon. Do you suppose he came, found us gone, and is out looking for us? Oh, gosh, I hope not.”
“I was wondering about him too,” Henry said, “but I’m sure Brooks informed on us the minute we left the historical society building, if not before, so the FBI knows where we’ve been. I suppose Brad will show up soon.”
As soon as Carrie had left for the afternoon Elderhostel meeting, Henry eased down on his bed, avoiding the injured shoulder. For a minute he wondered why Brad Jorgenson was late, wondered also if he should phone Bell and ask. Before he got as far as deciding, his thoughts turned to Carrie.
He had been so sure he was doing the right thing, taking blame for his fall in the creek. In truth, it had been his fault, given the train of events, and he felt darn guilty. But his every word about it, every apology, back-fired. It was like he’d been talking to a wall, and the more he talked, the higher the wall got.
He supposed he should have let her accept all the blame for causing his fall and left it alone. Maybe this woman, maybe every woman, enjoyed playing martyr.
Would he ever understand Carrie? Understand any female? But then he didn’t care all that much about other women, only about Carrie. He wondered if... Before he got as far as forming another thought, he’d fallen asleep.
Once he dreamed Carrie had come back from the meeting. He heard her walk to the open door between their rooms. Maybe she would come in, lie down beside him, and... But she didn’t come closer, and, in sorrow, he heard the door to her room click shut as she left.
The next thing he knew, Carrie was touching his hand. “Sorry, but it’s time to wake up. I need to drive you to the hospital for your check-up, then we can have supper with the group before the session on how to hunt for crystals begins at 7:00.
“I’m glad you had a nap. I could tell you needed it. Have you heard anything from Officer Jorgenson yet?”
His eyes were still closed as he struggled to come back from an uncharacteristic sleep-dusted vagueness. “No, nothing, though I think I heard...I thought...”
She interrupted. “Ummm. Henry, didn’t Bell say Jorgenson would bring my purse when he came? Well, if that’s so and Jorgenson isn’t here, how did my purse get here?”
He waited a moment before opening his eyes or answering. Why hadn’t he thought of the purse being here without the officer who was supposed to bring it? Of course it was possible plans had changed and Bell himself had put it in the tub. But still, he was beginning to feel alarmed about the missing officer and the possibility someone else had keys to their rooms. What was going on? He didn’t want to cry wolf or seem like a wimp, but if Jorgenson wasn’t here by suppertime, he would call Bell.
“Carrie, did you come back here during the afternoon? Look in on me?”
She frowned. “Noooo. Maybe I should have. Did you think someone came in?”
He sat up, shook his head. “I must have been dreaming.” He tried a smile, but her frown stayed in place. “I dreamed you came in to lie down beside me.”
“Henry, that’s not funny, and you’re scaring me. Maybe someone really did come in. Someone could have come to hurt you, or search our rooms, or...something.”
“I doubt it. As you see, nothing happened. Is there any sign someone was in your room? Searched it? That’s where the sounds came from.”
She went through the connecting doors. He heard her moving around, heard drawers open and close. Then she came back, frown still in place.
“Nothing is missing and nothing looks different to me, but how can I really tell? A careful searcher wouldn’t leave signs. The only thing openly out of place is my purse being in the bathtub.” She shrugged.
“Without special equipment or preparation, neither you nor I could tell, assuming the searcher was clever,” Henry said, “especially since Bell moved us and we haven’t re-arranged things since.
So, who knows? But I do know this: if Officer Jorgenson hasn’t come by the time we get through at the hospital and have supper, I’m going to call Bell.”
Chapter XXI
Carrie
Carrie stopped at the hotel’s front desk and asked directions to the hospital even though Henry insisted he knew the way.
He just might have found it without asking directions, she thought as she drove. In daylight, and with a clear head, she located the building easily.
Doctor Abrams was on duty, could see Henry, and said the patient was mending well, though not yet ready for a boxing match. He removed the mummy-like wrappings and substituted a sling. Henry’s relief at this new freedom was so noticeable that Carrie felt renewed guilt about causing his fall. The past twenty-four hours must have been a terrible challenge for him, and he hadn’t complained once.
While she drove back to the hotel, Carrie shared highlights of the afternoon session on metaphysical uses of crystals with Henry, saying she was sure the presenter herself didn’t believe in any individual crystal’s power over mind and body—whether tabular, double-terminated, generator, Isis, or whatever.
“But the various growth patterns of crystals as she described them are quite interesting, and I’ll watch for some of those special formations when we go on the crystal dig. The woman also told us about body points called chakras, and we learned how to put crystals there to promote health.”
“Surely you didn’t undress. Maybe I should have come...”
She laughed. “Nope. We looked at drawings.”
“Well,” said Henry, “when people believe in something, that often invests it with power.”
Even more interesting to both of them was the fact Carrie had been able to have a private conversation with Eleanor and Jason during the break. She’d told them about the discoveries in the yearbooks and phone books. “They offered to help keep an eye on Marcus Trotter and will look for a chance to chat with him informally.”
As the two of them got in the elevator, Henry said he was going to give his Hot Springs souvenir shirt back to Eleanor. “She can use it for a smock,” he said, “but come to think of it, then I couldn’t visit them unless I knew she wasn’t wearing it. I don’t ever want to see the thing again, not even on her.”
“Let me have it,” Carrie said. “I’ll cut it up and make two ‘Souvenir of Hot Springs’ pillows we can give to Rob and to Susan and Putney. They’ll get a kick out of them, and goodness knows there’s enough fabric.” She was already picturing the pillows. “Bright red fringe would be good with that print, but of course I’ll have to tell them we won’t feel hurt if they don’t put the pillows on their couches for all to see.”
“I didn’t know you sewed,” Henry said.
At first Carrie was tempted to brag about her sewing skills, but decided truth was best. “Except for mending, I don’t, but pillows aren’t hard to make. I wouldn’t even have to use a sewing machine. I can buy enough cotton fringe to go around four sides of the pillows, sew it all together inside- out, fringe in the middle, leaving a little gap for stuffing. Then all you do is turn them right-side out, stuff with that polyester fluff, sew up the gap, and, bingo, pillows.”
He was already unbuttoning the shirt to give to her as he opened the door to his room, but his light-hearted mood quickly veered a hundred and eighty degrees into swearing.
Carrie’s heart was in her mouth as she hurried away from her own door to stand beside him. “Henry, what’s wrong?”
The room was a wreck. His suitcase was tossed in a corner; items that had been left in it were everywhere. All the drawers were pulled out, dumped upside down, contents tossed. One drawer had been thrown aside with such force that the wood was splintered, and she wondered why someone hadn’t heard the noise and come running. Shirts, slacks, underwear, socks, toiletries were scattered every which way, sheets, blankets, and pillows were off the beds, the mattresses were sideways, tilting against the floor.
Without thinking, Carrie started in, but Henry’s arm stopped her. “Check your room,” he said, “but go in from the hall.”
Paralysis kept her still for a moment before she was able to move down the hall, insert her key, turn the knob. She shut her eyes as she opened the door, then Henry was beside her saying, “Nothing looks disturbed. Neat as before, so you can open your eyes.” He handed her the cell phone. “Call Bell. Here’s his card.”
She moved like a zombie, feeling she had been shoved back into a nightmare after only a few hours of freedom. Why, why?
Henry went into the room, pulling her behind him, and shut the door, turning the bolt and putting on the chain. Then he went to his room and she heard the bolt click there.
She dialed the number on the card, and an unfamiliar male voice answered. She gave her name and cell phone number, said she needed to speak with either Agent Bell or Brooks as soon as possible, and was told to hang up. Someone would call her.
By the time she had finished leaving the message, Henry was sitting on the edge of her bed, staring into space. Now he spoke the same words she had been thinking. “Why? Why?”
It hit her. “Henry King,” she said. “We’re ninnies. It’s because you’re Henry King. Trotter thinks you could be the Henry King in the yearbook, and either he needed to find out for sure, or he thinks THAT Henry King holds some key to finding the money and he was searching for it. This must be like a...a group thing. Several could know about the money.”
She paused for a moment, chasing her thoughts into order, then went on. “For some reason we haven’t figured out yet, those who know about the hidden money chose right now, at this Elderhostel, to come back to Hot Springs. Maybe someone sent out messages, or there was a tontine, or a committee, or, or...” She stopped, realizing how overly dramatic and even silly it all sounded.
The phone rang.
“Hello, this is Carrie McCrite.” She looked at Henry and nodded. “Yes, Agent Bell, we just got back to the hotel after having Henry’s wrappings taken off at the hospital, and his room has been searched. Torn apart is more like it—it’s a mess.”
Bell’s voice was sharp in her ear. “Let me speak to King’s nephew.”
“What do you mean? We haven’t seen anything of Brad Jorgenson. He isn’t here—but my purse is. Were you the one who brought it back? Have your plans chang...”
“I’ll be there in forty-five minutes or less,” he said, the tight urgency of his words doing nothing to calm her panic. “Lock the doors to both your rooms. Turn the bolts and put on the door chains. Stay inside; don’t open to anyone until you hear Agent Brooks’ voice or mine.” He hung up.
“Well, for goodness’ sake,” she said to the dead phone.
They both paced her room, looking out the balcony window together, then walking back to the bed, sitting down, saying a few words that meant nothing, then getting up to look out the window again.
Finally Carrie said, “I might as well go ahead and take a shower. It’s still twenty minutes ‘til he’ll be here, and I want to keep busy. I couldn’t possibly read, I can’t sit still, and I’ve stopped being able to think or talk about this sensibly.”
“Better not use the tub. Could disturb possible evidence.”
“I could also disturb evidence by using the toilet or washing my hands, and I am not going to stop doing that. Besides, right now I’m too upset and too tired of this whole mess to care. There will be plenty of evidence elsewhere if any is to be had.”
Henry shrugged but said nothing as she picked up her Bible and a change of clothing and shut herself in the bathroom.
She sat on the edge of the tub, bowing her head for a long minute before she opened the Bible. How many problems would they have to endure here? This was supposed to be a vacation, a carefree, fun time.
But God didn’t say humans wouldn’t face problems. The Psalmist talked about walking through the valley of the shadow, not around it. Too often I’m the one who gets myself stuck in that valley, she thought. So, I need to bring m
ore trust in God into my life, as Eleanor reminded me.
She shut her eyes, opened her Bible near the middle, put her finger on a page, then looked where she’d pointed:
Psalm 56: “What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee...In God have I put my trust: I will not be afraid what man can do unto me.”
Okay, okay, I really do get the message. Trust.
She shut her eyes again, turned pages, pressed her finger down. Isaiah 30: “Woe to the rebellious children, saith the Lord, that take counsel, but not of me...And thine ears shall hear a word behind thee, saying This is the way...walk ye in it...”
Golly. She could, indeed, be rebellious.
She closed her Bible and prayed: “I must listen to God’s message about trust. Goodness knows I’ve read it in the Bible often enough. I must trust God and know I am walking in His protecting love.” After a pause she added, “Henry, too.”
Then she closed the Bible, stripped, and got in the shower.
She was just stepping into slacks when she heard loud banging. What...?
Buttoning her shirt with one hand, she opened the bathroom door and said to the noise, “I’m here. Who is it?”
“Agents Brooks and Bell. Officer Gwen Talbot.”
It sounded like Willard Brooks’ voice, so she turned the bolt, peeked through the chained opening, then opened the door. She was pushed aside as Brooks, followed closely by Agent Bell, almost fell past her into the room. Gwen Talbot, dressed casually in grey slacks and a yellow cotton sweater, came behind them and shut the door.
“Where have you been? Where is Major King?” This from an uncharacteristically ruffled Colin Bell.
“I was in the shower. Henry’s here, he...”
But, after a quick search, it was obvious Henry was not there and that the bolt and chain were off the door to his room.
Bell grabbed her shoulders. “What happened? What happened?”
She couldn’t cry, she could not! “I went in the bathroom. Henry was sitting on that bed,” she pointed, “waiting for you. That’s all. He was just waiting.”
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