The Amorous Attorney (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 2)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  Chapter 9

  137 Hartford Street

  Saturday, May 23, 1953

  Morning

  The next few days were a blur. I didn't do much of anything other than cook for my husband, go shopping for new L.P. albums at the record store on Castro, listen to said albums on the hi-fi, and basically mope around the house.

  The phone rang constantly during the day. I never answered it and I got used to it. Carter was out during the daytime doing who knew what. But he came home each night at 6 p.m. and we sat down to a rib-sticking dinner that I would spend hours working on because it gave me something to do. At night, he would go at it with me in bed until we both collapsed from exhaustion but not ecstasy.

  Mike came by a couple of times, but I didn't want to talk. Marnie held down the fort at the office and got really good at finding creative ways to tell Eddie Mannix to go fuck himself.

  Meanwhile, I stopped bringing in the morning paper after Thursday morning when the front page had a story on the mysterious disappearance of Taylor Wells, star of the upcoming hit movie, It Was Raining Then.

  Frankly, I didn't care. All I wanted to do was listen to the hi-fi. I even gave the house a full cleaning. It was like a ritual or a rite of passage or something.

  Saturday morning dawned and I felt better, somehow. It was foggy, so the bedroom was in that half-light that it gets on foggy or cloudy days. I turned on my side and looked at Carter. His sandy blonde hair was mussed and pointing its little points of hair in all sorts of directions. His mouth was in a semi-smile as if he was dreaming of floating down that river back in Georgia, only this time it was without any disgusting sewer pipes.

  If only we could all float down lazy rivers that were pristine. But that wasn't the case now and, in my lifetime, I'd been lucky to find a river that wasn't polluted or choked with weeds.

  Then I stopped and thought about that. Was that really true? As I watched my husband's (I was getting used to the word at last) heroic chest rise and fall in a slow rhythm, I realized what I was looking at.

  I was sleeping in the same bed as the most beautiful man in the 48 states. He loved me and I loved him and he had been so kind to me while I was in this blue funk I'd been in since I'd left Jeffery standing on the bridge.

  I ran my hand across Carter's face, caressing it slowly. As I did, the smile broadened and the eyes opened and it spoke. "So, feeling better today, sunshine?"

  "Yes. How'd you know?"

  "You didn't bound out of bed and start working like a maniac, cleaning out drawers or dusting behind the credenza."

  "Yeah. I'm just noticing something."

  He stretched and turn towards me, propping up his head on his arm. "What's that?"

  "How much I love you."

  "Aww... get out! I bet you tell that to all the guys you sleep with."

  I jumped up and put my left leg across him and tried to pin him down on his back, which was real hard because he is a giant of a man and has developed muscles on his body that I'd only seen on guys in the Navy.

  He laughed. "What are you trying to do, son?"

  I pushed his two arms back on the bed, or tried to, and he graciously let me.

  "I want to tell you something, Carter Jones."

  He smiled at me indulgently.

  "What's that?" It was his slow drawl. I knew that voice. Whatever I said had to be said carefully.

  "I've never said the word love to anyone in my life other than Janet and you."

  He relaxed and really let me pin him down.

  "Really?" His eyes looked at me questioningly.

  I nodded. "Scout's honor."

  He looked away from me for a minute. I could see his eyes getting wet.

  I looked him over again. He really was a big man. And he was letting me hold him down. I wouldn't have stood a chance otherwise.

  "I love you, too, Nick."

  I nodded and said, "Boy, do you. You've been so tolerant of me these last few days."

  He smiled. The crinkling of his eyes caused one small tear to escape his eyelashes. It slid down the side of his face and onto the pillow.

  "I've been letting Nick be Nick."

  That rang a bell, somehow.

  "Why did you say that?"

  "Promise you won't get mad?"

  "I'm too exhausted from being hurt to get mad."

  "That's what Mike suggested I do."

  That's where I had heard it before. He used to say that to me: "You do whatever you want, Nick. I'm gonna let Nick be Nick."

  "When did he do that?"

  "On Wednesday, when everything went south between you and Jeffery."

  I vaguely remembered that Mike was here on the front porch, waiting for us, when we drove up after leaving Jeffery on the bridge.

  I suddenly had a pang. We had left him on the bridge. We had gone there to make sure he didn't jump. And he didn't.

  Now I was angry.

  "Woah, cowboy. What just happened in that feverish mind of yours?"

  And, with that, the balloon popped.

  I smiled and said, "Nothing."

  Carter smiled his sweet southern smile.

  "Carter Jones..." I said.

  "What?" He tried to look innocent.

  "We still don't have any hot water."

  He yanked out his right arm from out of my grip, quite easily in fact, and said, "I don't need hot water for this."

  I laughed like I hadn't laughed in a very long time.

  . . .

  Downstairs, we were both dressed and I had eight strips of bacon going because I was hungry. I'd been cooking all those homey meals and hadn't really eaten much. Now, I was hungry.

  I asked, "Do you want scrambled or fried this morning?"

  Carter looked up from the Chronicle and asked, "Huh?"

  I looked at him. "What is it now?"

  He quickly folded the newspaper and said, "Let's eat first. Otherwise we might not have breakfast." He folded the paper up, stood up, and stuck it on the railing that circled the kitchen and that probably once held plates or knickknacks or something. We'd never been able to figure out why a plate rail, typical of these Eureka Valley houses, would be up at seven feet. But, they made handy places for Carter to put things he didn't want me to grab for, like this morning's paper.

  I said, "Fine. Fried or scrambled?"

  He reached for me, scrunched down like he was want to do from time to time, and pulled me in for a kiss in a way that meant I didn't have to stretch my hamstrings to get.

  We did this for a moment to the soft sound of a Mozart concerto playing on the hi-fi and the more immediate sound of bacon sizzling.

  Finally I said, "We're gonna have crispy bacon."

  He stayed right where he was and said softly, "What's crispy bacon?"

  We kept on for a while longer.

  I opened my eyes and said, "Mr. Fireman? I think there's a fire!"

  Carter let me go, looked at the stove which was, in fact, on fire. He turned off the gas burner and then deftly reached for the canister of flour and began to use it to smother the grease. In about thirty seconds it was out.

  While he played fireman, I ran over to the window over the sink, opened it wide, and then opened the back door.

  After the fire was out, I quickly walked to the front door to open it, so we could get a good cross-ventilation. I was startled to see Mike coming up the steps.

  His monster handsome face broke into a grin when he saw me. "How did you know I was coming?"

  I smiled back. "I didn't. We almost burned down the house. I came to the front door to open it so we could get a breeze to take all the smoke out."

  Mike smiled back for a moment. Then he remembered something. His face changed and turned monster angry. As he came across the porch, he pushed me back in the hallway and then grabbed me by the arm. He dragged me into the living room.

  "What the hell, Mike?"

  He yanked on my arm. "Are you finally done with your moping, Nick?"

  I pulled my ar
m out of his hand. It hurt.

  "I guess. What's wrong with you?"

  "You. You and your moanful ways. 'Oh, poor Nick. He's so sad and hurt.'" He was trying to imitate my voice, but not doing a very good job of it.

  "Well, I was. What's it to you?"

  Carter walked into the living room and said, "Hi Mike. Seen Nick anywhere?"

  I was really in no mood for that.

  "Cut it out, Carter. He's reprimanding me for something and we haven't gotten to the what yet."

  Carter said, "Mike. Don't. Let me."

  I looked over at Carter, stunned.

  "What? What is it you haven't told me?"

  Mike dropped his coat and began to roll up his right sleeve. I began to back up. I knew what that meant.

  "I oughta sock you hard and I mean hard." His scary face was in full force. I tried not to run straight to Carter and hide behind him because I never did that with anyone, not anymore, but this was one of the times when it might have been prudent.

  Instead I stood my ground, like I'd been doing ever since Mike had taught me to do just that.

  "Will one of you tell me what's going on?"

  "Taylor and Jeffery are missing, presumed dead." was Mike's answer.

  "What? Wait! How the hell is that my fault?"

  Mike looked down at me, all vengeance and fury. "He needed a friend. His best friend."

  Oh, ho. Now some of this was making sense.

  "Yes. I agree, Mike." I tried to sound sensible.

  "So, why did you just leave him on the bridge, all by himself?"

  Carter said, "That's not how it happened."

  "Well, that's what you told me," snapped Mike.

  "No, Mike." Carter reached out his hands placatingly. "What I told you is that Jeffery said that he was moving on. And that hurt Nick. And that Nick walked away."

  This, and Carter couldn't have known it, was like pouring more gasoline on a raging fire.

  Mike pulled his fist back and I ducked. He hit the wall and yelled.

  I jumped sideways as he came after me. Carter slid between us.

  "You can't keep protecting him Carter! Let him take what he deserves!"

  Carter held Mike back. He was now almost purple with rage. I looked at him and could see the pain radiating out, like heat rising up from the highway in the desert. It was palpable.

  I said, "Mike, he left us. Jeffery left us."

  That seemed to get to him. He relaxed in Carter's arms.

  "He walked away from his practice, his clients, his friends, from me, from all of us. He left us." Now, I was getting all choked up again. But this time it was different. I didn't feel all abandoned and alone. Now, I was part of a group who'd been tossed off the boat on an island and been left to deal with it.

  Carter looked towards the kitchen and said, "Be right back." I knew he wanted to go check the stove and make sure it was all OK. Mike was standing in the middle of the room, holding his face with his hand.

  I jumped up on the coffee table and said, "Come here, big guy." He walked over and let me embrace him. It was a novel thing to be looking at him from slightly above. His hat had come off in the scuffle and I could see his jet black hair was thinning a bit on the crown of his head.

  I pulled him in and held his head in my arms. He was doing that silent cry thing that he did. I said, "It's OK, buddy. Jeffery will be back. And I'm not going anywhere." I knew from personal experience that this was where his rage came from. He had tried to beat me down the night in '41 when I'd told him I'd enlisted in the Navy. He had flat feet and wasn't going anywhere. Besides, as I told him at the time, I figured he would be more use to the war effort if he remained a cop. And, since he did, that's how he got promoted so fast, making Lieutenant at the age of 32, which was fast for the police department.

  But he'd been mad at me for abandoning him. I had just turned 19 a week or so earlier when the Japs had bombed Pearl Harbor. I was down at the recruiting office on Tuesday. I told him on Wednesday. That's when he lost it.

  After I'd finished the basic training, and was on a ship headed to Hawaii, I finally had time to think about why a man who was 26, nearly 27, would take this so hard. He seemed so old and wise to me at the time. Years later, it all made sense. But, at the time, I didn't understand what it meant to have people in your life that you wanted to be around. Mike had been my first love and my first real friend, so I had very little practice with letting people know I loved them.

  So, figuring now was better than never, I said, "Mike, you know I love you, right?" He was still crying, had his head in my shoulder, like I used to do with him, and said, "Yeah. I love you, too, Nick."

  I ran my hands over his brilliantined hair. "And I'm not going anywhere. In fact..." I pulled his head out and looked down in his red eyes. "You're stuck with me and Carter." I saw the big man standing in the doorway. He smiled at me and looked mighty proud, which made me feel real good.

  "We're gonna make some sort of venture work here, even if the Bureau takes my license and keeps you two lugs from getting one. I told Marnie..." I paused for effect. "We could always open a yarn shop."

  Mike finally laughed.

  Chapter 10

  137 Hartford Street

  Saturday, May 23, 1953

  Later that morning

  We were in the kitchen when there was a knock at the front door. Carter went to go get it. I was looking for that old frying pan I used to use because the one I liked was now a big black mess.

  The windows in the house were all open and the smoky smell was clearing. Even the fog was moving out on a nice breeze. Saturday morning was getting better.

  I heard the click of heels on the parquet and turned to see Marnie walking in.

  "Morning, doll."

  Mike stood up and lifted his hat.

  "Oh, Nick. I'm sorry to barge in but have you seen the paper?"

  I said, "No, I haven't. Have you had breakfast?"

  "No. Well, a cup of coffee, but I rushed over as soon as I saw. I figured you might not answer the phone."

  I smiled and said, "Well, have a seat, toots. Breakfast is coming up."

  I walked over to the icebox and realized we needed a few necessities.

  Carter walked back in. And... he didn't have a cane...

  "Hold everything. Carter Woodrow Wilson Jones!"

  Marnie giggled.

  "Where the hell is your cane?"

  He did a little shuffle and said, "I was wondering when you were going to notice. That's what I've been doing all this time while you were cleaning behind bureaus and organizing the basement. I've been doing something they call, 'Physical Therapy.'"

  Marnie said, "Yeah, Nick. When I did some of that research you asked about for that poor Anna, I found a doctor who does that physical whatever."

  I was impressed. "That was fast!"

  Carter nodded. "The doctor said all the lifting weights that I've been doing probably helped things. But, yes, I have put the cane in the closet where it can stay for another forty or fifty years."

  "Two thousand, three." said Marnie.

  I was looking through the icebox again to get a list together of what we needed from the market.

  Mike asked, "What's that, Marnie?"

  "That's the year it will be in fifty years. Can you believe it?"

  Mike grinned. "Maybe they'll talk about it like my grandparents did. You know, aught three. Like that."

  Marnie giggled. "That sounds funny."

  Mike continued. I knew he was teasing her, which was a very good sign considering how upset he'd been a few minutes ago. "I bet no one will live here. We'll all be living on the moon and vacationing on Mars."

  Marnie asked, "Do they have beaches on Mars?"

  Mike shrugged. "Who knows? I know there are canals. Maybe they have water in them."

  Marnie sighed. "I'll have my vacation on Mars this year... Doesn't sound as nice as saying you're going to the Riviera, does it?"

  I said, "Can I interrupt this futurist
ic musing and ask Carter something?"

  "Yes, my husband."

  "What'd you say?" asked Marnie who looked a little titillated.

  I responded. "That's a word we're trying out. What do you think?"

  She tried to look polite, but I knew Marnie. "Well..."

  I said, "Give us the unvarnished version, hon."

  "It sounds weird to hear a big, strong, manly guy like Carter use the word husband. I don't know, Nick."

  I said, "Well, let's move on. Now, Carter, here's my question: does the market still deliver?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know."

  "Me, neither. Can you do your husbandly duty and call them and ask them and, if they do, we need a dozen eggs, a pound of streaky bacon, two quarts of milk, and a pound of coffee."

  Carter nodded and said, "Yes, sir." He mock-saluted, turned on his heels, and went to the phone alcove.

  Mike whistled. "That's impressive."

  I nodded. "I know. I can get him to roll over and play dead, too."

  Marnie giggled.

  . . .

  When the delivery boy showed up fifteen minutes later, we had been joined by Robert. He'd decided to just drive over instead of trying to call. Just like everyone else. I was liking this more and more.

  Carter brought in the box from the market and I got to work. Soon, we had bacon frying. I still had plenty of a cottage loaf for toast. I sent Carter down to the basement to get another jar of his mother's red plum jam. As he was walking down, the doorbell rang again.

  "Who else could that be?" asked Marnie. She stood up. "Should I answer?"

  I replied, "Yes, please, doll. Thanks." I was watching the bacon like a hawk. I normally didn't cook a pound at once, so I wasn't sure how long it would be before I would want to turn it.

  I heard Marnie talking to someone and then she came back in the room. "It's a telegram, Nick!"

  "Well, open it up and let's find out who it's from."

  She did and then she read it rapidly.

  Stranded Riviera del Pacifico Ensenada Stop Wire $300 Earliest Stop Jeffery.

  Mike laughed. "Well, at least he's alive."

  Marnie asked, "Do you want me to go send him some money, Nick?"