The young officer stopped talking. Probably thinking about lethal drugs.
The buzzing inside Henry’s head was getting fainter. He could hear Jorgenson’s breathing now, and the sound was very close. The two steam cabinets were probably pushed against each other.
The voice came again. “Trouble is, I’ve been here several hours and I haven’t thought of a single way to get out of this stainless steel box. Yep, it sure is a dandy prison.”
“Why did they put us here?” Henry wondered aloud. “What’s the purpose?”
“I’ll get to that. The two of them have been here twice, and they do talk in front of me, which I suppose is a bad sign. Maybe they don’t plan that I’ll survive to tell on them. A good sign is that they fed me cheese crackers. Made me thirsty, of course. Offered me water through a straw. I drank as little as I could manage. Feeding might indicate their purpose isn’t to kill us, though. What do you think?”
“Uh-huh.” No point being gloomy, Henry thought, or adding more fear to a situation that was already bad enough.
“Anyhow, from what I can understand, they think you lived here in the 1960s and know something about money that was hidden in the Fordyce during the big smash-up.” Brad paused. “Shall I go on?”
Henry grunted. “Keep going.”
“Okay, you got it. So, the Fordyce was empty by then; it closed in 1962. Advances in the field of medicine meant fewer people were coming to bathe as the years passed. Quapaw closed in 1968, re-opened the next year as a health service place, and that ended in ‘84. Been empty since. Other bathhouses along the row closed in their turn after the Fordyce went, were all gone but the Buckstaff by 1985. Today people use the baths more for relaxation, muscle relief—stuff like that—and just plain enjoyment.
“Hey, if you lived here, you know all of this anyway. So, do you have the key to where their money is? I’d guess it’s a big amount, otherwise why bother?”
Henry said, “I’ve never been in Hot Springs before this week.” He felt almost normal; the drug was wearing off.
Brad sighed. “That’s kinda what I figured. They have the wrong guy, then, and aren’t you lucky? Well, it seems the man in our evil duo—Mark, she calls him—was here back then, and the woman’s father was too. During the raids. You know about those?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. So, during the raids there was a ton of gambling money and other illegal cash floating around, with bookmakers and so on hiding it, or taking it with them when they could get out ahead of the raids. I’m guessing the Hot Springs Police Department warned some people, and I suppose at least a few in the department got a sack of money themselves. We weren’t all that clean back then. Anyway, the Arkansas State Police recovered a bunch of greenbacks, but a lot probably went missing with those who got away. Some folks here figure there’s still money hidden around this area too and that most of it never will be found.
“Anyway, seems our odd couple thinks you have the key to finding their hidden money. They’ve talked about it, but what I know doesn’t come just from them. A few months ago a newspaper reporter here, name of Stephen Hunt, wrote a series of exposé articles about the old times. He didn’t mention real names—afraid of being sued, I suppose—but he gave a lot of what sounded like inside information. Conversation between these two pretty much confirms what Hunt wrote.
“Back in the naughty ‘60s four men, including Mark himself, salvaged a big wad of cash when the raiders came. Mark was a legal wizard for the Torch Club. Then there was the woman’s dad, who oversaw the floor at the club, and a couple of others who were bookmakers. I don’t think Mark knew the others all that well; it was just a marriage of convenience, so to speak, each doing his part taking the loot.
“Now Mark, he left town quick, scooted without any of the money. Wanted to save his reputation, he says. You can tell he’s big on reputation and that he thought he was better than the other three, even back then.
“The woman’s dad, undoubtedly less astute, was caught and—she says—murdered by the Hot Springs Police.
“That accounts for two in our gang of four. The other two, one of them your double, a Torch Club bookmaker named Henry King, were supposed to hide the money, then come back when it was safe and hand it out in fourths. Well, turns out this King and the second man, Victor, weren’t anxious to share. Surprised? I thought not.
“By then Mark had got himself involved in a successful—and upright—business activity in another city, and he didn’t care to endanger his esteemed reputation by re-associating with the two remaining guys who were, I suppose, crooked to the core. And of course the third man was dead already.
“From the talk I heard, King wasn’t the one who ended up hiding the money. The fourth man, Victor, did it by himself. It seemed safer, he’d got away clear and had a place picked out. He was supposed to have shared directions with King so two of the four would know. Safety in numbers. But then Victor disappeared. Hasn’t been heard of since, until—what do you know—his son shows up at the Elderhostel you’re at.
“Guess who that is? Our murdered guy, Everett Bogardus. Unusual name, hard to hide. Bogardus was dumb not to use an assumed name, but maybe he had no idea there were more people in on his father’s deal. Daddy is dead now so Everett wasn’t getting any up-to-date news.
“Anyway...I don’t know how, but Mark learned about Bogardus coming here for the Elderhostel, and that put the fox in the henhouse. Mark thought he’d let Victor’s son locate the cash, then step in and take his share. Somehow the women found out about Bogardus too, and here they both are, ready to grab.
“One thing we can maybe use is that these two yahoos aren’t bosom buddies, just partners of convenience for now. Might be possible to get them fighting each other instead of us, especially if they actually locate the money and a good old ‘It’s all mine’ argument starts.
“Or,” Brad said, “maybe we can convince them neither of us knows a thing about any money and, what’s more, neither of us cares about it or what they do with it. Something like in the crooked cop days? Do you think we could make that fly?”
He laughed. “I would like to get out of here. Man, I really gotta pee.”
That’s when they both heard footsteps and saw the faint glow of a flashlight bobbing somewhere in the distance.
Chapter XXIII
Carrie
In spite of herself, Carrie was taking notes. Her reaction to any informational meeting was to get out pen and paper, and that’s what she did as soon as the woman from the crystal mine they’d be visiting began talking.
After a few moments she realized her action might seem peculiar, even uncaring, to Eleanor, Jason, and Gwen, but it was just the opposite. Note-taking calmed her and helped focus her thoughts—not only on the crystal dig, but on the right way to help Henry. Simply sitting here stewing would cut down on logical thinking and any ability to make a plan for helping him. Therefore taking notes was the right thing to do.
Proving this, Carrie began making a list of questions concerning the need to find Henry and Brad...and, of course, a treasure seeker who was also a killer.
Or more than one? Killers?
“Questions,” she wrote. “Did someone mistake Henry for the other Henry King? Did Agent Brooks find out more that applies to people here during his research at the historical society?” And, after some thought, “Is the FBI withholding facts from us?”
She was pondering this last question when she glanced up, and her pen skidded across the page, gouging a trough. Martha Rae Jones had just walked into the room.
Carrie gaped while the woman, ice-cube cool, squeezed past tables to a chair in the front row and sat down next to Greta. Where had she been? With Marcus? With Henry?
“That’s Martha Rae Jones,” she hissed to Gwen, who raised her eyebrows and looked puzzled.
Carrie thought a minute, then turned to a clean page in her note pad and wrote, “She’s the one who’s been spending time with Marcus Trotter. The two of them were
missing at supper, remember? Her cousin Oneida told me before the meeting that Martha knew Marcus years ago, here in Hot Springs. So evidently she’s another one who has concealed a local connection. Don’t you think she and Marcus could be the ones responsible for Everett’s death and the abductions of Henry and Brad?
“I’mgoing to leave now as if I had to visit the restroom. I’ll sit in one of those armchairs facing the entrance to the Downtowner Bathhouse on this level. I noticed you can see the Crown Room door reflected in the glass of their entrance. If Martha leaves, I’ll follow her.”
She passed the note to Gwen, who scowled as she read it. Eleanor, reading over Gwen’s arm, looked at Carrie and gave a small nod. Gwen shook her head and wrote, “You can’t follow her alone—too dangerous,” then pushed the paper back.
“What, then?” Carrie wrote.
“Wait until the meeting’s over.”
“What if she leaves before it’s over?”
Gwen hadn’t replied to that when Carrie reached for the pad and pen, pushed them in her tote bag, and walked out of the room.
She went to one of the chairs facing the entry of the Downtowner Bathhouse and Spa, and was just sitting down to await events when she saw Eleanor coming out of the meeting room. Her image was clearly reflected in the glass door of the bathhouse.
Thank goodness! She’d been pretty sure Eleanor would join her, and the more she’d thought about following Martha Rae Jones by herself, the worse the idea seemed. It could be dangerous, yes, but there was an even bigger problem. If Martha did lead her to Henry and Brad—and that’s what she expected to happen—how would she summon help, especially if she was too near a dangererous situation to use a cell phone safely? At least one more person was needed to keep watch while a second notified law enforcement rangers and the FBI. There would be safety in numbers, as Gwen herself had pointed out before they came down to the meeting.
Eleanor sank into the armchair next to Carrie and said, “Gwen is almost bouncing off her seat. I don’t think she knows what to do. I’m sure she realizes it would be too obvious if all four of us walked out, so she probably won’t dare come after us. I feel sorry for her; she’s trying so hard to do a good job. She’s pretty new in the department and, I suppose, has it rougher simply because she’s female.”
Eleanor sighed.
Carrie said nothing. She was too busy pondering a plan of action.
Then Eleanor broke the silence again. “Never wanted to smoke but it would be handy now if we did. We could act like we were craving a cigarette and sit here sucking our lips into those wrinkled ovals and blowing puffs of smoke. That would give us an excuse for leaving the meeting and staying out. I don’t suppose you happen to have any cigarettes in your tote bag?”
Carrie snorted, gave her a look, and said, “Good grief, Eleanor, I do hope you’re joking. Besides, you can’t smoke in this lobby.”
After several minutes had passed, Eleanor pushed out of her easy chair and walked back to the Crown Room door, pulling it open to peer inside. Carrie heard chair-moving sounds as Eleanor trotted back across the elevator lobby. “The meeting is breaking up. Martha has snagged Greta and the two are deep in conversation. Jason and Gwen are on their way out with the rest of our group.”
Oh, golly, Carrie thought, all four of us following Martha will be about as subtle as a herd of buffalo.
In a minute the would-be trackers were in a huddle by the bathhouse door. “How about this?” Carrie said. “As soon as Martha leaves, Eleanor and I will, acting casual and chatting about...cooking or something, follow her, even get in the same elevator with her in case she goes up instead of down. I suppose Henry and Brad could actually be held prisoner right here in the hotel, but I doubt it. With the housekeeping staff so attentive, it would pose problems for sure.”
She looked at Gwen and Jason. “Why don’t you two go to the lobby downstairs and stand at the back side of the fish tank. You’ll be partially hidden there. You can follow Martha at a distance if she leaves the hotel. If you think she’s seen you, Jason, you can pretend you’re taking Gwen out to a bar or something. Martha knows Jason, of course, but I don’t think she saw Gwen in the meeting, and she probably wouldn’t recognize her in the dark anyway. I suppose it doesn’t really matter if she does recognize both of you. The way Jason talks sometimes, she might well assume he’s picked up a woman for some extra-curricular activity, and she’d have no way of knowing if Gwen is the type who would go along with that or not.”
She glanced at Jason, wondering how he’d react to her comment. She hadn’t been able to resist it. He frowned but kept his mouth shut.
Gwen’s forehead was scrunched, as if she didn’t know what to make of any of this, but she said, calmly enough, “Okay, it sounds like a good plan, considering our emergency situation. But as soon as we get downstairs, I’m going to try and reach Bell. Call me on my cell phone if you can manage it when you know where Jones is headed, assuming you don’t pass us in the lobby. We’ll provide back-up. Remember, don’t approach her if she does lead us somewhere promising. Stop where you’ll be out of sight, and we’ll catch up to you and call for help or decide what to do next.” She handed Carrie a card with a number on it, then she and Jason headed for the back stairs.
Eleanor and Carrie began an animated conversation about meatloaf recipes, with Eleanor arguing that the Times Two recipe wasn’t as good as hers. Carrie was beginning to run out of things to say about meatloaf when Martha, pulling Greta along by the arm, came out of the now empty meeting room. The two of them headed for the elevators.
“Oh golly,” Carrie said, “she’s got Greta with her. Now what?”
“We stay with the plan,” Eleanor said, walking toward the elevators as she went back to the beginning of the Times Two argument.
They made it to the elevator just as the doors began to shut. Carrie could tell that Martha had pushed the “close” button, but she bumped against the door, risking injury by pushing her arm between the closing halves.
The door moved open again, and she and Eleanor, nodding a greeting and still talking meatloaf, got in.
“Don’t know where Jason has disappeared to,” Carrie said, abandoning the meatloaf discussion. “I’ll bet he’s meeting up with Henry so they can go cattin’ around. So, Ellie, I say we have some fun too.” She turned to Greta, who was staring at her, eyes wide with surprise. “Any advice about a good bar near here?”
Greta said, “I don’t think...” but Martha poked her, and she cleared her throat, then said, “Green Olive. It’s about half a block down the street to the right.” She pointed. “Fine for single ladies. Respectable.”
Carrie said, “Thanks,” feeling a touch of sadness. Too bad Greta was involved in this mess; she’d seemed so sweet.
The elevator went down instead of up, and after they all got out in the main lobby, Carrie paused a moment to take a mirror from her tote bag. She fiddled with her hair while she and Eleanor waited to see where Martha and Greta were going.
Their quarry headed out the front door and turned left. Uh-oh, thought Carrie, wrong direction for the Green Olive.
She and Eleanor stayed close behind the other two women, and Carrie, laughing with what she hoped sounded like gay abandon, said, “Hey, Ellie, I don’t want any lady-like bar, and I don’t feel respectable. I think I saw an interesting-looking place down the street past the bathhouses when Henry and I were driving into town. Let’s try that.”
She hoped there was at least one bar in the area mentioned, but since she was a stranger here, surely no one would think it odd if she made a mistake. She did remember seeing restaurants and bars several places as she and Henry came along Central on Sunday.
That seemed like an age ago.
As they walked along the street, Carrie heard a familiar masculine chuckle from behind. Good. Gwen and Jason were keeping up.
Fortunately Martha was paying no attention to anyone but Greta, who seemed to be resisting her ideas. Martha’s tones sounded harsh,
though Carrie couldn’t hear actual words.
The two women turned off Central at the corner, taking the sidewalk uphill from Arlington Lawn. Probably a good sign. Surely there was no reason for them to be going this way unless they were headed to wherever Henry was.
Oh, no! Carrie almost said it aloud. A car! They could drive away: there were cars parked all along the side street. She hadn’t even thought of that possibility simply because they didn’t go to the hotel parking lot. Some detective she was. She should have asked Gwen to request an unmarked police car, just in case.
God, be with us, guide our steps, be with us as we find Henry, she prayed. And no car, please.
By now Carrie and Eleanor had rounded the corner too and were trying to walk more quietly and stay out of sight. Surely the other women, intent on their conversation, wouldn’t look around.
After a short climb, Martha and Greta turned right to enter the brick-paved Grand Promenade that led behind the bathhouses.
Thank you. They aren’t going anywhere in a car.
Carrie moved into the shadows by a concrete wall and pulled Eleanor with her. The women might glance back along the sidewalk as they made the turn. But neither one did. As soon as they were out of sight, she and Eleanor got back on the sidewalk and continued uphill.
Now Gwen and Jason, arms entwined, passed them and turned onto the Promenade. Martha and Greta were still within view, but Carrie and Eleanor remained partially concealed by shadows between post lights and by the amorous couple bobbing back and forth in front of them.
Suddenly both women leading the peculiar parade turned around, probably wanting to see if anyone else was in the area. Jason and Gwen stopped, looked at each other, and laughed, pretending to share a joke. Carrie had to congratulate them on their acting. It sure looked real to her. Jason’s ability to carry it off didn’t surprise her; he was undoubtedly enjoying his role, but Gwen was as good at this as he was.
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