Henry Wood Detective: Boxed Set (Books 1 - 4)

by Brian Meeks

  Mrs. Palmeroy waved to her while she continued talking, “Yes, I went to his office this morning. I just got back a little while ago. No. Why do you say that?”

  Harriet quickly made her rounds of the room. Though the staff was generally ignored, Harriet didn’t want her employer to think she was listening in on the call. In less than 30 seconds she was done. She said, “Looks good in here.” She paused for a response, her hand resting on the door knob.

  Mrs. Palmeroy gave a casual nod and kept talking, “Yes, you are quite right. I should have mentioned it, but I don’t see how that matters.”

  Harriet eased the door closed behind her and paused to reexamine the vase of flowers.

  “How should I know?” Mrs. Palmeroy said in a louder voice. “I said it exactly like you told me to, and he took the case, so what are you getting so sore about?”

  Harriet was curious, but she was also a perfectionist and she had to get to the grocery. She left the vase and headed down the hall. Before she reached the end of the hall, she heard Mrs. Palmeroy slam the phone down. It looks like it might be an interesting weekend, she thought.

  CHAPTER 9

  “You are here early today, old boy,” said Peter Witherspoon as he sat in the high back, leather chair next to Dwight Palmeroy’s.

  “Yes, I am. I’m learning to stop and smell the roses,” he said. He smiled as he reached out to shake his friend’s hand. “My schedule suddenly cleared up, and I decided to leave.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “I canceled all my afternoon appointments,” Dwight said with a wink. “You and Lillian are joining us for the weekend?”

  “We wouldn’t miss it for the world. Lillian tells me you have something cooked up to keep us entertained.”

  “I have a few tricks up my sleeve. It should be jolly good fun as they say across the pond.”

  A young man dressed in white and wearing gloves approached and stood waiting for their order. He would not speak until spoken to. Both men ordered brandies and cigars.

  “ I’m sure the weekend will be another smashing success,” Peter said as he opened the Wall Street Journal with a snap.

  Both men returned to their reading.

  Peter Witherspoon was the president of the fourth largest bank in New York. His family had been in banking for three generations and had been friends with the Palmeroy’s for close to 100 years. Peter was a few years older than Dwight and nearing retirement. He read the financials because it’s what men in his position did.

  His son Peter Jr. had been groomed to take over the family business from the age of 22 and fresh out of Harvard. After 20 years of teaching his son all he knew, Peter finally gave over the reins. Peter the II, who would also be a guest at the Palmeroy’s, was a competent steward of the family fortune, and his father had grown content with his decision.

  The brandies were delivered in Baccarat crystal snifters. Neither man acknowledged the young man waiting on them. He set each glass down and melded into the background. The cigars would be brought by another man in white. The room, stately, with an odor of privilege, was long with an ostentatiously high ceiling. It was a room where a man could relax. He could discuss business with a colleague or hide from his wife. It was an oasis away from the world. The membership rolls included most of the old money in the city. Located in a very old building with a rather modest façade, it was designed to not attract attention. There were few people in New York who even knew the club existed. The waiting list was measured in years, and women were absolutely forbidden.

  As five o’clock neared, more of the chairs were occupied, and the monastic quiet shifted to a modest murmur. More young men in white zipped about and fetched the vice of choice for each patron. A man stopped and chatted with Peter for a moment, then moved on to find his own nook.

  “When did he become a member?”

  Peter set down his paper. “Congressman Cellar is here with Thompson. I think they went to law school together. He’s helping him press some flesh.”

  “Do they ever stop campaigning?”

  The question went unanswered as Peter knew better than to get into a political discussion with Dwight. Twenty years ago he would have enjoyed the debate but now those sorts of exercises bored him.

  Dwight was disappointed that Peter didn’t take the bait. He took a sip of his brandy and folded his paper, setting it on his chair. Before he could find someone interested in a little political jousting, a young man in white appeared with a folded piece of paper on a silver tray. The note simply said, “Meet us in the lobby -Associate 2 & 3.” Dwight forgot about finding an argument; he suddenly felt self-conscious. He thanked the man in white and excused himself. Peter nodded.

  Dwight wanted to see if anyone was watching but thought that looking around would call attention to him. He didn’t want that. Trying to be casual, he strolled out of the main room and to the elevator. The doors seemed to take forever to open. When they did, he was relieved to see it empty. The needle swung from four to one. A bell rung briefly, and the doors opened onto a modest lobby with a few groupings of chairs and a small desk with a security guard. Two men, in dark suits and fedoras, stood near the door looking like statues.

  Dwight, who was always the one in control, felt like a child being sent to the principal’s office. He stole a glance at the security desk and was relieved to see the man reading a Sports Illustrated and generally ignoring Associates 2 and 3. Dwight had never met these men, but he knew them. He had hoped this meeting would never happen, but an unforeseen wrinkle in his plans had made it unavoidable.

  The men didn’t speak nor did they extend a hand as he approached. Dwight pointed towards a group of chairs in the corner, “Why don’t we talk over there.”

  Both men took their seats and sat quietly waiting for Dwight to address the reason they had been forced to show up. The silence hung over the table for a moment. Dwight whispered, “I don’t know why you are here…our business is finished.”

  “Yes, you do, and no, it isn’t.”

  “We had an agreement, and, as far as I’m concerned, that’s it.”

  “You were made aware when we began that if there were any complications, you would incur the extra costs associated with closing out the contract.”

  “It wasn’t my fault.”

  “We’re not here to assign blame, but this detective Henry Wood is becoming a problem. Until the issue is resolved, we’re still on the clock so to speak. We will require an additional $10,000 by the end of business tomorrow.”

  “$10,000?!”

  Both men stood up. The one who had been speaking said, “It is non-negotiable. Don’t make us send someone to collect.”

  The steeliness in the man’s voice sent a shudder of fear through Dwight. It was a feeling he was unaccustomed to. As they left, he remained in the chair for a long time, waiting for his hands to stop shaking.

  CHAPTER 10

  The walk back to the office had cleared Henry’s head. He didn’t even bother turning on the lights. He opened the desk drawer and removed the gun. A quick check, and he snapped the drawer closed, tucking the gun in his waist band.

  Henry locked up the office and walked down the hall, pausing at Bobby’s door. It was rare when he couldn’t hear him scurrying about inside. As a rule, Henry liked Bobby, but there were times when Bobby’s overly exuberant chatter wore on his nerves. Today, however, he thought it might be helpful to get a dose of Bobby’s optimism. Henry knocked and shrugged at the silence.

  There weren’t many people in the lobby as he walked out. Henry usually lived in the city but had a house in Brooklyn that few people knew about. It was his cave where he could escape, and the last 24 hours were ones he would just as soon forget. He couldn’t forget, though. The drive to his house was uneventful.

  The point of his Brooklyn home was to be a place he could go and mostly be alone. Luna was the only person who ever spent time there, and she had been scarce of late. Today, being alone weighed him down. The air was
stale and hot, so Henry opened a few windows. When was the last time I was here? Henry thought to himself. He wasn’t sure.

  Henry walked down to the basement. His workshop, covered in sawdust and tools, felt like home. A project didn’t immediately come to mind, so he straightened up a bit. This little workshop was where his life went careening off the comfortable solitary path he had been on for years. Last year, he had given the shop a thorough cleaning and had found a closet behind a stack of boxes left behind from the previous owner. When he looked inside, it was remarkably clean. Henry found the cleanliness odd but was pleased to have the extra storage space. The next day when he went to put some old tools in the closet, it wasn’t empty. There was a brand new router, with instructions and a nice case, and a magazine about using the router. It didn’t look like any magazine he had ever seen, and the people in the photos all looked odd. Their clothes struck him first. He started to notice the other tools in their shops, and they didn’t look right, either. The ads seemed strange, too.

  Henry sat at his workbench and flipped through the pages never thinking that someone had snuck into his house and left it for him. That would have been the obvious answer, but he never left the house open, and his locks were solid. If someone had broken in, he would have known.

  At that point in Henry’s life, he didn’t have many clients, which suited his nature. Mostly he took jobs chasing cheating husbands with his camera. It left him time to hang out at bars, spend time in his shop, and generally ignore the world. He was happy…ish. When he flipped back to the page inside the cover and scanned for the copyright date, it explained why everything seemed alien to him. The date read 2007.

  That night, he made dinner and sat at his kitchen table considering what the magazine and tool meant. Telling someone that he had a tool and magazine from the future seemed like a bad idea. Nobody would believe him even if he showed them the date. He considered the possibility that some might believe him, and he didn’t like that, either. He eventually reached the conclusion that there were some things beyond his grasp and put it out of his mind.

  Since then, there had only been a handful of times he found new stuff in the closet, but all of the items were from some point in the future. Every time he found something new in the closet, it seemed to nudge him in the right direction on his current case. Whoever was sending him stuff didn’t seem inclined to just tell him where to look, perhaps they had a good reason. He wasn’t sure. The closet waited.

  Henry reached out and grabbed the handle. He turned it, slowly pulled the door open, and peered inside. It was empty. Henry felt empty, too. The voice in his head pointed out he hadn’t eaten in a long time and that he should fill the emptiness with some Chinese food. Henry went back to the kitchen.

  As he reached for the phone, it rang. It startled Henry, and he hesitated to answer. It only rang once, and, when Henry picked up, the person was gone. He decided to make an egg sandwich and go to bed. Tomorrow would be better.

  CHAPTER 11

  Henry stood at the stove about to make bacon and eggs for breakfast. Henry wanted to start helping Mike on his two murders, but he needed to look into his new client’s husband. If he wanted to get things wrapped up quickly for Mrs. Palmeroy, he would need a hand. After he flipped the strips of bacon, he picked up the phone and dialed Celine’s number.

  “Hello,” said the sleepy voice across the line.

  “Celine, Henry here. I hate to do this but…”

  “Hi, Henry, this is Carol.”

  “Oh, sorry, Carol. Is Celine up?”

  “She is, but I think she’s in the shower. At least, I hope it’s her in the shower.”

  “Could you give her a message for me, please?”

  Carol started giggling. “Sure, Henry, let me find a pen.”

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I think Buttons heard me speaking to you. He hopped up on the back of the couch and is now nudging me in the back of the head. I think he wants to say ‘hello’,” she said. Henry heard a long meow.

  “Hello, Buttons, have you enjoyed your week off?” Henry asked, not feeling at all silly talking to his secretary’s cat. Buttons had become a fixture at the office and had even lent a paw in helping solve the last case. The furry, black feline had made it clear that he was to be treated as the boss and should be consulted in all major Henry Wood Detective Agency decisions. He had not been consulted about the week off. He gave a sharp ‘mew’, hopped off the couch, went over to the plant in the corner, and pretended to ignore the rest of the call. Carol laughed.

  “Henry, I don’t think Buttons much cared for the week off. He is blatantly ignoring us now. Oh, wait, the shower has stopped. Hold on…”

  “Hey, boss, have you been lost without me?”

  “Are you talking to me or Buttons?”

  She groaned. “He has been almost unbearable with his complaints. He hasn’t let me sleep in once. I’ve explained that we don’t need to go to work, but he won’t listen. Today, he woke me out of a lovely wine induced dream with a rather rude bat to the head.”

  “He’s dedicated. I’ll give him that. I hate to do it, but I think I’ll need you to work today.”

  With excitement in her voice she asked, “What’s going on? Do we have a case?”

  “Yes, we do. I’ll tell you all about it when I pick you up.”

  “You don’t need to do that, but thanks. I can get to the office just fine,” she said.

  “I don’t need you at the office. I need your help talking to the client’s staff.”

  A squeal almost escaped Celine’s lips. “You’re taking me out into the field to help on a case?”

  “Yes, I am, if you’re interested.” Henry waited. There was a long pause.

  “It’s about time you took advantage of my considerable woman’s intuition.”

  “We’re heading out to the Palmeroy’s place. I’ll be there within the hour.”

  “Sounds good, boss,” she said. Henry could hear her grinning from ear to ear.

  “You’ll have to tell Buttons that he can’t come along,” Henry said jokingly.

  “I’m not telling him,” Celine said and then whispered, “You can break the news to him when you get here.”

  Henry laughed a little and said goodbye.

  The bacon was ready, and he had started the eggs while talking to Celine. Henry added a couple of pieces of toast to the menu. With a cup of coffee in hand, he started to jot down the questions he wanted to ask and made a list of questions Celine should ask the staff. When he left Brooklyn and headed for Celine’s place, he was sure they would make quick work of the Palmeroy case.

  He might have, too, if he had remembered to check his closet before he left. A single diamond earring, wrapped in a monogrammed handkerchief, had arrived while he slept.

  CHAPTER 12

  Opening the morning paper, Peter Witherspoon sat across from his wife Lillian as they enjoyed breakfast in the garden. Poached eggs, toast, marmalade and a special blend of coffee made for a lovely start to the weekend. Lillian, feeding treats to her Pomeranians, Sissy and Smooches, asked, “Are you going into the office today, dear?”

  Not looking up, Peter replied, “Yes, I thought I’d pop in. It’s important to keep up appearances.”

  “Shall I have Alice pack for you?”

  “Yes, dear, that’ll be fine.”

  She turned her attention back to the dogs. “Here you go, Smooches.” As she fed him another treat, she said, “Mommy loves her precious puppies.”

  “You’re not bringing those infernal little beasts with us this weekend?”

  “I most certainly am,” she declared, lifting Sissy to her lap for more doting. “You and Smooches will be the hit of the party, won’t you? Do you want to go to the party with your mommy?”

  “Do tell Alice to remember my smoking jacket.”

  “I hate it when you smoke those stinky cigars. It smells up everything, even little Smooches and Sissy.” She stood, still carrying Sissy. Her fl
owery dress billowed around her. “I’ll be in the garden. See that you don’t doddle around the office too long, dear. We mustn’t be late, you know.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  She walked to the garden with one of the staff in tow. Mrs. Witherspoon enjoyed her garden but needed supervision as she was getting a little forgetful. She had her good days and others where she seemed to get lost in thought. After a lifetime of devoting herself to the most fashionable charitable causes, she was well liked by the society crowd, and they continued to include her in all the major social gatherings. There had been a few people who had begun to snicker at some of her recent donations. She sent one charity, which she had donated to every year for the last 50, a check for $10.00 and had written in the memo, “Happy Birthday – Love, Gran.” The snickering had reached Peter through the grapevine. He reacted with fury. He called the president of the charity and demanded he be in his office in 30 minutes. When he arrived, he unleashed a tirade that was no laughing matter.

  The next day, a hand delivered thank you note had arrived for Mrs. Witherspoon. She was delighted.

  Mr. Witherspoon, though not the wealthiest banker in New York, was near the top. Few people had his business savvy or reputation for ruthless decision making. Since he had handed over the business to his son, he had cut back on his daily responsibilities considerably, but he was still privy to the details of every major deal or transgression that happened in the five boroughs.

  A few years ago, word came to him that Mr. Dwight Palmeroy III had been seen with a breathtaking and curvaceous woman, twice. A public scandal would have been bad for Dwight’s reputation, company and any bank, including Peter’s, holding loans to that company. The affair was ended, and word never got out though there was still one person who knew about the transgression. It made Peter nervous.