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

by Brian Meeks

  Bobby nodded.

  Mike lead the other two down the hallway. A woman came out of one of the offices. She said hi to them as they passed. Mike tried the door, and it was unlocked. He opened it, calling as he went in, “Henry, you in here?”

  Nobody answered. It was obvious someone had been there; the drawers in Celine’s desk were open, and one had been pulled all the way out. A few papers were on the floor, the filing cabinets were open, and more papers were on the floor in Henry’s office. Mike gestured to the phone. “Call it in but don’t touch anything else. Get a team down here to dust the place.”

  Henry’s office chair was in the corner, and there was only one desk drawer open. The desk itself had been cleared off. A couple of folders were on the floor and two pencils, but everything else seemed untouched. Mike, talking out loud, but mostly to himself, said, “It looks like he found what he wanted and stopped searching.”

  Bobby couldn’t resist seeing what had happened. He stood outside the door babbling, “What a mess. Where’s Henry? It’s Friday. He always works on Friday. I hope he’s okay. He’s in trouble. I just know it. I should have never left.”

  “Bobby, go back to your office. I’ve got things under control here. When I’m done, I’ll be down to tell you what happened yesterday.”

  “Is Henry all right?”

  “Last I knew he was, but something is going on. Now, go wait for me. I need to make sure this is handled, okay?”

  Bobby nodded, whirled around, and hurried back to stand in his doorway.

  As soon as Mike had turned Henry’s office over to the fingerprint guys, he went to talk with Bobby. Bobby asked him in, and Mike stood there stunned. Along one wall stood a mountain of books. Piles of newspapers made a few thin passageways, and a table was littered with a bunch of radios. Mike could see a door to another office over a pile of papers and magazines. It was closed, but the lights were on and seemed unusually bright. “What in the world…”

  “Oh, yes, sorry about the clutter. I like books and stuff. Lots of stuff…what is going on?”

  “What is the deal with the light in the back?”

  “I like it bright. Now what about…”

  “Sorry. Thursday night…”

  One of the patrolmen came into the office and tapped Mike on the shoulder. “There’s a call on the detective’s phone. It’s the captain; he wants to speak to you.”

  “Bobby, I got to go. Keep your head down. We’ll talk later at The Dublin Rogue.”

  Bobby nodded and locked the door after Mike. Bobby didn’t like being in the dark. He was never in the dark, and this was more than he could stand. He had some calls to make. Someone had to know what was going on, and he wasn’t going to wait to find out about it until later.

  CHAPTER 17

  The realization of what Henry had done, for money none the less, made him sick. He had been bought like an expensive bauble at Tiffany’s and would be forced to continue with this charade. Celine had no such misgivings. Her lively step made Henry feel guilty about the loathing in his belly.

  They walked down the hall, their client giving a tour, pointing out various signs of wealth, their history and why it was important to have them out to be enjoyed. Of course, few people ever got to enjoy them, like they would in a museum. Henry loved art, though he hadn’t always. Before he was shown the beauty, he was of the opinion that the masters of the Renaissance painted so that the future generations of land barons would have suitable wall coverings to make their guests feel inadequate. Mrs. Palmeroy pointed to a gilded clock and explained how it had been made especially for Louis XIV. Celine cooed.

  This woman, with her long legs, considerable profile, and shiny hair, was used to getting her way. She had landed a rich husband and, no doubt, succeeded where her high school classmates had failed. Henry wondered about the first Mrs. Palmeroy. She was likely spinning in her grave at 45 RPM, cringing to the same old tune, ”Old Rich White Guy Goes Young.” He wondered how old Catherine was. Seeing her next to Celine, he imagined she must be only a few years older. They seemed to be bonding like sisters.

  Perhaps it was his own age, which was approaching the middle of his life...he hoped. Maybe the middle was long past. There were those few days during the war when he was sure that the end was not measured in years but in yards. Henry put a lid on his war thoughts. How did that sneak out? he thought.

  “Where are we heading?” Henry asked.

  With a lilt in her voice, Catherine replied, “To your room, silly. I hope you don’t mind sharing. We only have the one extra, what with all the guests coming this weekend.”

  Celine looked at Henry. She was sure what his reaction would be. She gave him a look to behave.

  Henry’s reaction wasn’t at all what she wanted. “Our room? I’m not sure I understand.”

  He did understand. She had bought a detective to show off to her friends. Henry knew the whole thing sounded too ridiculous to be serious, but she had made it just interesting enough to get him to bite. He was trout to be served to his betters, possibly with a white wine sauce.

  With a pouty look she said, “Henry, I need you here this weekend. I’m sure my husband has something planned, and I just can’t bear to go through this alone. What if something should happen to him?”

  Celine, sensing that Henry was about to snap, said, “We’re here to make sure that doesn’t happen. I’m sure Henry just meant that we weren’t prepared to stay the weekend when we arrived. We haven’t anything to wear.”

  At the mention of clothes Catherine perked up. “Oh, don’t you worry about that. I have plenty of dresses that would look divine on you, and I’m sure we can find a very dashing suit or two for Henry.” She winked at Henry.

  Henry forced a smile.

  The door to the bedroom was massive as were all of the doors along the hallway. Henry noted that there were four of them and they were shown to the second from the end. The size of the room was larger than Henry’s and Celine’s apartments combined. A giant four-poster bed tried to fill the space but failed. A couch, daybed, and two chairs made a comfortable space in the expanse between the door and the bed, but it still felt unfinished. Perhaps a basketball court would help fill it in a bit, Henry thought to himself.

  “I’ll let you two get settled. The guests won’t start to show up for a few hours. Feel free to poke about to your heart’s content. I’ll send someone to get you set with some appropriate attire.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Palmeroy. You have been very gracious,” Celine said.

  The heavy door eased its way closed. The heavy latch clicked with a finality that made Henry start to fume again. His day was shot. His whole weekend was likely to be wasted, too. There was a killer somewhere, and he had promised Mike he’d help. Henry decided to give him a call.

  Celine gave a running leap and landed on the bed. “It’s huge.”

  “You know we’re only here as a decoration,” Henry said. He sat on the edge of the day bed and took out his notebook.

  “Yes, we are and at triple the rate. This is better than a day off.”

  “I should be helping Mike.”

  “Helping him with what?”

  “A murder.”

  “Mike is smart enough to catch the killer without you,” she said, then slapped her hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded. I just meant he is a detective. It’s his job. I’m sure he will understand. Why don’t you call him.”

  Henry set the notebook down and picked up the phone on the coffee table next to the bed. He bounced the cradle up and down a few times, “That is strange. A place like this, and the phone doesn’t work.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing...or maybe...it’s a clue? The game is afoot.”

  Henry looked at her and frowned. “You’ve started reading Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, haven’t you?”

  “I read a lot of books.”

  “I’m going to go find a phone. Why don’t you start making friends with the staff.”

  “I t
hought you said the whole case was a ruse.”

  “I did, but, as you said, we’re being paid to be detectives, we might as well put on a good show.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  “Thanks, Watson.”

  Celine giggled, bounced off the bed, and went to check out the bathroom. Henry heard a squeal of approval as he left the room.

  CHAPTER 18

  Henry wandered the hallways until he noticed a young Latina woman polishing with great purpose. She didn’t see him approach. “I’ve never seen shinier brass,” Henry said quietly, so as not to startle her.

  Startled, she said “Oh, oh, yes, thank you. May I help you, sir?”

  “The phone in my room doesn’t work, and I need to make a call to the mainland.”

  “The mainland, sir?”

  Henry’s considerable charm and wit seemed to be lost on this woman. “I need to make a call. Is there a phone nearby?”

  “Si, I mean, yes, sir. Please follow me.” She picked up her brass polish can and towel and led Henry down the hall. She turned the corner without looking back, no doubt assuming Henry was keeping up. Not a reasonable assumption at all, he thought, but he was doing his best.

  She held open the door to a small closet with a phone and tiny desk inside. “I’m sorry your phone wasn’t working in your room. This one should be working just fine. It’s very reliable.”

  Henry picked up the phone and heard the dial tone. “Thanks, this will be fine.”

  She gave a nod and went back to the quiet of her polishing.

  Henry dialed and waited until he heard the voice on the other end. “Hey, Sergeant, it’s Henry. Is Mike around?”

  “No, he left about an hour ago, went out on a call. I’m not sure where, but I could ask.”

  “Nah, just give him a message for me. I got a client and may not be much help until Monday. Tell him I’m sorry.”

  “Will do!”

  Henry hung up the phone. Mike had never let him down, and now he was bailing on him. His stomach turned, but he could hear his old mentor Mickey saying, “Don’t let life get in the way of your investigation.” Henry wasn’t sure if his old friend would have been talking about the murders or the new client. Since there wasn’t anything he could do about it, he decided to take the client at her word. He would investigate and see if anything was going on with Mr. Palmeroy. Somewhere, way back in his mind a voice said, “Maybe it is real. If it is, you better be ready.”

  Henry took a moment and stood by the tiny closet turned office. The hall was empty, still, and quiet. A counter in his mind ticked away until it reached 10, and he was off. Henry found the first stairway, a small wooden passage likely used by the staff, and took it. . The stairs headed up and down, so Henry went up. The first landing opened to a sparsely decorated hall that obviously was the staff quarters. Henry counted five doors on either side. He walked casually, noting anything out of the ordinary. At the end of the hall were two stairs that led to another room and a door with a nicer knob than the rest. Third floor done and uninteresting. Henry took the stairs down to the first floor and almost stumbled over a maid who was carrying a large bag of vegetables. Henry stepped aside and she ducked through a door that let out sounds of cooking and baking. It seemed that the staff were hustling to get ready for the guests.

  It didn’t take long before Henry felt trapped inside an opulent maze, but a set of doors let him escape onto a patio with an expansive view of the grounds. A man with a wheelbarrow was collecting his tools and hauling them away. Another gardener was clipping a perfectly manicured shrubbery and seemed to be avoiding the gaze of the man with the wheelbarrow. Henry wrote down a few quick notes: -Old man, olive skin, wheelbarrow, likely head gardener -Young man, dark skin, bored, trying to avoid work.

  The summer heat didn’t seem so bad among the gussied up nature. A pigeon’s shadow arched across the patio. Henry looked up to see the bird land on the edge of the roof above him. Henry moved a little and decided the patio chair was out of range of the bird and sat down. With a fluttering of wings, the bird left, having lost interest in Henry. The long field of green looked bigger than Ebbets Field. Behind the green stood a thick woods and Henry noticed there was a stone wall covered with vines and brush. Apparently, that was the point at which the Palmeroy’s decided Mother Nature could do as she pleased.

  Henry walked onto the lawn and looked back at the house. A woman with a dog stood peering at him through the curtains. Henry could see her talking to the dog. Henry ran his hand across the brim of his hat and nodded. The woman and the dog disappeared from view.

  The disappearing woman reminded him of Luna. Henry was, at his core, a bachelor, but somehow Luna had carved out a little spot in his life, mostly through a clever use of baked goods. Now she was mad at him. Henry acted like he didn’t care, and it was an easy character to play as he generally didn’t. He was far too convincing, which made things worse. Luna was a sweet young woman, probably too young, but she was old enough to know Henry wasn’t always the guy he showed. He had masks, and she seemed to be able to get beneath them. Henry strolled towards the stone wall. He wondered if it was her on the other end of the phone last night. Not many people knew that number, and she knew that. He should have called back.

  Luna was pretty, in a girl next door sort of way. She could cook, liked books, and seemed to be able to tease Henry in ways he found adorable. She was also jealous. That revelation was new, and Henry didn’t care for it much. Dames, he thought to himself and shook her out of his head.

  The wall now held his attention. Henry walked along it, noticing a stone or two which had fallen out. He liked it for the imperfections. A dead branch lay across the wall. Henry turned and leaned back to take in the whole of the Palmeroy house.

  Let’s assume Mr. Palmeroy is planning to have himself killed for reasons known only to him. Maybe he is dying and wants to go out with a bang. Henry thought. He imagined having a high powered rifle and looked at the windows. The ones on the first floor weren’t any good because of the hill; at best, one could hit the ceiling. The second floor windows would be fine if Mr. Palmeroy were standing right up against them. It would be a tough shot, though. Henry continued to walk along the perimeter looking for possible sight lines. The long slow curve of the forest had a tiny break in it. The wooden gate was permanently open with a tiny tree growing up through it. The dirt path was too inviting not to explore. Henry was still in a bad mood, but this little path seemed to take the edge off. He considered going back to check on Celine but decided she was probably having fun. The sight of that would only ruin his mood further, so, on he went.

  The first hundred yards were well worn and led to a tiny shack. The wheelbarrow he had seen earlier was parked outside, or maybe it was a different one entirely. Henry knocked on the door but didn’t get a response. He was glad; he didn’t really want to chat. The trail headed off in two directions, one that appeared to wind back towards the house and another that continued on. The latter was definitely the “path less traveled,” so Henry took it.

  It wasn’t long before Henry’s trousers were filled with burrs and thistles. He liked the suit and would have been annoyed were he not enjoying himself so much. Heck, we’re getting a triple fee, I’ll get a new suit, he thought to himself. Henry took his jacket off and slung it over his shoulder. The thickness of the undergrowth kept any breeze at bay. It was getting steamy. The sensible thing would be to turn back. Henry looked behind him and only saw his bad mood back there. He continued on.

  CHAPTER 19

  Celine let herself be awed by the house for only a few minutes. It seemed reasonable that if she were to explore the house, she would run into staff. Celine, by her nature, was one who people seemed to open up to. When she asked someone how they were doing, she listened to their answer. If they seemed to be just giving a rote answer, she would call them on it.

  To Celine, people were the most interesting things around.

  A woman appeared in the hallway, tapping
her pencil on a clipboard, as she walked. She looked up, noticed Celine, and said, “Hello, miss, I didn’t realize the guests had started to arrive.”

  “Hello, my name is Celine. How are you today?”

  “I’m fine, miss. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Celine looked at her, head tilted. “Are you really fine? You seemed to be looking at your clipboard with ferocious intensity.”

  The woman smiled as her shoulders dipped a little. She took a deep breath and said, “I really am fine. If I must be truthful, these events can be stressful, but I like the challenge. My name is Harriet. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Now, that, I believe. This is a big house. Do you run it?”

  Harriet was unaccustomed to being acknowledged by the guests, let alone engaging in conversations with them, but Mr. Palmeroy’s first rule was to do whatever the guest wanted. If this woman wanted to talk, she would oblige, but she hoped it wouldn’t go on too long. Her clipboard beckoned. “I manage the cleaning staff.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Celine wasn’t sure what to ask next. She hadn’t really thought through her line of questioning. The lull quickly got uncomfortable.

  “Is there anything else, miss?”

  “Just one thing...please call me Celine.”

  “Mr. Palmeroy would be awfully sore if he heard me being so familiar. If you don’t mind, Celine, I’ll stick with miss.”

  “I like you. You’re a straight-shooter. How about you call me Celine when nobody is around?”

  Harriet liked Celine, too. “Okay, and you can call me Harriet.”

  Celine was satisfied and continued on her way. Harriet returned to her check list but without the ferocious look on her face.

  * * *

  The path curved and, after another hundred yards, ended at a small lake. It made sense why nobody took this trail anymore; the remnants of a dock were barely visible. It had been a long time since anyone had taken a boat out from this spot. The clearing around the dock wasn't more than ten feet across, and the sand and rocks were dirty. Henry's clothes and shoes had already taken a beating, so he turned and headed back to the house.