"We're going to the New Albany Hotel."
"Uh huh. That's a fine establishment." He stood there for a moment and took us all in.
"Where y'all comin' in from?"
I said, "Houston." Not exactly right but I knew that news would spread fast. Better to lay low as much as possible. I hadn't mentioned it to Carter but, from what I'd heard, this little town wouldn't necessarily welcome us both with open arms. They all knew about Carter and Henry and that the two had run off together in the dead of night.
"Houston? That right?" Bert looked like he didn't quite believe me. He glanced up at Carter and a curious look crossed his face as he did. He looked back at me and seemed to make up his mind about something.
He looked right at Carter and said, "Sorry 'bout your daddy."
Carter nodded. "Thanks. How're you, Bert? How's Juanita?"
Of course. I should have guessed that Carter would know everyone.
"She's good. Got our fourth on the way. Course she's grumpy these days what with the weather and all."
Captain Riddle spoke up. "Is there another taxi in town we could call?"
Bert took off his hat and scratched his head. "Well, most everyone's out on runs right now, I'd imagine."
Riddle bristled. "Well, is there anyone we could call?"
Bert said, "Tell you the truth, there is another taxi nearby. Waskom's. But that's for colored."
Riddle said, "I don't care. How do I get hold of them?"
"You could call the operator and she'll put you in touch, but--"
Before Bert could finish, Riddle stomped away back into the terminal.
Bert shook his head. "You know how it is here, Carter. That ain't gonna go down very well. I can call my brother. You remember T.J., right?"
Carter nodded. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't unhappy.
"I could call him. Save us all a whole lotta trouble."
Carter said, "I'll go take care of it. You take the three of them to the hotel first. I'll call T.J. and he can come get Nick and myself."
Bert looked at me. "Nick," he said quietly as he blinked in the harsh noonday light.
. . .
We got the two captains and the stewardess loaded into Bert's cab while Carter tracked down T.J. I told Captain Riddle that I would call ahead to the hotel and let them know the three of them were on the way so they wouldn't have to wait for us.
As Bert's Ford sped off, I walked back into the terminal. Carter was just hanging up. "T.J. is on his way." He shook his head.
"What?"
"He's a crazy S.O.B." Carter's accent was already getting thicker.
"What does that mean?"
"Means we're puttin' our lives into his hands with him drivin'."
"Well, I was thinkin' we could have him take us someplace where we could rent a car. That'll be a lot easier."
Carter nodded.
I picked up the phone again.
"Operator. Aren't y'all settled yet?"
I laughed. "No. I need The New Albany Hotel."
"Deposit ten cents, please."
I did that, listened as the bell rang telling the operator I had done so, and waited for the connection to be made.
A sweet female voice answered. "New Albany. May I help you?"
"This is Nick Williams. You should have a reservation for me. Two suites and a deluxe room."
"Yes, Mr. Williams. When do you expect to arrive?"
I explained the situation. The voice on the other end said that she would go ahead and check in the others and that we could settle up the rest once Carter and I arrived. I thanked her and hung up.
. . .
I was just finishing up a Camel when a cherry red Dodge Coronet pulled up in front of the terminal building, wheels squealing. The man who was driving it was grinning from ear to ear. Leaving the motor running, he jumped out and said, "Well, goddam! Carter Jones! Never thought I'd see the likes of you again." He gave Carter a big handshake and pulled him into a quick back-slapping hug. "Sorry about your daddy. Who's this?"
In the previous couple of months, Carter and I had been to L.A. and Mexico. We had come across some interesting characters along the way. But this guy beat everyone by a mile.
T.J. was about 6'1", had fiery red hair, bright blue eyes, and was dressed in dungarees and a white t-shirt which was cleaner than this weather made seem possible. His hair was long and combed over in such a way that gave it a couple of waves. I knew he never washed it. He probably just rubbed in more pomade every day.
On the one hand, he was a sexy man. There was no doubt about that. On the other hand, he was a walking warning to women and men everywhere. A perfect Kinsey 3.5. Right in the middle, ready for anything, and a whole lotta problems in one very hot package.
I looked over at Carter to see how he was gonna react.
"This is my partner, Nick."
T.J. stuck out his hand. "Nick. I'm T.J." We shook. His touch was electric. "You met my brother Bert, I take it. I'm the black sheep." He looked over at Carter and said, "Right?"
Carter nodded and didn't really smile. There must have been some story there. That was obvious.
T.J. went around to the back of the car and popped the trunk. He grabbed our bags and threw them in quickly. He slammed the trunk closed, ran around to the driver's side, got in, and slammed that door closed. "Get in, y'all. Let's make tracks."
Carter got in the passenger side. I got in the back behind him. I wanted to keep an eye on this guy. Something about him made me suspicious.
He put the car in gear and peeled out.
. . .
T.J. took us to the local Buick dealer. This was the only place that rented cars that he knew of. He waited with Carter while I went inside.
"George Johnson. How can I help you?" The florid man stood where he was and didn't offer to shake. There were a couple of other salesmen on the floor and a secretary sitting at a desk. They had all stopped what they were doing when I walked in.
"Nick Williams. I'd like to rent a car for a week or so."
"Rent a car?" The man looked at me as if I had asked to rent an igloo.
"Yes. Rent a car. I understand that you offer rentals."
He looked outside and then back at me.
"Yes. But we tend to only do so for people we know. I'm sure you understand. It's more of a courtesy, really."
I looked at the man for a long moment. He was obviously trying to get rid of me. I looked around at the other people in the room who were plainly staring. As I did so, they all glanced away.
I looked around the showroom to see what they had. I'd seen a Skylark out on the lot. It was baby blue with a white convertible top.
"That Skylark outside?"
"Yes? What about it?"
"How much is it?"
One of the other men snickered.
"Well, that's one of our most expensive models. Top of the line."
I nodded. "Yes. My sister used to own one. Nice car."
The man nodded but said nothing. I waited for two beats and then asked again, "So, how much is it?"
"Oh, I couldn't tell you off-hand."
"Is there someone who could?"
"Charlie!"
One of the other men walked over. "Yeah?"
"How much is that baby blue Skylark?"
Charlie scratched his head. "Couldn't be any less than seventy-five hundred."
"I'll take it." I reached into my coat and pulled out my checkbook.
"Beg pardon?" asked Mr. Johnson.
"I said that I'll take it. If you could draw up a contract, I'll hand my check over to your secretary and she can call to verify funds."
Mr. Johnson looked over at the secretary. She shrugged.
"I'll have to make a call. I think I may have that car promised to someone else. If you'll wait here, I'll be right back."
I nodded. As he walked to the back of the showroom, I moved over to the secretary's desk. I tore out a check and gave it to her. "Call information for San Francisco. The number you want is f
or Bank of America Trusts Department. The person you want to talk to is Joseph Young." She stared at me for a moment before snapping back to herself.
"Could you repeat all that so I can write it down?" I nodded and did just that.
. . .
About thirty minutes later, we drove up to The New Albany Hotel in our brand-new baby blue Buick Skylark.
A Negro porter came around to unload our bags. He was just my height, probably 22 or so, with mocha skin and intense black eyes. I asked him, "Where do I park?"
"Oh, don't you worry, sir. I'll park it for you." He looked at the car for a moment. "This new?"
I nodded and said, "The keys are in the ignition." I handed him a folded five and then walked inside with Carter.
The exterior of the six-story hotel was probably thirty years old. I put the building at 1920 or so. But the inside was modern and well-appointed. We walked up to the front desk. A blonde woman of about 30 asked, "How may I help you?"
"Nick Williams. Checking in."
She smiled and nodded. "Hello, Mr. Williams. Welcome to the New Albany. Have any trouble getting here?"
I wasn't sure what the answer to her question was, so I paused. Before I could say anything, Carter spoke up. "Hello, Eileen."
The woman looked up and did a double-take. "Why, Carter Jones! Don't you look just as handsome as always." A concerned look crossed her face. "I am so sorry about your daddy." She looked at me and then looked back at Carter. I watched her face as it betrayed some sort of inner struggle. Finally she seemed to settle on something. I wasn't sure what.
"I have you in The Presidential Suite, Mr. Williams. I put Captain Morris and his wife in The Governor's Suite. Captain Riddle is in The Savannah Room."
She looked over at Carter and said, "The Presidential Suite has two bedrooms, so you'll have plenty of room to spread out." She told us all about the restaurant, room service, and laundry service in case we needed it. We were there for a funeral, after all.
"How will you be settling your bill?"
"I have a Diners' Club card."
"Oh, we don't take those. But we do take a check. Or cash, of course."
I said, "Check it is."
"Let me get my manager. One moment." She turned and walked through a door in the back.
I looked up at Carter. Since we'd landed, I had seen some expressions on his face that I didn't recognize. This one looked like melancholy.
Just at that moment, a short and stout man came out from the back door and crossed to the counter with Eileen bringing up the rear.
"Mr. Williams. My name is Elliot Smith. I'm the manager of the hotel. Welcome to the New Albany."
I nodded and said, "Thanks."
"Now, Eileen has told me that you will be paying by check, is that correct?"
"Yeah."
"May I see one, please?"
I pulled out my checkbook and handed it over to him.
"Bank of America. That's out of San Francisco." He looked closer. "Trusts. Oh, yes, I see." He pointed to something and showed that to Eileen. "See this? That's what you want to look for." I had no idea what made these checks magical. And I didn't really care.
"That's fine, Mr. Williams. Your credit is good with us. Enjoy your stay." With that, he walked off.
Eileen smiled. She handed me a key and then handed Carter another key. "I figured, two bachelors, you probably want your own keys."
I just nodded.
. . .
After we got settled into our sixth-floor suite, I suggested we go back downstairs to find some lunch. Christine, the stewardess, hadn't anticipated needing to serve us lunch on the plane and so we were both hungry.
We walked into the restaurant a little after 2 and found Captain Morris and Christine sitting at a table for two. I walked up.
"Are you all set?" I asked.
The captain stood up. "Oh, yes. We've got a swell suite. Nice room. Best accommodations I've ever had that I can remember."
"Except for last night," interjected his wife.
The captain nodded. "Yes! That room was amazing. Did you see that the television even had a little box where you could change the channels from the bed?"
I nodded even though we had been otherwise occupied and so hadn't noticed anything like that. Besides, I disliked television on principle.
"Wanted to make sure you're OK."
The captain sat down again. Christine said, "We are. Thank you, Mr. Williams. Did you get here OK?"
I laughed. "Mostly. T.J. is a middle-aged juvenile delinquent who drives too fast. He took us to the Buick dealership because he thought they rented cars. Turns out they do, but only to customers, so I bought a Skylark."
The captain and his wife looked incredulous. "Really?" he asked.
Carter said, "Yes, really. This is a very small southern town. Very. But cash talks. Most of the time." He looked grim when he said that.
Christine looked at me but didn't say anything. Her face was full of concern. In a low voice, the captain said, "If you two run into any trouble, don't hesitate to let me know. I've already told Riddle that we need to make sure that plane is ready to take off whenever you're ready to go."
Christine looked around the room. "Be safe."
I nodded. When I glanced up at Carter, he looked even grimmer.
Chapter 4
New Albany Hotel, Suite 601
Friday, July 17, 1953
A little after 4 in the afternoon
This was the hard part. Once we got past this moment, I knew everything would work out. I stood by the windows, looking out over downtown from the top of the New Albany Hotel, and waited for Carter to decide whether to pick up the phone or not.
From the sixth floor, I could see the row of shops a couple of blocks away where we'd just been. The local haberdasher had not been busy when we walked in to buy some summer-weight clothes. We picked up some shirts, ties, and other sundries. The tailor had promised to have coats and trousers ready on Saturday afternoon. We had brought light-weight black silk suits for the funeral, so we were set for that. We'd also picked up a couple of straw hats for us both. Fortunately, they had Carter's size in everything, so the whole transaction had only taken about an hour.
I turned back to look at Carter. His forehead was creased in worry. We'd been down some hard rows before, but this might be the hardest. Not only had he lost his father without being able to say goodbye, but now he had to confront his mother, a woman he didn't trust. And with his male lover in tow, no less.
I pulled my battered pack of Camels out of my pocket and realized I was out. I looked out the window again into the searing heat of the Georgia sun and waited. I wasn't going anywhere.
The hum of the air conditioner in the window in the corner was making me feel sleepy. Or maybe I just wanted to go to sleep and be done with all of this. As I stood there, one thought arose from the deepest recess of my mind: at least Carter knows where his mother is. I pushed it back down where it belonged.
At that moment, I heard Carter say, "Can you call J-73 for me?"
There was a pause. "Oh, I see. Well, can you find the number for Mrs. Wilson Jones?"
Another pause. "Thank you."
I had no idea that his father's name was Wilson. I wondered, based on the odd naming conventions used by sons of the South, whether Carter was the second son of a second son.
Of course, Carter was now the only son. His older brother, Robert, had died on Guam during the war.
"Hello?"
There was a long pause. I heard Carter take in a deep breath. I turned and saw that he was crying.
. . .
The home of the late Mr. Wilson Jones was a solid Craftsman affair that looked like it dated from the middle of the prosperous 20s. It was painted a dull brown with white trim. A broad porch covered the front of the house and rose up from a wide set of granite steps lined with pots of flowers, strangely bright and alive in the buzzing heat of the afternoon.
I pulled the Buick into the driveway
that was really just two dirt strips on the right side of the lot. The front door was open with a wood-framed screen door closed to keep out the flies and let in the breeze. Not that I had felt a single flit of a breeze since we'd stepped off the plane earlier in the day. If anything, it was hotter here than it had been in Ensenada back in May. At least that beachfront town had the Pacific Ocean to cool it off.
As I turned off the engine, I asked, "Are you ready?"
"No."
I nodded and opened my door, nonetheless.
I heard a screen door slam and turned to see a woman walk out on the porch. She was somewhere south of 60, plump and prosperous, and had a smile on her face. I knew who she was immediately.
"Mrs. Roscoe?"
She laughed as she walked down the steps. "Oh, honey, please call me Velma. You must be Nick."
I nodded and smiled. I had forgotten about Aunt Velma, which was embarrassing considering she'd been supplying us with jars of the red plum jam that her sister made for a few years. In exchange for an annual check to the Dougherty County Hospital Board, we received one or two boxes a year of Mrs. Jones' red plum jam. Aunt Velma never told her sister who it was for, using the Confederate Veterans or the local orphans as a ruse.
Aunt Velma walked right to me and embraced me in the best hug I could ever remember getting, Carter excepted, of course. I could feel the tears starting. After all the tension of being in this stifling small town, her embrace was like a breeze of cool relief.
She whispered in my ear, "I'm so glad you both came. We need your help. And in more ways than one."
Before I could ask what she specifically meant, she released me and walked over to where Carter stood.
"Carter. I'm so sorry for you, son." She pulled him in and they stood for quite a while as Carter leaned over and cried again. My heart was breaking for his grief and all that he was having to confront all at one time. But I could feel a quiet joy in the presence of this amazing woman and her unconditional love. We both needed it.
"How's Mama?"
"Like you might imagine. Not saying much and staying busy."
They stood there a moment more before Aunt Velma released him and said, "Y'all come in. No one's here except me, Leroy, and your mother." Turning to me, she said, "Leroy's my husband. He's been so lookin' forward to meetin' you." She smiled.
The Laconic Lumberjack (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 4) Page 3