The Unexpected Heiress (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 1)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  I was shocked. It was Marlene, my father's private secretary. I wondered what she was doing here and if she even knew what to look for.

  Then I heard another voice. "What do you see?" It was a male voice and definitely not my father's.

  "I'm trying the bitch's bedroom."

  OK, that pissed me off. I'll admit that none of us Williamses are very lovable but that was a bit much.

  Up the stairs came a big, stocky guy. He had dark hair and was wearing a shirt that said, "McAlister Buick." And his name was Marty.

  Oh, ho. So, that's how you get a professionally cut brake line and a transmission that keeps going until it hits a brick wall.

  Old man McAlister, who was someone I remembered from childhood, was going to have a real fit. This was definitely not good for business.

  I listened as they began to tear the room apart. I tried to decide whether to corner them or let them think they were alone. I figured I had enough pieces to hand Mike for an arrest. But there were two of them and, for all I knew, one or both might be armed.

  Considering the way she was walking up the stairs, I could tell she wasn't much of a threat. But there were two kinds of stocky guys in the world: the ones who'd always been fat and had no staying power and the ones who drank too much beer and could always pack a wallop if provoked. I couldn't tell which of these Marty was, so I waited.

  Pretty soon they'd gone through the bedroom and the bathroom. He asked, "What about these other rooms?"

  "They're all empty. Who buys a brand-new house for cash and then doesn't furnish it?"

  In my mind, I answered, A woman who was taught to worship at the temple of material success during the height of the Depression when we saw men going hungry outside our house and were told not to help them or give them food or money. A woman who had the guts to go out on her own and try to make something of herself. A woman who, when presented with a shitload of cash, couldn't bring herself to spend any of it. That's who.

  And then I remembered the car, that flashy, all-new Buick Skylark convertible. And I said to Janet, "Good for you, honey. I hope you drove up and down the coast with the top down and the wind in your hair. I hope you went down to the ocean and swam and I hope you went to wild parties in North Beach. I hope you lived before you died."

  Then I had a sickening thought. It was that car that was her demise. This Marty and this Marlene... Two Ms. How cute. These two figured out she had money when she walked in and plunked down six grand all at once.

  Since Janet had no sense of how to spend large amounts of money, I imagined she just withdrew the cash at the bank, put it in her purse, probably took the streetcar, for pity's sake, and walked right in, waving 60 hundreds in the air. Just like that.

  I wondered when Marlene had come to work for my father and what that connection was. Maybe she had worked at the dealership. Maybe she'd been working for my father for years and it was just a fluke that her employer's estranged daughter should show up where Marty worked and he came home one night and said, "Honey, you won't believe what happened today. All the boys were cracking up about it." Maybe Marlene put two and two together and here we were.

  They both went downstairs and slammed the door behind them. I put the safety back on the gun, inserted it into the holster, and strapped it in.

  I was sweating in the closed room. I waited about five minutes, just to make sure, and then ran down the stairs and out into the sunshine and fresh air and ocean breezes.

  I drove over the hills, fast as I felt I could get away with, to the North District Station. I pulled into the parking lot next to the old, dilapidated building, hopped out of the car, and walked in.

  It was the usual afternoon chaos. There were a handful of miserable looking people sitting on the hard wood chairs outside the main room. Phones were ringing and someone was shouting, "Hey! Hey! Anyone hear me?" from somewhere in the back.

  I walked up to the desk and asked for Mike. The desk sergeant winked at me and picked up the phone. I wondered what that was about. He spoke down the line, listened, and then said, "Have a seat and the lieutenant will be right out." He smiled real big. It was a come-on if I'd ever seen one. I smiled back, politely, and stood against the wall.

  In about two minutes, Mike came tearing around the corner. "Come on. You got your car?"

  I followed him. "Sure. What's up?"

  He pushed through the door and out into the afternoon sunshine. "Just got a call about your dad's house. Seems like there is a disturbance going on there."

  Chapter 13

  North District Station

  Friday, May 15, 1953

  After 3 in the afternoon

  I threw him the keys. "You drive. You've got a badge." He caught them and jumped in. It was odd sitting in the passenger seat. I didn't have time to admire the view because Mike was gunning the engine. I grabbed on to the door handle and held on as he squealed out of the parking lot.

  We were zooming along and I told him what I'd found.

  His only comment was, "Breaking and entering?"

  "I'm a family member."

  I didn't mention the jewelry, but I did mention the papers.

  "Have you looked at them yet?"

  "No. I wanted to see you first."

  "So, you think this Marty guy made your sister and all her cash as a mark and then somehow this Marlene got involved?"

  "That's what I'm thinking. I don't know when she started working for my father. I have a theory, but that ain't worth nothin'. You know, until Monday, I hadn't talked to him in over five years."

  Mike stopped talking and focused on driving. A motorcycle cop caught us on Van Ness and turned his siren on. Mike waved his badge out the window and then made a series of hand signals. I'd never seen anything like it, but the cop turned off his siren and followed us.

  When we got to the top of Nob Hill, we went up Sacramento to the old family house. It sat at the corner of Taylor, across the street from Huntington Park, and was a massive pile of stone that was dated but sturdy.

  Mike pulled over in front of the house. He went back to the motorcycle cop and relayed instructions. I guessed he was calling for backup. Mike came back to me and asked, "You have your gun?" I nodded. "Is your license current?" I nodded again. "Good. You're deputized. Let's go."

  He pulled out his revolver and I did the same.

  The door was slightly ajar when we got to the top of the stairs. Mike opened the door slowly with the end of his gun. I stood behind him.

  I could hear voices. The main hall was two stories high. A staircase led up to the second floor and it was on our left. The hall then emptied into the first sitting room, which was dark. My father's office was the first room on the right from the hall. And that's where the voices were coming from.

  I heard a crash and then Marty said, "Old man, I'm losing patience with you. Where is the dough?"

  I heard my father reply, "And I am telling you for the last time, there is no money in this house."

  Now that was a lie. A useful lie. A lifesaving lie, most likely. Unless something terrible had happened to the family fortune, Marty was probably standing on top of about two million dollars in gold, cash, and bearer bonds. Janet and I had called it "the mountain." When you opened the safe, that's what it looked like inside. A mountain of all sorts of goodies. But it was almost impossible to detect where in the floor it was hidden. Besides, they would be standing on a massive Persian carpet that had been woven specifically to fit that room.

  Mike pointed his head at the room and then quietly said, "On the count of three."

  I nodded. I could feel someone behind me. It was the motorcycle cop, who also had his gun drawn. I stepped out of his way, so he could follow Mike. Let the professionals do their job is always my motto.

  Marlene was now screeching in a most unfeminine way. "I know you have the loot here, Bobby."

  I almost laughed. My father's name was Parnell Robert Williams. I'd never in my life heard or would have ever imagined hearing anyone call
him Bobby. Ever.

  My father said, "After all I've done for you, Marlene. I was going to propose." Another first. My father sounded betrayed. Usually he skipped betrayal and went straight for bitter anger.

  Mike counted softly to three. Then he and the cop moved forward into the doorway of the study.

  Mike yelled, "Hold it right there."

  "Hey!" was the intelligent reply that Marty offered.

  I pointed my gun down and waited. Mike said, "You and you. Get on the floor, face down, and put your hands out where I can see them."

  There was a pause. The other cop said, "Mister, I advise you follow the lieutenant's orders."

  Nothing happened.

  Then, suddenly, two shots exploded. I heard a thud and Marlene screamed, "You killed him. You bastard, you killed him!"

  I ran to the door and was shocked by what I saw. Parnell Robert Williams was holding a smoking gun and still pointing it at Marty, who was lying face up, his unseeing eyes looking at the intricately carved ceiling that was installed way back when.

  Mike said, "Drop the gun, Dr. Williams. Just put it down real slow and easy."

  My father complied and, as he stood up, saw me standing behind Mike. His face was contorted in an emotion I'd never seen him show before. He was sad. He was actually crying. He ran over to me and fell into my arms. "He killed my baby. He killed my baby."

  I was baffled, shocked, and felt an odd emotion that I think is called compassion. I awkwardly hugged my father and said something utterly surprising. "That's OK, Daddy. You did what you had to do." That made him cry even harder. I looked around, in a daze, and saw Mike motionless with surprise. Even the motorcycle cop was stunned.

  I looked over at Marlene who was standing in the middle of the room. She bent over Marty and started smoothing out his hair.

  . . .

  I stood there holding my father and wondering what to do next. Suddenly, I heard very familiar footsteps in the hall and a voice that said, "Dr. Williams? Are you OK?" It was Zelda. The miraculous housekeeper who, in all the years she had worked there, had stayed out of all the family business. She never complained, she never gossiped. She was amazing. I was always in awe of her ability to take care of the most miserable people God ever saw fit to put on this green earth.

  She took him out of my arms and led him upstairs. I watched a very old man and a woman, not much younger than him, walk up slowly together. It suddenly occurred to me that Zelda needed to be the next Mrs. Williams. But that was ridiculous. She was too good of a person to ever be a Williams.

  I looked at Mike who was now writing something in his notebook. "Are you going to arrest him?" I asked.

  "What I am going to do, Nick, is to call my captain. Now it's his turn." He smiled a little smile at me and began to walk towards the office phone.

  The motorcycle cop was arresting Marlene. He asked, "Should I wait for the squad car, Lieutenant?"

  Mike stopped next to me and said, "Yes. I'm about to call down there. Secure the prisoner in one of those chairs. Make sure you take down anything she says. Anything."

  I said, "Marlene, I'm not a lawyer, but don't say anything."

  She looked up at me with a surprised look and just nodded.

  I heard the cop mutter, "Amateurs."

  Mike leaned in and whispered to me, "You have a date tonight. When I need your statement, I'll call you. Now get out of here before my captain arrives. Go! Vamoose!"

  I nodded and pulled on his arm. "Mike. Thanks."

  He just smiled and put his hand to my face. "You'll be fine, kid. Talk to you soon."

  I nodded and slipped out the door. I stood in the front hall and looked around this ghost of a house and could hear so many sounds from long ago, but mostly I could hear Janet laughing like she did before she knew that laughter was not allowed in that house.

  Chapter 14

  137 Hartford Street

  Friday, May 15, 1953

  A quarter after 6 in the evening

  Somehow, we were ready to go at 6:15. I don't know how we did it. But we got it together.

  When I walked in the door, Carter was waiting in the living room. I said, "We know who killed Janet." I fell into his arms and cried for about a minute. That was all I could do.

  We walked upstairs together. He used me instead of his cane, which was nice and comforting.

  Once we were showered and dressed, I asked, "Should I call Marnie?"

  "No. I'll call Marnie. You go down and get the car ready."

  I nodded and went outside then realized I had no idea what he meant. I looked at the car. It looked fine. Then I thought about Twin Peaks.

  I pulled back the driver's seat to see if there was any trash back there. I found a pop bottle from some unknown source. And a piece of paper. Suddenly, I realized I had never looked at the papers I'd found at Janet's house.

  I looked up the stairs to see Carter coming out the door. He looked magnificent. He was wearing a new suit. It was perfectly cut for him. I sighed and decided that those papers could wait.

  I got in the car and started the ignition. I patted the dashboard and said, "Thanks, baby, for driving so fast today. We'll take it slow tonight."

  Carter got in the other side and asked, "Who are you talking to?"

  "The car. I was thanking it for driving 70 up Van Ness today."

  Carter whistled. "Why don't you tell me about it while we drive up there?"

  It was only then that I realized that we were going back to Nob Hill. Everything in the City seemed to revolve around the intersection of California and Mason. It was the crossing of those two particular cable car lines. It's where the Fairmont reigned as princess to the queenliness of the Mark Hopkins. Or maybe that was kingliness, since it had a masculine name.

  As we drove up Market to Van Ness, I told Carter everything. By the time we were making a right on California, I was to the part where my father shot Marty. Carter was impressed. Then I told him the part after that and he was stunned.

  "He cried? You called him Daddy?"

  "I know. It's amazing, isn't it?"

  We were behind a cable car and it stopped to pick up passengers. I just waited. I loved to follow cable cars up California Street. They just looked so improbable and yet perfectly formed. They were the heart of San Francisco, moving up and down hills that were too steep for anything else. And everyone loved them. Everyone who wasn't in a hurry that is, as was demonstrated by the honking Fairlane behind me who kept thinking if he honked long and hard then the cable underground would move faster. It didn't.

  . . .

  We left the car with the keys in it and I handed the kid a five and asked, "Can you keep it ready? We'll be about an hour and a half, I think." He looked at the five and smiled broadly. "Sure thing, mister!"

  I remembered the hundred I owed Marcel. And I didn't have it with me. As the doorman opened the door for us, I asked Carter, "Could you loan me a hundred bucks, big guy?"

  I knew he kept two of the big bills in his wallet at all times.

  "Ooh! Big spender. Watcha buyin'?"

  "What I am buying is the best table at the Top of the Mark. A table, I might add, that my vast wealth and notable charm stole from one Mr. George Hearst and his charming wife Collette and one Mr. Randolph Hearst and his equally charming wife Catherine."

  "Sweet justice."

  "Yes, indeed. Now hand over the dough. Otherwise we'll be eating with the staff, which I'm sure would be fun but wouldn't get the job done here."

  Carter reached into his wallet and handed me one of his big bills. It was nicely folded and warm from being against his handsome body.

  "What is the job tonight, Nick?"

  "At first, it was to shake down Ben White and find out how he arranged getting Taylor Wells all that special treatment Sunday night."

  "But now?" Carter was scanning the crowded lobby.

  "Now I'm feeling much more generous. Let's see if we can't just get these two hitched. How about that?"

  "That'
s fine. Just fine."

  Martinelli saw us and waved. He was a bit taller than me and had wonderfully classical Italian good looks. He had thick, wavy, dark hair, black eyes, big, sensual lips, and an easy smile. He obviously was following the same physical plan as Carter because he was covered in muscles. He also must have known a good tailor because he looked like a million bucks in the suit he was wearing. I particularly liked the dark amethyst tie he'd chosen. It was a perfect match to his light olive skin and dark eyes.

  "Hi Nick. Good to see you." He shook my hand firmly.

  I smiled and said, "Thanks for joining us tonight." Suddenly I realized I didn't know his first name.

  I looked up at Carter who was grinning at me. "Carlo."

  Martinelli said, "Or Carl. Either one is fine."

  I nodded and said, "Carlo. Good to see you again."

  He and Carter shook. I looked at my watch. It was five minutes until seven.

  I said, "Let's go up. We're going to meet Ben at the bar."

  The elevator operator was a smartly-dressed woman. She had on a bright red uniform with bright brass buttons. This was topped with a red, square cap.

  The three of us were the only ones in the car. She looked us over and said, "Top of the Mark, of course."

  We laughed and Carter said, "Good guess."

  She looked at us shrewdly. "So, which two are the couple and which is the blind date?"

  We all laughed again. "Psychic?" I asked.

  "Nope. Just been doing this a while." She looked at Martinelli and said, "You must be the one the other two are fixing up. And I think I know who you're here to meet." The door opened.

  She said, "That blond man, with the martini. That's him, I bet."

  I handed her one of the folded fives I had remembered and said, "Thanks. We didn't know what he looked like. Perfect."

  She took the five and tipped her red hat at me. "Enjoy the show!"

  We stepped into the bar. I walked over to the blond man and asked, "Are you Ben?"

  He looked up. He was lean. Probably a couple inches shorter than me. His blond hair was thinning on top but it looked premature. He was probably 30. He had freckles, a big smile, and a warm face. His blue eyes sparkled under the dim lights above the bar.