“My idea of buying food wasn’t such a good one after all,” I said. “The only way we could get it to them now would be to turn back. I’m not sure I could find the place from this direction.”
“I need to get back to Greenville. One of Father’s parishioners, Mrs. McCall—”
“Old Mrs. McCall who always insists on taking out her glass eye and making you clean it for her?”
“That’s the one.”
“And never fails to solicit your expert opinion on how her bunion removal is coming along?”
“Also, the one and she’s laid up again, so I promised mother I’d call in with a pot of chicken soup.”
“Well, we mustn’t deprive Mrs. McCall of the opportunity of having her glass eye tended to, so I’m afraid we’ll have to take the food for the Gain’s family home and deliver it another day,” I conceded.
The highway circled through dense groves of trees. We caught occasional glimpses of the river, glistening for a moment like a ribbon of silver in the distance, and then fading from view amid the green foliage.
We came upon a stoop-shouldered man walking with an easy gait along the road. He raised his hand as if signaling us to stop. I raised my foot from the gasoline pedal.
“Don’t stop!” Flo said. “It’s not safe, picking up hitch-hikers!”
“Hitch-hiker, nothing! It’s Mud Cat Joe!”
I slammed on the braked and screeched to a halt just beyond the man.
“Hello, Joe,” I called. “Aren’t you a long way from home?”
“Well, dog my cats if it ain’t Mrs. Carter and Miss Radcliff! Where you-all headed for?”
“We’re on our way home,” Florence said. “We have a basket of food for your wife, but we couldn’t take it to your place because the bridge was out.”
“That’s too bad, it sure is. We ain’t none of us been eatin’ very regular.”
“Have you had any word of The Empress?” I asked.
“A feller jest gave me a tip. His uncle heard tell of a houseboat in the Blue River. He didn’t know what business it had a-bein’ there, but he reckoned as how it looked right smart like The Empress. I’m a-headin’ for there now.”
“How much farther is the Blue River?” I asked.
“Only two—three miles. It runs into the Grassy down here at Gribsby’s Station.”
“We’ll take you there, Joe,” I offered. “It won’t be much out of our way.”
“That’s mighty nice of you, mighty nice,” Mud Cat said as he climbed into the car.
I threw the car into gear, and we sped down the road. Joe could not take his eyes away from the river.
“I knows ever foot o’ water along these parts,” he said. “Right over there is the best place to ketch crappie I knows of. There’s a rocky reef a-stickin’ out from the shore where they likes to hang out. Many a time I’ve anchored The Empress on the end of the reef and hauled ’em in till it weren’t fun no more.”
“You miss The Empress dreadfully, don’t you, Joe?”
“I sure do. She was a real boat. I’ve owned a right smart o’ craft in my day, but The Empress laid it over ’em all. She had style, and she’d stay afloat in a puddle. And inside she was beautiful. Jennie had fixed her up till she looked jest like a parsonage. Why, she even had a carpet in the settin’ room. And purty lace curtains on the winders with a geranium a-perched on the sill.”
Mud Cat Joe lapsed into a meditative silence until we pulled up at our destination.
“I’m much obliged for the ride.”
“We may as well wait here while you make inquiries,” I offered. “Maybe we can help you find your boat.”
Joe thanked me and ambled off down to the river bank, all the while looking up and down the stream for his beloved Empress. He accosted a fisherman he seemed to know, but his face fell when the man answered his question. Soon Joe returned to the car.
“Nobody’s seen The Empress around these parts. I reckon it was jest another false alarm.”
“Isn’t that a road going along the river?” I said indicating a narrow dirt lane. “Let’s drive up that way and see what we can learn. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
We bumped over the potholes for ten minutes before Joe said, “It ain’t no use goin’ any further, Mrs. Carter. The river’s a-running over the rocks here. They wouldn’t never git the boat higher up than this.”
“We’re dreadfully sorry, Joe,” Flo said. “But don’t be too discouraged. A houseboat couldn’t very well vanish into thin air.”
“Looks like that’s jest what she’s done, Miss,” Mud Cat replied, refusing to be comforted. “Reckon we never will see that boat again. And a-livin’ like we are now, in an old cowshed, we feels mighty trashy, I’m a tellin’ you.”
We reached the main road and turned toward Greenville. Mud Cat Joe rode along until we reached the crossroads nearest his temporary home. He got out with the basket of food.
“I won’t be a forgettin’ all you’ve done for us,” he said. “Mebbe I kin pay you back for it someday.”
I hadn’t the slightest inkling that his words were prophetic.
CHAPTER 9
After I took Florence home, I dropped in at the offices of the Greenville Examiner. I wanted a chat with dear old Dad.
As I walked through the newsroom, Jack greeted me from his desk.
“How come I haven’t seen you around these parts, lately?” Jack asked. “Have you taken an even dimmer view of the newspaper business since we last met?”
“Where did we last meet?” I asked. “I don’t seem to recall.”
“Oh, here and there,” said Jack. “Homicidal lunatics underground dungeons, the emergency ward at the hospital, that sort of thing.”
I looked at Jack’s forehead. The gash he’d received during the last dangerous adventure we’d gone on together was mostly healed, but a pink scar remained.
“I can’t help it if you choose to throw yourself in front of jug-wielding maniacs,” I said.
“Want to go see a picture with me?” said Jack, abruptly changing the subject.
Was Jack asking me on a date? Pleasant as the prospect sounded, I had made myself a solemn promise never to step out with Jack Bancroft.
“I have to see a man about a dog,” I said and legged it to my father’s private office.
As I entered, Dad looked up from his desk and smiled at me.
“You seem in a good mood this bright morning,” I said. “Don’t tell me you’ve finally managed to swipe The Times best advertising account.”
“Nothing like it. Can’t a father be glad to see his daughter? To tell you the truth, I was beginning to think you might have had trouble on the road.”
“Betsy behaved herself for once. But plenty happened to me.”
“Did you get your friend safely installed in her new job?”
“Installed at any rate. I’m not so sure about the ‘safe’ part.”
“Why, what do you mean, Jane?”
“The Conrads seem to have an unsavory reputation at White Falls, Dad. And that house-turned-hotel where Emma is staying is a huge barn with more paintings than an art gallery.”
“Does that necessarily make it an unsafe place?”
“Well, one of the portraits has a habit of rolling its eyes.”
“What nonsense are you talking now, Jane?”
“I didn’t actually see the eyes move,” I admitted. Dad thought I was pulling his leg. I should have left out the staring portrait stuff and focused on the missing persons angle of the thing.
“Emma thought she did,” I said “But that’s beside the point. According to rumor, a man disappeared in that hotel and was seen no more.”
“Are you feeling well this morning, Jane?”
“My mind isn’t the least bit touched, Dad. I acquired considerable information down at White Falls. Would you like to hear all about it?”
I didn’t wait for him to ask any more questions. Instead, I told him what I’d learned from Thom Vh
orst, the café man.
“The man may have a feud with the Conrad family,” Dad said. “Gossip is never a reliable source of information.”
“I realize that, Dad. But the Conrads acted very oddly about having Emma in the house.”
“It’s nonsense that a man could disappear from a small community, and no questions be asked.”
“He was supposed to be a stranger.”
“Even so, if anything such as you suggest had occurred, the news would have leaked out to the police.”
“White Falls is too small to have a force.”
“I’m afraid there’s nothing to the story, Jane.”
“Well, for Emma’s sake, I hope so.” I decided to change the subject. “Dad, if someone had stolen your houseboat, how would you go about recovering it?”
“Since when did I acquire a houseboat?”
“A hypothetical houseboat. I’m thinking of going into the detective business again. Someone stole Mud Cat Joe’s boat, and I’ve promised to help him find it.”
“Who is heaven’s name is ‘Mud Cat Joe’? Jane, why don’t you learn to begin your stories with a ‘who, when, where, why, and how’ lead? Then I might have some idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, it takes so long to explain all the details,” I said. “Well, settle back in your chair, Dad, because it’s a lengthy tale.”
However, before I could get started, an office boy came to tell Mr. Carter that a man by the name of Frank Harwood wished to see him.
“Harwood? I don’t know anyone by that name. Well, send him in.”
“I suppose that’s my cue to evaporate,” I said getting up from my chair.
“No, stay if you wish. If the man is here to see me about anything confidential, I can send you out.”
“That’s just when I’d like to stay. Maybe, I could hide behind the filing cabinet.”
“You’re forgetting that you’re not the heroine of one of those melodramatic serials you insist on squandering your literary talents on,” Dad said. “Just sit in that chair and try to look normal.”
The door opened and a middle-sized, middle-aged man in a brown suit who walked with a quick, energetic stride, came into the room. Dad stood up to shake his hand. He introduced the man to me and offered him the comfortable leather chair reserved for visitors.
“Well, what may I do for you? You don’t mind my daughter being here?”
“No, no, not at all. I represent the McClure and Allison firm in Chicago. You may have heard of us.”
“Oh, yes, the well-known jewelry concern.”
“I came here upon a rather strange mission,” the man continued. “Do you recall a certain story about our firm which ran in your paper perhaps ten days ago? It was to the effect that one of the officers of our company had disappeared with a considerable number of valuable jewels in his possession?”
“Yes, I remember the story. Man by the name of Merriweather, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, J. D. Merriweather.”
I leaned forward in my chair, but I did not interrupt.
“At first, we were inclined to believe Mr. Merriweather had been delayed on his trip from New York,” Dad’s visitor continued. “He was traveling by motor, combining business with pleasure. Then later, when we became alarmed and tried to trace him, all we could learn was that he last seen at a filling station about two hundred miles from here.”
“That was in the story, I believe. Company officials assumed that Merriweather had stolen the jewels.”
“The man who talked with your reporter over long distance telephone never should have given out such a statement.” Mr. Harwood frowned. “Merriweather was a close friend of mine. He was highly respected in the firm.”
“Then you believe that he did not steal the jewels?”
“James Merriweather wasn’t the type of man to resort to theft. He was well fixed financially and had a wife and two small children. Often he carried more valuable jewels with him than upon this occasion.”
“Then it is your thought that he met with foul play?”
“Either that or an accident,” said Mr. Harwood. “Merriweather was a rather careless driver.”
“What quantity of jewels did your friend carry on his person?”
“The firm has estimated the loss at approximately fifteen thousand dollars. The greater part of this is represented by a pearl necklace. Merriweather was bringing it from New York for a special customer of ours.”
“The loss was covered by insurance?”
“Yes, we’re not worried upon that account. Our fears concern James Merriweather. Now my purpose in coming to you was this: since he disappeared somewhere in this state, or so we believe, we thought your paper might be able to aid in the search.”
“We’ll give you every possible cooperation,” Dad said. “However, I should suggest that you engage a detective.”
“We turned the case over to the Pallman-White Agency several days ago. However, so far they have made no progress.”
“You have talked with the police, I suppose?”
“Yes, but they hold the theory that James Merriweather yielded to temptation, and stole the jewels. The insurance company is working on this angle too, keeping watch of various places where the jewels might be offered for sale.”
“I will be very glad to give you any possible assistance,” my father repeated. “However, I don’t see just what our paper can do. I am willing to assign a special reporter to the story for a few days.”
“Our firm will appreciate your cooperation.” Mr. Harwood picked up his hat. “Thank you for giving me so much of your time.”
“Just a minute, please,” I said standing to my feet. “I think perhaps I have a clue which might help you.”
Both Mr. Harwood and Dad were startled.
“Did you say that your friend’s initials were, ‘J. D.’?” I asked.
“Yes, that is correct,” Mr. Harwood said.
“I happen to know that a J. D. Merriweather spent a night at a small hotel in White Falls. The man registered from Chicago.”
“Then that must have been James Merriweather! Where is White Falls?”
“Not far from here, along the Grassy River,” I explained. “The hotel is run by a Mr. and Mrs. Conrad and is called Old Mansion.”
“Jane, how do you know that Merriweather stayed there?” questioned my father.
“Because I saw his name on the register.”
“I shall drive to White Falls at once and talk with the Conrads,” Mr. Harwood said. “Thank you very much for the clue, Miss Fielding.”
I decided not to inform Mr. Harwood that he was speaking to Mrs. Carter.
“You might telephone us and report what success you have,” Dad suggested.
“I certainly shall. You may expect a call from me not later than tomorrow morning. If something important develops, I’ll telephone earlier.”
Dad walked Mr. Harwood to the door and shook hands with him as they parted. I crossed over to the window and looked down into the street.
“Dad,” I confessed, “I didn’t give Mr. Harwood quite all of my information. When James Merriweather spent the night at Old Mansion, he was assigned room seven— the room, according to Thom Vhorst, where a man mysteriously disappeared!”
CHAPTER 10
“You are certain of your facts?” Dad asked. “There is really a rumor going around town that a man disappeared from room seven.”
“I’m certain of what I saw in the register when I signed it. At the time, I thought very little about it. I suppose the name and the number stuck in my mind because the Conrads acted so funny about that particular room.”
“I believe you said it appeared they didn’t wish you to occupy it?”
“Mrs. Conrad didn’t. Her husband was all for chucking Flo and me in with those hideous portraits.”
“Portraits in a bedroom?”
“Four of them. One fellow in a red cocked hat has eyes that give you the shivers.”
&
nbsp; “I’m not interested in that part,” said Dad. “But you may have stumbled into something, Jane.”
“I think so myself, Dad.”
“I’ll assign Jack Bancroft to the story,” my father said. “He has a nose for news, and he may dig up some interesting facts.”
“But I take it you don’t consider mine especially interesting.”
“Interesting, but a trifle too fanciful for the Greenville Examiner. We can’t print stories about portraits that wink and roll their eyes, even if it would brighten up the art section! I’ll admit that once not so long ago you proved your old Dad to be a bit too conservative—something about a witch doll, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right,” I said. “Dad, if you send Jack out to Old Mansion, warn him not to mention my name. It might get Emma into trouble with the Conrads.”
“I’ll remember. Anyway, Jack probably won’t get out there today. He’ll be tied up with the Elks convention story. I’ll have him contact the Conrads by telephone.”
“He’ll learn nothing that way, Dad.”
“Then I’ll send Jack or some other reporter to White Falls tomorrow.”
“I thought news stories were supposed to be timely, Dad. If you hurry, you might get a big scoop!”
“Or we might get a big libel suit. We’ll have to feel our way cautiously on a story like this, Jane. It’s dangerous business publishing that a man disappeared from a certain hotel, especially when there has been no arrest.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
I turned to leave.
“Please ask Jack to come here if he’s in the office,” Dad said. “I’ll give him his new assignment.”
I closed the door behind me and spoke politely to Mr. DeWitt, the city editor. I paused beside Jack’s desk. He was hammering away at his typewriter and didn’t notice I was there until I spoke.
“Well, if it isn’t our very own Mrs. Carter, back again so soon. What’s the latest news from the front?”
“I hate to break it to you,” I said. “But Dad wishes to see you in his sanctum sanctorum right away.”
Jack’s chair scraped on the floor as he got quickly to his feet.
“What is it, Jane?”
Sinister Goings-on in Room Seven: A Jane Carter Historical Cozy (Book Two) (Jane Carter Historical Cozy Mysteries 2) Page 5