The Sodden Sailor (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 11)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  Mike nodded. I could see he wasn't happy but I was glad he'd made that decision.

  . . .

  Later that evening, we were getting dressed for dinner. As I attached the emerald cuff links to his shirt, Carter asked, "How did Mrs. S react when Marnie called her and told her to expect eleven for dinner?"

  I smiled. "She was a big-time chef in Paris. Marnie said she took it in stride but told her not to expect dinner until 8 and that it would just be four courses."

  Carter laughed. "That's a far cry from two trays of lasagna, son."

  I held out my arms so he could fasten the sapphire cuff links to my shirt. "It sure is. And, as much as I love this new thing of cooking on Sunday, I don't miss putting a big dinner together. That's a lot of work."

  Carter straightened my shirt, as he always did, and kissed me on the forehead. "Ain't half bad livin' the high life in this pile of rocks, is it?"

  I nodded. "Speaking of that, who's gonna sit where tonight?"

  Carter was brushing his hair in the mirror. He looked at me. "You're gonna sit at your end and I'm gonna sit at my end."

  I leaned down, picked up my shoes, and walked over to where we kept the polish and rags. As I rubbed down my left shoe, I said, "You don't think that's weird?"

  "What?" asked Carter as he brought his big shoes over and grabbed a rag.

  "That this is the first dinner we've had for my father and Lettie since they moved across the street?"

  Carter shrugged. "Why do we always do this out of order?"

  "What?"

  "We should do the shoes before we put on the shirts."

  "Fine. But who's gonna sit where?"

  "Like I said—"

  "I know what you said. You're gonna sit in my father's chair and I'll be in my mother's." I was barely able to get the last couple of words out. I let my shoe fall to the floor as I sat on the edge of the bed.

  Carter walked over, sat next to me, and put his arm around my shoulder, letting me cry for a while.

  . . .

  Carter was building the fire in the great room and I was admiring him as he did so when the doorbell rang.

  Gustav came rushing out of the kitchen, pulling on his coat. He looked particularly handsome. I knew he was a little bit afraid of Aunt Velma, so he'd taken special care with the black tie outfit that had become his dinner-time uniform.

  I stood and watched as he answered the door. I looked at my watch. It was right at half past 7, the time we'd asked everyone to arrive. Apparently we were a punctual family since everyone on the guest list was huddled on the front porch.

  I got each person a drink as they shed their hats and coats and made their way into the great room. Alex and Marnie both had Burgie in a glass. John and Roger had bourbon on the rocks. Carter's mother had a Martini. Before Christmas, I'd introduced her to the original, with gin and vermouth, and she'd taken a liking to it. Aunt Velma and Lettie waited for my father to bring up some bottles of wine from his wine cellar in the basement.

  We all gathered around the fireplace. Carter had opened the garden door, as he always did. Otherwise it was just too hot.

  While the others chatted, Lettie pulled me aside and asked, "I want to wait for your father, Nicholas, but I assume you have news for us?"

  I nodded with a smile but didn't reply.

  She smiled. "I take it that it's good news."

  "It is."

  She kissed me on my cheek. "Thank you, dear boy."

  . . .

  It was a few minutes past 8 when Gustav announced that dinner was ready. Carter walked over to the far end of the table and I stood at the end by the kitchen door.

  After some shifting around, everyone else sat boy-girl style. Carter's mother was to my left. John was on her left. Lettie was on his left. Alex sat between Lettie and Carter. On Carter's left, and across from Alex, was Marnie. Then Roger. Then Geneva. Then my father. Aunt Velma rounded out the group, sitting at my right.

  Once we were seated, Gustav brought out two bottles of a French white wine and poured for everyone. My father said to me, "Your cook said she was making onion soup to start so I thought a white wine from the Loire Valley would be perfect for the first course. This is from 1949."

  "Who shall we toast?" asked Aunt Velma.

  Carter stood and lifted his glass. "To Dr. Williams. Thank you for Nick. Thank you for this house. And thank you for this wine." He took a drink and we all did the same. The wine was tart but smooth going down. Carter sat and my father smiled and nodded at him.

  Right then, Gustav and Ferdinand came out from the kitchen with crocks of onion soup bubbling over with cheese. It took three trips to bring them all out.

  I said, "Enjoy, everyone," and plunged my spoon into the thick cheese crust so that the steam from the soup would be released. I looked around the table and felt a rush of affection for everyone sitting with us. John caught my eye and grinned. I smiled in return and then looked at Carter. He was holding his spoon in front of his mouth and was blowing on it. He winked at me and gingerly took a sip of the steaming liquid.

  . . .

  After Gustav cleared our salad plates, which Mrs. Strakova had sent out following the main course, I asked him to send her out.

  A moment later, she poked her head around the door. "Yes, Mr. Nick?"

  I stood and pulled her into the dining room. "We want to thank you for an amazing meal."

  She nodded and blushed as everyone at the table applauded.

  Lettie asked, "How did you make a Beef Wellington with such short notice?"

  Mrs. Strakova replied with an enigmatic smile, "It's a secret I cannot tell."

  Everyone laughed.

  My father said, "This is the best meal I can ever remember having." Most everyone else made noises of agreement.

  Mrs. Strakova smiled and said, "Thank you. Now I must get back to the stove."

  John asked, "What's for dessert?"

  "Don't answer!" That was Carter.

  "Why?" asked John.

  "Because we never ask. Why spoil the surprise, son?"

  Everyone laughed as Mrs. Strakova bowed slightly and then returned to the kitchen.

  . . .

  Dessert was a very simple but delicious apple pie of a sort. It was obviously French and came with a small amount of fresh whipped cream on top of the apples, which were thinly sliced and laid out in a semi-circle on a thin pastry.

  After we were finished, we moved back into the great room. Dinner had been so delicious, and my father had kept everyone entertained with all sorts of stories about his father and grandfather, that we never got around to the point of getting everyone together.

  Lettie brought us to the point at hand by clearing her throat and asking me, "What has your team found out, Nicholas?"

  I was standing by the fire. The room got quiet as everyone turned to look at me. I said, "It's very simple." I looked at Geneva, who was on the big sofa between Lettie and Carter's mother. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw John. He was sitting on one of the dining chairs that he'd brought over from the table.

  He mouthed, "Should we leave?"

  I shook my head and said, "There's not much to tell but, before I say anything, I want to tell each of you how much I love you."

  Everyone smiled and several heads nodded.

  "My own past has come back to haunt me in the last few days. It's made me grateful for this family." I glanced over at my husband, who was at the bar pouring a cognac for Aunt Velma. He smiled.

  I continued, "We're all family." I looked at Geneva, who was smiling sweetly at me. "Everyone of us." She nodded slightly.

  "So, Geneva, I'm happy to tell you that there's nothing to be afraid of. Most everyone who was involved is dead. And, we confirmed that the police never charged with you anything. You're in the clear."

  She put her hand over her mouth and sat still for a long moment. Lettie put her arm around Geneva and said, "I'm so happy for you, my dear."

  Carter's mother nodded. "This is wonderful n
ews, Geneva."

  Aunt Velma reached across and took Geneva's hand. "I'm so happy for you."

  I watched as the four ladies sat there, together, as the friends they were. Carter walked over to Aunt Velma and handed her the glass she'd asked for. Then he stood next to me and echoed the same words, "I'm so happy for you, Geneva."

  She stood and walked up, giving me an affectionate kiss on the cheek. She said, "Thank you so much, Nick. You have no idea how relieving this is."

  "You're welcome, Geneva. One of the other women who was in the same place lives in Oakland. Marnie has her name and phone number, if you want it."

  Geneva looked at me in surprise and suddenly burst into tears. Carter put his arm around her. I gave her my handkerchief. She stood there for a long moment and then caught her breath. "This is good news." Looking at Marnie, she said, "If you would be so kind, I'd very much like to have her name."

  Marnie walked over with a folded-over piece of paper in her hand. "There's actually two. One is in Oakland and the other is in Arizona." She handed Geneva the piece of paper and then impulsively gave her a hug.

  I looked over at Carter's mother. She was sitting on the sofa with tears streaming down her face. Aunt Velma was holding her hand. I nudged Carter and motioned to his mother with my chin. He hesitantly walked over and sat down next to her. "Mama?" He put his arm around her shoulder and she let him hold her for a long time.

  . . .

  "This is kind of a going away party for us. We're leaving on Monday for Hong Kong and then Australia. We'll be gone for a month or so." That was Carter. He had just finished adding some logs to the fire.

  My father asked me, "Are you taking that big plane you bought from Hughes?"

  I laughed. "No. It had to go down to Burbank to be worked on. Our captain didn't want to fly it that far without an overhaul."

  Carter added, "You won't believe this."

  "What?" asked my father.

  I replied, "We just bought a new plane. Or we're about to."

  "How many is that?" asked Roger.

  "Four. A seller contacted Robert and let him know they had an older Constellation to sell. It's an L-749. But you'll never guess who's selling it."

  My father looked at his drink and swirled it around in his glass. "The Queen of England?"

  Everyone laughed.

  I grinned. "No. It's the F.B.I. This was Hoover's private plane."

  Several people gasped.

  Carter said, "I was talking to Robert and I don't think it was just for Hoover. I think it was probably a V.I.P. plane."

  John offered, "Eisenhower's plane is a Super Connie."

  Carter nodded. "That's what the F.B.I. is upgrading to."

  I said, "This one has a bedroom and I told Robert to have all the old bedding thrown out and all new put in."

  My father rolled his eyes and said, "Now, Nicholas—"

  Lettie said, "Parnell? Would you want to sleep on the same bed as that man, Hoover?"

  My father shrugged, finished his glass, and stood. "Of course, not." He walked over to the bar. As he did, he added, "I wonder what my father would make of all of this, if he was still around."

  Carter said, "I'm sure there are a few details—"

  My father held up his hand. "Oh, he knew all about his brother."—That was my Great-Uncle Paul, a notorious homosexual who'd left me a part of his fortune—"That's not what I mean. I'm referring to all this flying around the world and all the adventures you two have along the way." By then, he'd added more whiskey to his glass. "I see you've dipped into my cellar downstairs, Mr. Jones."

  I laughed as Carter blushed slightly and asked, "How'd you know it was me?"

  "My son was raised right." Walking over to Carter's mother, he put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Louise, but it's true."

  That brought a howl of laughter from everyone in the room and, for the first time since we'd finished dinner, there was a lightness in the air. It was also the closest my father had ever come to admitting that he and Carter's mother were related by marriage. Of a sort.

  Carter asked, "Well, Mama, what do you have to say to that?"

  I looked over at Mrs. Jones who was smiling. "He's right. You always were pilfering from the icebox or the pantry."

  Carter laughed. "Hey! I was a growing boy!"

  John added, "You used to raid our icebox, too, son."

  Aunt Velma piped up. "And ours." She looked at me and said, "Really, no one in Albany was safe."

  Everyone laughed as Carter shrugged.

  My father sat next to Lettie and looked at me with a smile. "What I meant, Nicholas, is that I think your grandfather would be amazed at what you're doing and what you've done. You didn't really know the man, but he had a good heart. Just like yourself." Taking a sip of his whiskey, he added, "I guess that skipped a generation."

  Chapter 12

  1198 Sacramento Street

  Saturday, February 12, 195

  Around 8 in the evening

  We had a much larger party that Saturday night before we left. It was organized by Robert and Diane, our neighbor from Hartford Street. She and Pam, her girlfriend, wanted to throw a party for our mutual friend Evelyn who lived in the house on the other side of Pam and Diane with her girlfriend Mary. Most of Evelyn's friends didn't know that she had an inoperable tumor. No one, not even the doctors, had a clear idea on how long she would live. The only ones who knew about her condition were Mary, Pam and Diane, Robert and Henry, and Carter and myself. She'd asked us not to tell anyone. She didn't look sick but I thought she looked tired. Or maybe wary.

  There was no need to give a reason for a party at our house. Our notoriety and the big pile of rocks that we lived in were enough to draw any number of people through the front door. At first, Diane had wanted the group to be just Evelyn's friends. But, after talking with Robert, she'd decided to invite a much larger crowd.

  The invitation had been for folks to show up around 9. We'd invited Mary and Evelyn, Pam and Diane, and Robert and Henry to come over earlier for dinner. Diane and Robert had spent the entire day at the house, decorating it and working in the kitchen with Mrs. Strakova and Ida to prepare various party foods, including Diane's famous deviled eggs.

  Dinner was just sandwiches and beer around the dining table. We didn't want to give Mrs. Strakova the extra work, so we made them ourselves, picnic style.

  "How're things at Universal Construction?" I asked before taking a sip of my beer.

  Pam, who was the first female owner of a construction company that I'd heard of, replied, "Fine. We just started working on that new apartment building down in San Mateo."

  "Really?" I asked.

  Across the table, Robert said, "Uh, really, Nick. It's that one I told you about. Neil designed it."—Neil Zorbach was Henry's new architect business partner—"Sixty units, latest appliances and everything. You own it."

  Everyone laughed as I shrugged. "I just sign the checks."

  "You're going to Hong Kong?" That was Evelyn.

  Carter nodded. "We have a case there. Then we're off to Sydney."

  "For surfing," I added.

  Robert said, "The temporary certificate for the new plane is ready. The guy who painted the Lumberjack is gonna paint on the new registration number tomorrow."

  "A new plane?" asked Mary.

  I nodded. "It's a long story but J. Edgar Hoover himself used to fly around in it."

  Mary shook her head. "You might want to find a priest who'll throw around holy water before you take off."

  Everyone laughed.

  I had another swig of beer and then said, "Robert was supposed to have changed all the bedding, including the mattress."

  He nodded. "That's done. Christine took care of that today. I talked to her a couple of hours ago. She said it was in fine condition. Did you know it has a table behind the galley?"

  "Not one of those narrow ones like on the Lumberjack?"

  "No. It's a long conference table. You'll be able to eat meals th
ere."

  "Or play poker," added Henry.

  "Or Hearts." That was Carter.

  Pam groaned. "God bless anyone who plays Hearts with Nick."

  Mary asked, "Why?"

  Carter replied, "Because if you're not Nick's partner, you're gonna lose. He's the champeen Hearts player."

  I shrugged as everyone laughed.

  "What're you gonna name this one?" asked Henry.

  I looked over at Carter who shrugged. "We're open to suggestions."

  "How about The Flying Fireman?" asked Henry with a grin.

  "Been thinking about that for a long time, have you?" I asked.

  He nodded and blushed slightly.

  Mary looked from Henry to me and said, "It's amazing how much you two look alike."

  Carter added, "Sometimes it's spooky."

  I said, "Henry's much more handsome than me. Just look at those emerald green eyes."

  Everyone turned to look at him. He blushed hard.

  Robert reached over and ran his finger along the scar than ran down the right side of Henry's face. "This is my favorite part."

  "Where'd you get that?" asked Mary.

  "From a German officer who didn't want to come along quietly when we caught him hiding in a barn south of Munich."

  "Did it hurt?" she asked.

  "Not as much as the punches that my men gave him."

  Evelyn sighed. "I know war is hell, and all that, but sometimes I wish I had some of those stories."

  Carter nodded. "So do I."

  Henry and I both said in unison, "No, you don't."

  I pressed on. "You really don't. We had a job to do and we did it." I looked at Carter. "Like you did. The City needed its firemen and I, for one, am glad you stayed here. What if the Japs had bombed the City?"

  Carter shrugged. "Now we know they couldn't have."

  Mary said, "Nonsense. We didn't know it then and that's what matters. Nick is right. We all had our jobs to do. And we did them the best we could."

  Diane sighed. "I'm just glad we won. Sometimes, I wonder what it would've been like—"

  Pam said, "Don't, hon. We won. We had to win."

  Diane nodded. "I know."