We all sat there for a moment. Finally, Kenneth said, "This is going to require some research. I'll have to get back to you. OK?"
I nodded.
"Now I have some other business for you." He said it as if he was expecting Carter to leave.
I simply nodded and said, "Fine."
Kenneth shook his head. "You do understand that you lose attorney-client privilege if Carter stays here, right?"
Carter stood up. I said, "Sit down, Chief. You're not going anywhere."
Carter looked down at me with that smile of his. I just nodded. After two beats, he sat back down.
I pointed to Carter. "He, him, this man. He. Is. My. Husband."
Kenneth shook his head. "Not in this world, he ain't."
I said, "I don't care. If you want me to sign some sorta waiver, I will. Carter isn't going anywhere, and all of our future meetings will be just like this." All of this was coming off the top of my head. I hadn't planned on taking this stand, but it felt damn good to do so.
Finally, Kenneth laughed. "What happened in Georgia that has you all fired up like this?"
Carter sighed. "Man, you don't wanna know. Believe me."
Kenneth took a deep breath. "Fine. As long, Nick, as you understand everything forward is outside attorney-client privilege and you agree that I've properly warned you, we can go ahead."
I nodded. "Yes, Kenneth Wilcox, Attorney-at-law, I have been duly warned. Now, what's next?"
"I know you know this, but this is your official notification." He handed me a piece of paper. It was from the The Bureau of Private Investigators and Adjusters in Sacramento.
"You've officially been stripped of your investigator's license."
I nodded. "What's the plan?"
"We appeal. I'm already looking for a Sacramento attorney who knows the ropes since this is outside my bailiwick."
I nodded.
Carter piped up. "Do you need to warn Nick about anything?"
Kenneth smirked. "Why do you ask?"
Carter said, "He's been warned about practicing without a license in the state of Georgia."
I picked up the story and told Kenneth what happened.
He said, "Well, sounds like you got off easy."
I laughed. "Yeah, all that investigatin' solved the D.A.'s case for him. So, sure. We can say that."
Kenneth asked, "Who's the local attorney?"
Carter gave him Tom's name and address. As he finished writing it down on his pad, Kenneth looked up and said to me, "Consider yourself warned, Nick. No private investigating until this is cleared up."
I nodded and said, "I'll do my best."
Kenneth shook his head and asked Carter, "Is he always this hard to handle?"
Carter just smiled but said nothing.
Kenneth sighed. "Next up." He handed me a thick sheaf of papers. "Howard Hughes is suing you."
I laughed. "What for?"
"You damaged his airplane."
Both Carter and I laughed. "How's that?" I asked.
"Something about taking off in the rain and at night and an aborted landing."
Carter said, "Well, it can't have been too damaged considerin' they flew back here the next day."
"Well, as that may be, Mr. Hughes is famous for being litigious."
"How much is he suing for?" I asked.
"The replacement cost of the aircraft. Just over $800,000."
I almost jumped out of my seat. "What?"
Carter laughed. "Just buy the goddam plane from him, Nick. Can't you see that's what he wants? You got your homosexual cooties on his plane. No amount of bleach can get rid of them."
I looked over at Carter. He was right. That's exactly what this was about.
"Call his lawyer right now and make an offer. But make it $600,000. It's used, after all."
"Um, Nick, are you that liquid?"
"Waddaya mean liquid?"
Kenneth smiled. "I mean, do you have that much cash available?"
I shook my head. "I have no idea. But this isn't the kind of thing you write a check for, is it?"
"Probably not. I'll talk to your trust manager."
I nodded. And waited. "Well?"
"Oh!" He looked at Carter and then back at me. "You're serious, then? You want me to call his lawyer right now?"
I nodded. It just made sense.
. . .
On Thursday afternoon, I was sitting at my desk. Mike was sitting across and telling me about some new clients. Right then, I heard the front door open and a voice said, "Special delivery."
I looked around Mike's head and watched as Marnie signed for a flat brown envelope. She looked at it for a moment and then caught my eye. I motioned for her to come in. As I did, Mike asked, "What is it?"
"I think it's the evidence you asked for."
"What evidence?"
I smiled as Marnie handed me the envelope that had a Georgia postmark on it. Someone had written "Photographs. Do not bend." in big letters on the bottom left. Using a letter opener, I cut through the envelope and removed two photos of the same image and nothing else.
As I admired Nick's handiwork, I had to admit Carter and I looked handsome in our beards. We were wearing checked shirts with rolled-up sleeves and dungarees whose cuffs had been stuffed into our knee-high logging boots. Carter had his arm around my shoulder and we were both trying not to squint in the bright afternoon sun.
Mike stood up and stood next to Marnie as I passed one of the photographs over to her.
"I dunno, Nick." Marnie's voice was full of doubt.
Mike asked, "How did it feel?"
"Itchy," I said.
"I meant Carter's."
I blushed while Marnie giggled.
. . .
On Friday night, around 8, Carter and I walked into the elevator at the Mark Hopkins. We were meeting Captain Morris and his wife Christine at the Top of the Mark for dinner. I had hired them both. Carter had suggested we lease out the plane, complete with pilots and stewardess, just like Howard Hughes had down with us. So, we were there to celebrate and talk about the future.
The same gal we'd seen before was working the elevator. She stood there in her bright red uniform and gold buttons. "How do, gents?" she asked as we stepped inside.
I nodded and said, "Good to see you again."
"And you, Mr. Williams. Looks like you've been busy this summer."
I nodded.
Carter, ever the gentleman, asked, "What's your name?"
"Eloise, Mr. Jones."
"Nice to see you again, Eloise."
She nodded and opened the door. Giving us a tip of the hat, I handed her a folded five and said, "Thanks."
"My pleasure, Mr. Williams."
We walked over to the bar where the captain and Christine were waiting. After hands were shaken, I said, "Be right back." I walked over to where Henri, the maitre d', was standing.
"Ah! Mr. Williams. So good to see you again."
I smiled. "Good to see you, too, Henri. Do you have a nice table for us tonight?" I pressed a folded hundred into his hand which he deftly pocketed.
"Why, of course, Mr. Williams. Right in the window. No parties by the name of 'H' are in the restaurant tonight."
"Thanks, Henri. We're in the bar when you're ready for us."
"About ten minutes, Mr. Williams."
I nodded and said, "Fine."
Returning to the bar, I found Carter telling the captain and Christine about our trip down to Panama City Beach. "The sand was like sugar. And the water was warm. It's too bad y'all never made it down there."
Christine nodded. "Maybe you'll be going back again, soon?"
I shook my head. "We've been thrown out of the State of Georgia."
Carter added, "For now."
The captain asked, "Any particular reason?"
I laughed. "Oh, you know, for all the reasons you can imagine and then a few more."
. . .
After dinner, we sat with brandy and coffee, enjoying the
view from our table. I asked, "How about Captain Riddle?"
Captain Morris shook his head. "No dice. Wasn't, um, comfortable working for you."
Carter said, "Guess he was afraid of Nick's right hook."
After we all laughed, I asked, "What do you suggest, then?"
The captain said, "I have a couple of men I'm thinking would be right for the job."
"Call my office and talk to Robert about it. He's been managing my real estate and will be taking care of the plane for me, as well. He'll arrange the rentals and schedule them with you. You'll probably need to help him learn the lingo and understand how all this works but he's smart and learns fast." I handed the captain a card with all the information he'd need and then looked out the window and admired the lines of the Golden Gate Bridge. I found myself in a reverie, wondering if I was doing the right thing here.
After a couple of moments, Christine asked, "A lot to take on all at one time, Nick?"
I turned back to the table. Everyone was looking at me expectantly. I sighed and said, "Sure. It's a lot. I was thinking about my Uncle Paul and wondering what he would make of all this."
Carter said, "I think he would be proud."
I shrugged. "Maybe." Then I turned in my chair and looked at Carter pointedly. "I definitely know he would be jealous."
. . .
Saturday afternoon, Carter walked in the front door with a bundle of packages under his arm. After stopping to kiss me, he said, "I have a surprise for you. It'll take me about fifteen minutes." With that, he bounded up the stairs to the bedroom like a little kid with a new toy.
I was in the kitchen, taking apart the stove to clean it and thinking one more time about our real need to hire an actual housekeeper, when Carter loped in, all grins.
"What?" I asked.
"You're gonna love this, son." He walked past me and headed down to the basement. In about a minute he was back with a bag under his arm.
"Whatcha got there, Chief?"
"Ten more minutes. I promise."
I turned back to the stove and wondered what this was all about.
. . .
Once I was at the top of the stairs and standing just outside the closed bedroom door, Carter said, "Now, close your eyes." I smiled as I did just that. He opened the bedroom door and said, "Give me your hand." I happily did that, too.
I followed his lead into the bedroom. I could smell something chemical in the room that I couldn't place. He grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me so I was facing the wall next to the door.
"OK, open your eyes."
As I did, I blinked a little and looked at the wall. I couldn't figure out what I was seeing.
"What is it?" I asked.
"It's your trophy wall."
"What?"
"You know. Some rich guys go to Africa and shoot lions and gazelles and mount their heads to the wall of their study in their big fancy houses."
"Yeah?" I still couldn't tell what I was looking at.
"These are your trophies. The man at the store put them together for me."
I started laughing. I realized Carter had mounted a model of a long, sleek yacht in one spot on the wall and a model of a silver Lockheed Super Constellation in another spot. Now I knew what the smell was. It was model glue.
The whole thing was utterly charming. And I told Carter so, deeply and meaningfully, but without using any words.
. . .
Sunday afternoon, Marnie, Mrs. Wilson, Carter, and I piled into the Buick and drove down to the airport to pick up Mrs. Jones. She was flying in on a Delta C&S flight from Atlanta. Her flight was scheduled to arrive at 6:35 and, after calling the airline to check, it looked like she would be on time.
As we drove down El Camino Real through San Mateo, I said, "Robert called and said Captain Morris would meet us at the private terminal at 6. He wants us to see something."
Carter took my right hand in his left and squeezed it. "I wonder what it is." His tone left no doubt in my mind that he knew exactly what it was.
. . .
We parked in front of the terminal and all piled out of the car and walked inside. The captain and Christine were both waiting for us. Through the window, I could see the Connie sitting there, shining brightly in the afternoon sun. A piece of canvas was stretched over the front of the plane, covering the nose.
Captain Morris said, "Come on, Mr. Williams. I want to show you something."
We followed him out the door and walked over to the airplane.
The captain said, "A buddy of mine is an artist who did some nose art back in the war on B-17s. After Mr. Jones asked about it, I called him up. He came over and did some for you."
I looked at Carter who was grinning in that wonderful way. I asked, "What is this about, Chief?"
"You'll see."
As we got closer, I saw a short, thickly built man walk around the nose of the plane wearing a paint-spattered pullover and grubby khaki pants. Introductions were made, and this turned out to be Buddy Jessel, the artist in question.
"Hope you like it, Mr. Williams. I never done nothin' like this before."
"I don't know what it is, yet."
Carter walked over to the canvas and lifted it up a little to see underneath but without showing any of the rest of us what it was. He smiled at me and then asked Mr. Jessel, "Can I do the honors?"
"Knock yourself out."
Carter looked at me and said, "I figured since your boat has a name--"
"It's a ship and it belongs to both of us."
Everyone laughed.
"Well, I figured since our ship has a name, that our plane should have one as well."
He stood there looking at me expectantly. I shook my head. "Well, what is it?"
Dramatically, he said, "I give you The Laconic Lumberjack!"
With that, he pulled on the canvas, which quickly slid off the metallic nose of the plane.
Marnie started to giggle. "Oh, Nick!"
The words, "The Laconic Lumberjack," were written in red letters and in true pin-up style. A brightly-painted cartoon-like illustration of a smiling Red was just to the right of the name. He was holding an axe over his shoulder and looking strong and mighty proud of himself.
I grinned at Carter and said, "That's the best gift a guy ever got."
. . .
On Monday, the water was a little choppy. The sun was warm but, like always, there was a cool breeze blowing in through the Golden Gate. As The Flirtatious Captain cruised past Alcatraz on its way to the open ocean, I looked over at Carter and watched him watching his mother, who was seated on the starboard side of the new top deck between Mrs. Wilson and Marnie. She was taking in the sights and seemed to be truly relaxed and enjoying herself.
The ship was waiting for us when we returned to San Francisco. Captain O'Reilly had completed the repairs and renovations and had sailed up the coast from Newport Beach while we had been in Albany.
The renovations were better than I could have imagined. Every detail was modern and sleek but also comfortable.
Down below, the beds were now long enough for Carter and Mike to sleep in. Plus, the shower in our bathroom had been enlarged so we could both fit.
On the main deck, the lounge had been completely overhauled. Larger windows had been added on the starboard side and the room looked bigger.
But the best part was the new top deck that had been built out. Before it had been accessible by a simple ladder in the back and had just been a big white surface where a few pillows had been scattered for sunbathing. Now, a new staircase ran up the port side and benches with comfortable cushions had been built in all around the deck. There was still plenty of room to sunbathe, but now that the deck was surrounded by benches, it would be more private.
We were sitting up on the top deck as we cruised underneath the Golden Gate Bridge. There's no sight more glorious than that. As we did so, we saw a few tourists looking down at us from the sidewalk above. They waved at us and we waved back. Captain O'Reilly
even blew the ship's whistle with two short toots.
As we turned south along the coast, we cruised past the Presidio and then Point Lobos. Marnie and Mrs. Wilson were busy pointing out different landmarks, including the Sutro Baths.
I asked Carter, "Did you ever go to the baths?"
"Nope. Never seemed that appealing. How about you?"
"When I was a kid, my mother would take Janet and me there in the summer."
Carter, knowing better, didn't press for more and I was glad.
As we passed the Cliff House, I heard Marnie ask, "Nick?"
"Yeah, doll?"
"Mother and I are going to take Mrs. Jones to the Cliff House tomorrow for lunch, if that's OK."
I looked at Carter, who simply smiled and said, "You'll love it, Mama."
She smiled back at him and nodded.
Mrs. Jones was staying with Mrs. Wilson and Marnie, as they had originally arranged. We'd asked her to stay with us, but she still didn't feel comfortable doing so. I told Carter, "One step at a time." He'd nodded and seemed a little relieved, truth be told.
. . .
That night, we were in bed and my head was resting on Carter's massive chest. I could feel his heart beat under the skin, and muscle, and bone. He was running his right hand up and down my back and life was good.
"Do you think your father would have ever come out here?"
"No. Why do you ask?"
"I was just thinking about all the people in Albany who kept telling me what kind of man he was. And I kept asking myself who was worse, your father or mine?"
"It's kinda hard to say. Your daddy wouldn't string a man up a tree just for fun."
"No. But your father wouldn't tell his own kids not to give starving men a dime or an apple."
"No. Unless they were colored but, even then, probably not. He was happy to help out the 'deservin' ones', as he put it."
I snuggled in closer.
Carter asked, "You still sure you don't wanna call your daddy up and have him over for dinner while Mama's in town?"
"Hell, no. I like your mother. She doesn't deserve that. Hasn't she been through enough?"
Carter laughed and said, "I guess she has."
"Do you think she might marry again?"
"Lord almighty, Nick. The man's only been in the ground four weeks. Give the woman a chance to catch her breath."
I laughed and said, "You're right."
The Laconic Lumberjack (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 4) Page 20