Summary:
May 11, 1953
Nick Williams, a private investigator in San Francisco, receives a late-night call that his sister is dying following a freak car accident.
After rushing over to the hospital with Carter Jones, a fireman and the love of his life, he arrives just in time to say good-bye to the last member of his Nob Hill family he could stand to be around.
Once the cops get a chance to take a look at the car, it becomes obvious this was no accident.
It was murder.
And, with that, Nick is hot on the trail to bring his sister's killer to justice. And it's a trail that reveals plenty of surprising secrets about his sister and their family.
Will Nick be able to find the murderer and stop them before they can strike again?
Find out in the fast-paced adventures of the case of THE UNEXPECTED HEIRESS!
Summary:
Monday, May 18, 1953
Jeffrey Klein's love affair is heating up and Nick has to chase him down because, frankly, he needs a lawyer to set up his new business.
Oh, and Eddie Mannix at Metro is on the warpath and being a general pain in Nick’s ass.
After finding Jeffrey shacked up in a compromising position, Nick has to deal with his own personal mess when it comes to saying goodbye to an old flame.
After receiving a telegram asking for help, Nick and Carter end up flying south of the border, down Mexico way.
When they get there, they find a corrupt politician, a flirtatious police captain, and a woman terrified of an uncertain future and what it holds for her.
Friday, May 29, 1953
Nick and Carter just want to go home to San Francisco after their adventures in Mexico.
But, before they can sail into the Golden Gate, Nick receives a subpoena from America's most infamous witch hunter in Washington, D.C.
Meanwhile, an old schoolmate from Carter's childhood shows up out of nowhere and revives painful memories.
Once they get to the nation's capitol, they are plunged into helping yet another flirtatious police detective solve a curious murder that leads to some very dark places.
In the end, Nick and Carter set a trap to catch the killer and get much more than they bargained for.
The Unexpected Heiress #1
If you follow my reviews you'll remember that I first found myself introduced to Nick and Carter a couple of years ago in Butterfields' short story series, Nick & Carter Holidays. With each entry the full length tales inched further up my TBR list and this past March I read book #14, The Pitiful Player for my Oscars week theme. Loved it but it was in the middle so I decided what better time than for Pride should I start from the beginning? Seeing as there are currently 39 entries I'm sure there will still be some jumping about to fit different themes but right now I'm back at square one, The Unexpected Heiress.
The author does an amazing job at keeping things very much, or as close as possible, historically accurate. Yes, Nick's wealth leaves him a bit more leeway in his personal life that Joe Blow would not be given in the day but in his public dispute with Hearst, we see there are limits that even Nick may not be able to overcome. But boy does he try.
Due to the wealth and standing I mentioned above, Nick and Carter tend to collect people, well they don't "collect" them as that's just wrong on so many levels😉 but they do tend to find people who could very much need a friend and then through these new found friendships, N&C open them to opportunities they wouldn't otherwise have. You can imagine their found family grows and grows.
The Unexpected Heiress has so many elements that by themselves are great reading but combined all together and Frank W Butterfield has brought the combo of mystery, romance, drama, humor, and historical setting to a whole new level. Whether you love historicals or not, I highly recommend Unexpected Heiress, and though I've not read them all the Nick and Carter universe is amazing storytelling not to be missed.
Blogger Note for 1-3:
I'm glad I went to the beginning because at least for the first 3 I had opportunity to read now, there is a few things that linger from one story to the next. Would you be lost? Not really as the author does a wonderful job keeping the reader in the know but I'm glad I read it this way and not just because I'm typically a series read-in-order gal. The overall feel just meshed so perfectly.
The Amorous Attorney #2
In The Amorous Attorney, we get to see a little more of what happened to Nick's attorney, Jeffrey Klein and his actor lover, Taylor Wells despite the studio's fixer, Eddie Mannix putting the kibosh to the affair. I won't spoil anything as certain parts of this journey are continued on from book 1, The Unexpected Heiress, and if you haven't read that one there are a few mentions here that could spoil that one. As you know this is a spoiler free zone.
Nick has issues to contend with that linger from book one as well so let's just say he needs his attorney. Nick and Carter find themselves on a little trip trying to figure out just what is going on. Do they? You'll have to read that for yourself but if you know Nick & Carter you know trouble just seems to find a way to their door. Will these troubles help or hamper their journey for answers? You know my answer to that.
Just know that despite finding more questions than answers at times, Nick & Carter and their ever growing friends and family never fail to entertain.
Blogger Note for 1-3:
I'm glad I went to the beginning because at least for the first 3 I had opportunity to read now, there is a few things that linger from one story to the next. Would you be lost? Not really as the author does a wonderful job keeping the reader in the know but I'm glad I read it this way and not just because I'm typically a series read-in-order gal. The overall feel just meshed so perfectly.
The Sartorial Senator #3
Just when Nick finally thought he'd get home(and get to stay for awhile) another journey appears and this time to Washington, DC in the form of a subpoena from Senator Joe McCarthy. Once he arrives there are other matters that require attention. A familiar face from Carter's past that doesn't exactly make Carter smile which in turn upsets Nick. So not only are they dealing with a blast from the past but also are being asked to discover what happened to a different senator's son.
Cases just seem to follow Nick around.
The Sartorial Senator is a wonderful mystery that though the who may not have kept me guessing to the reveal, the whys certainly had me on the edge of my seat. Just so much goodness and if I don't stop now I'm afraid my spoil-free zone will be compromised. But know this: Nick and Carter will never be dull and will always keep you on your toes.
Blogger Note for 1-3:
I'm glad I went to the beginning because at least for the first 3 I had opportunity to read now, there is a few things that linger from one story to the next. Would you be lost? Not really as the author does a wonderful job keeping the reader in the know but I'm glad I read it this way and not just because I'm typically a series read-in-order gal. The overall feel just meshed so perfectly.
The Unexpected Heiress #1
Chapter 1
777 Bush Street, Third Floor
San Francisco, Cal.
Monday, May 11, 1953
Half past 10 in the morning
She walked through the door of my private office like she was gliding on air. Her curves were definitely in all the right places. The dress she wore made sure I knew it.
She removed the veil from her face and pinned it back on her hat, which was perched precariously on her upswept hair.
She sat down and leaned in, making sure I could see all the way down her ample cleavage.
As she sat there, I asked, "Would you like a cigarette?"
She smiled and nodded. I offered her one and she took it. I leaned over and lit it for her.
She pulled on it like she was finally getting a drink of water after a forced march in the desert. When she exhaled, she smiled at me and asked, "You work alone?"
I nodded. "How can I help?"
She looked down demurely as if there was one very specific way I could help.
I waited.
Finally, she looked up and said, "It's over between me and Johnny and I need some proof."
I took out a pad and pencil and began to make some notes. We went through the usual questions: her name, his name, how long they'd been married, her address, the hotel she thought he had been habituating of late, and, most importantly, the name of the other woman.
"Oh, but Mr. Williams, it ain't some dame, it's a guy." She spit out the last words like she'd just bit down on a sour pickle and couldn't wait to be rid of it.
I looked up and said, "Yeah?"
She nodded. "If I'd known Johnny was a fairy when I married him..." She looked up and shrugged.
"What? What would you have done?" I asked, keeping my voice level.
"You know. I would have told my pops and he would have had some of the guys down at his bar do a number on Johnny and let him know what's what."
I stood up and put on my coat.
She made an "O" with her mouth. I guessed that was her way of expressing shock or maybe astonishment.
"Wait. How much do I owe you?"
"Not a thin dime, miss."
"Really? You work for free?"
"Oh no," I said as I put on my hat and extended my hand to help her stand up. "I don't work for free."
"I'm confused."
"No, you're not. You're just angry. You thought he loved you but you knew all along he wasn't the right man. Why did you even marry him?"
Now she was angry. She refused my hand and stayed planted in the chair.
"I had to get out of Pop's house, didn't I?"
"Well, they have wonderful residential hotels for women these days. Or so I'm told. You get three squares, a comfortable bed, and bath down the hall all at an affordable price. Daily, weekly or monthly rates offered."
She giggled. "You're funny."
"No miss. What I am is a homosexual and I don't work for clients who aren't polite and can't even talk about their soon-to-be ex-husbands without calling them words like 'fairy' or 'fruit'."
She stood up haughtily. "I should have known you was one of them. There oughta be a law."
"There is one in most states of our great nation. Now, can I walk you to the elevator while I give you a couple of names to call on? These are gentlemen who will be happy to help you. And they won't care what you call your husband as long as you pay up front and cover their daily incidentals."
She stopped at the door and turned on me. "So, what you're sayin' is that since I called Johnny a fairy, you ain't gonna help me?"
"That's right, miss."
"Well, I never!"
"Well, now you have."
We walked into the front office. I saw Marnie shaking her head as I opened the door.
I walked her down the dark, little hallway to the ancient, creaky elevator and gave her the names of some of the cheaper, but still good enough, private detectives I knew who would gladly help her out.
As the door closed, I lifted my hat and heard her giggle.
I walked back to my office and looked at the letters that had been recently been painted on the frosted glass:
Nicholas Williams
Private Detective
Licensed and Bonded
PR-7777
10 a.m. - 4:30 p.m.
And By Appointment
I sighed and thought about all the money I'd spent to get this office, hire Marnie, get that particular phone number, and even have the glass painted.
Not that it really mattered. I didn't need to work. I had what my friend and attorney Jeffery Klein called, "An unbreakable trust." It was left to me by a venerable great-uncle who, from all accounts, put the word "gay" in the "Gay Nineties" that San Francisco was infamous for.
He was a rake of the worst sort and, apparently, saw the tendency in me, and so skipped everyone else and their outstretched hands and landed the whole pile in my lap at the tender age of 21.
I was surprised and shocked by the bequest. I'd only met old Uncle Paul once, but, as I later learned, he'd been keeping a watchful eye on me through the stormy years of my misspent youth before I'd enlisted in the Navy and gone off to fight for freedom, democracy, and the American Way.
My shock turned to unsurprised disgust when every relative, near and far, decided to sue. The California dockets were cluttered for about five years with the details of Uncle Paul's sordid life and the injustice of handing untold millions over to a kid of 21.
Learned judges rebuked Uncle Paul in writing, and at great length, for his lascivious ways. They lectured me about squandering my inheritance in similar fashion. But, in the end, they had all thrown up their hands and declared the trust was valid and the inheritance was mine to do with as I wanted.
When the whole gang of relatives got together and appealed to the California State Supreme Court, the case was thrown back at them, with a vengeance, and they were told to go home and nurse their wounds.
And they did. None of them, my own father included, would now talk to me and, from what I'd heard, my name was never mentioned on Nob Hill or even down in Hillsborough where some of the younger family members were relocating to build their mansions on vast, two-acre spreads.
I opened the door and saw Marnie standing there, hands on her hips. "So, you threw another one out, didn't you?"
I took off my hat and said, "Don't harass me, Marnie. You know I don't need the work."
"Yeah, I know. You don't need the work. But you go a little stir when you ain't got the work and I love working here.
"Oh! The characters that come through that door give Mother and me a chuckle. It's better than anything on the radio or the TV.
"But, lord! I can't sit here, knitting my hands till they bleed, and watch you slowly go crazy."
I smiled at her and said, "You're a real friend, Marnie."
"Well, I ain't the only one you got. That Klein, he wants to talk to you. Seems like he's got a case for you. And it's the Polk Street kind."
I put my hat back on my head, gave Marnie a quick kiss on the cheek, and said, "Thanks doll. See you later."
The Amorous Attorney #2
Chapter 1
137 Hartford Street
San Francisco, Cal.
Monday, May 18, 1953
Mid-morning
From upstairs, I heard Carter banging around with something as he was coming in the front door. I knew he'd taken the Buick out to make a purchase on that Monday morning, but that's all I knew. I, on the other hand, had decided to take some time to actually do a little light housework so our sweet, charming bungalow didn't fall into utter ruin.
I called down, "Whatcha got there, big boy?"
All I got in response was a grunt.
I decided to let him play with his new toy, whatever it was.
Carter Jones was my husband. Or, at least that was the word we'd decided to try out. He was a big man, standing just about six inches taller than me at 6'4". He had sandy blond hair, green eyes, and a seductive Georgia drawl that he had brought with him to San Francisco in '39, when he and his best friend, Henry Winters, had driven an old Ford across the south, through the desert, and up the California coast.
After about twenty minutes of listening to him move things around, I decided I was as done as I was going to be. I also decided it was time to hire a housekeeper because neither of us was as good at it as a real professional would be. We'd long ago given up on the yard and hired a friend of a friend by the name of Manuel Perez to maintain the whole big mess that was now looking good and respectable.
As I stripped off my need-to-be-burned-now trousers and pulled off my shirt, I heard Carter hobbling up the stairs with his cane. A few months ago, Carter and a firetruck had a misunderstanding and his knee was the innocent victim in the fracas. The doctor had done a swell job of getting him mended and his cane did a swell job of getting him around. I was the primary beneficiary of all the weight lifting he was doing down in our basement in an effort to stay in tip-top form. And, boy, was it tip-top!
Finally rid of all my clothing, which was in a big pile in the corner of the bedroom, I reached into the shower and started the long process of bringing hot water to the second floor from the basement.
I heard Carter ridding himself of unnecessary clothes as well. Any clothes on him when we were alone always struck me as being completely unnecessary, but that was beside the point.
Or, at least, I thought it was beside the point until he stomped into the bathroom.
. . .
After once again draining the overworked hot water heater, we were soaping up each other in the walk-in shower.
"So, where'd you go this morning?" I asked.
"Not telling. There's a surprise for you downstairs and I think you'll like it."
I studied his back for a moment, tracing a line in the soap that was running down across various pronounced muscle groups.
Carter asked, "Has Jeffery called yet?"
"No. I talked to Robert about ten minutes before you came in." Robert was Jeffery's efficient receptionist. "No one at the office knows where is."
"Do you think he's shacked up somewhere with someone?"
I paused. That was my exact thought. And I couldn't tell Carter, at least not yet, who that someone was.
The mystery man was Taylor Wells, who was supposed to be on the lot that morning at Metro down in Culver City doing color tests for the movie he was filming, It Was Raining Then. I had a call in to Metro to see if Taylor was actually at work, but I doubted that would be the case.
Carter turned around and looked down at me, his eyes dancing with mischief.
"Are you going to tell me about it?"
I shook my head.
"I can get it outta you, if you want, son."
I wasn't sure if I wanted that or not. We did have a meeting at noon at my office.
"Can I get a rain-check on that?"
Carter ran his right hand along the left side of my face. "I dunno. You seem like you're almost ready to confess."
I shook my head. "We have that meeting at the office. How would it look if the C.E.O. and Chief Fire Investigator were late on the first day?"
On the previous Friday night and into Saturday morning, we had come up with a plan to salvage the careers of Carter Jones (my husband and current shower buddy), Mike Robertson (formerly of the San Francisco Police Department), Ben White (also a former policeman), and Carlo Martinelli (a former fireman).
Technically, Mike, Ben, and Carlo were just on suspension, but it was indefinite and without pay and likely to become permanent. Carter was now a former fireman, having been plain fired by the Mayor of our fair city at the same time the others were suspended.
This all happened because, on Friday night at dinner, I was an idiot and told off George Hearst, son of William Randolph Hearst, who was on the board of the Hearst Corporation which published The San Francisco Examiner. He deserved being told off because Hearst and the Examiner seemed to think that it was a good business decision to sell papers on the backs of unfortunate homosexual men whose ruined lives were certain once their names, addresses, and places of employment were on page one of that yellow rag.
Of course, George Hearst was just following in the footsteps of his father. From the sinking of the Maine to the internment of innocent Nisei, those Americans of Japanese descent whose lives and property had been unjustly destroyed, there really wasn't a bad idea that the Hearst papers didn't support.
The only person who seemed to be really happy about my public scandal was my evil father who, for the first time in his life, had looked at me with something like pride when Carter had told him the story. Parnell Robert Williams was no saint, by any stretch of the imagination, so he loved seeing a pompous man like George Hearst get his, and in public.
Unlike my father, I did give a rat's ass about how this event might affect other people. We'd run into a blitz of photographers after the encounter happened. Our faces were plastered over all the papers the next morning, so now all was known. As a result, four men, good and true, had been relieved of their civic duties because they were now known to be associates of yours truly, an avowed homosexual. So I had decided that I needed to come up with an idea that would turn this around from a disaster into, perhaps, the start of something good.
My idea was to create a new kind of business, focused on security. Even today, dripping wet in front of the most beautiful man in North America, I still wasn't sure what this business would become.
However, as Carter had pointed out to me on Saturday, Mike seemed to know. He had run with the idea at my suggestion. He was the President of our little outfit. Or, he would be, if we could ever find the lawyer whose job it would be to draw up all the necessary papers.
At the moment, however, Jeffery Klein, Esquire, was missing, and presumed in flagrante delicto with America's new favorite leading man, Taylor Wells.
Carter was still looking at me. If the water hadn't been running, I thought the room might explode, his eyes were smoldering so intensely.
I just smiled up at him and said, "We need a new water heater."
He gave me his slow Georgia smile.
. . .
At a quarter after noon, we both waltzed in the door of my office on Bush Street. Marnie looked at me and asked, "Late on the first day, Nick?"
I took off my hat and held it in both hands, pretending to be penitent.
"It's all Carter's fault."
He was standing behind me, so I couldn't see the face he made at Marnie, but she blushed and started to giggle.
Marnie Wilson was my steadfast secretary. She paid the bills, answered the phone when it actually rang, and could knit a sweater faster than any human should be able to. Up to this point, I'd usually turned away more business than I took in, so I had a couple of those sweaters in my closet.
When I was 21, I'd inherited a massive trust from my great-uncle, Paul Williams, who put the word "Gay" in "The Gay Nineties" that San Francisco was famous for. He tended to make money in any financial climate, so I had more money to my name than I could spend in ten lifetimes. Much of it was now working for the public good in the Williams Benevolent Foundation.
But I still had loads of it, and it was getting bigger on its own thanks to the fine men at the Bank of America, so I didn't need the work. I turned away the clients who came in that I didn't like. This was very annoying to the much put-upon Marnie.
But that might be changing today at the formation of Consolidated Security, our new venture and the topic of this meeting.
I asked Marnie, "Have you had any calls from Jeffery's office?"
She shook her head. "No. You want I should call down there again?"
I said, "No. Poor Robert doesn't need us calling him every thirty minutes."
Turning to Carter, I asked, "Can you go in there with the boys for a minute?"
"What? Secrets from one of your business partners? Already?"
His eyes danced and I tried not to blush. I was good at holding a stony face when I needed. But not with Carter Jones, never with Carter Jones.
I said, "This isn't Consolidated business. This is Nick Williams, Private Investigator, business."
He nodded, took off his hat, and hobbled into my office with his cane, closing the door behind him. I tried not to watch him too intently since, even with a bum knee, he was the sexiest thing on two legs.
I pulled up the extra chair and sat down next to Marnie. Speaking softly, I asked, "Did Metro call?"
She nodded. "He hasn't been on the lot today. They wondered if you knew where he might be."
"What'd you tell them?"
"That you would call them when you got in."
I nodded and asked, "Can you call down there and get whoever it was on the phone?"
Marnie pursed her lips. "You ain't gonna like it, Nick."
I rolled my eyes. "Mannix?"
"Yeah. And his instructions were clear. Call him and only him."
I took a deep breath and said, "Well, hell. Call the S.O.B. and let's get this over with."
Eddie Mannix was Metro's fixer. He got their stars and starlets out of any mess they got into, including dalliances with members of the same sex. He hated all things fag and fairy and was always very clear about this fact with me, personally. I had come down hard on him last Wednesday about his own dalliances with a mistress. And that had not gone over very well.
Marnie picked up the handset and dialed the operator. "Long distance, please." There was a pause. "Culver City. Vermont 7336. Person-to-person for Mr. Mannix from Mr. Williams. Time and charges."
I looked at Marnie. "Do you always ask for time and charges?"
She put her hand over the mouthpiece. "I do, Nick. I write it down and always compare it to the bill."
I was fascinated by her efficiency. I would've just paid the damn bill. And probably been late.
"Ever been wrong?" I asked, meaning the bill. I knew Marnie was never wrong.
"Four times this year."
I tilted my head. "But it's only May."
She nodded. "Exactly."
I smiled at her. "You're the tops, Marnie."
"I try—" She took her hand off the phone. "Yes, please. Thank you, Operator." She put down the receiver. "He ain't in. But the operator will try again in thirty minutes."
I stood up. "Well, Madame Secretary, are you ready?"
Marnie gathered her steno pad, two sharpened pencils, and stood up. "Yeah, Nick."
"Let's go."
The Sartorial Senator #3
Chapter 1
Aboard the Jules Verne
Newport Harbor
Newport Beach, Cal.
Friday, May 29, 1953
Just past 3 in the afternoon
We sailed into Newport Harbor around 3 in the afternoon on Friday, May 29th. I stood on the deck with Carter Jones, my lover and partner, and enjoyed the view as our ship's captain expertly piloted the craft through the channel and into the marina where we tied up for the day.
Carter was a big man, standing just about six inches taller than me at 6'4". He had sandy blond hair, blue eyes, and a seductive Georgia drawl.
We'd sailed up from San Diego earlier that day. The ocean had been smooth. It was quite a change for both of us to spend so much time doing so little.
Mike Robertson, my best friend and first lover, had been busy. He finally came above deck at noon to give his new boyfriend, a small, compact guy and member of the crew, some time to recover and to actually do his job.
Mike was an inch taller than Carter, had dark black hair, and what was best described as monster good looks. When he was happy and smiling, he was handsome. But when he was unhappy, it made me want to look around for innocent villagers who were about to be attacked by the monster.
Earlier in the day, the three of us, Mike, Carter, and myself, had a picnic lunch at the table aft that had become my favorite place to sit and eat outside of San Francisco.
We said little. We were each handling the bad memories of the day before in different ways.
Mike was having as much sex as he could.
Carter had his nose in his dwarves and dragon book.
I kept looking for more dolphins.
. . .
After we tied up at the marina, Carter and I disembarked in search of a phone. I needed to check on what was happening at home.
We found a payphone just outside the marina store. While I dropped my dime, Carter wandered in to pick up a few things.
I dialed the operator.
"Number, please."
"Long distance."
"Thank you."
There was a click on the line and I waited.
"Long distance."
"San Francisco. Prospect 7777. Charge the call to that number."
She repeated this back to me to confirm. I confirmed.
I waited for a long moment.
"Private investigator." It was the service.
"Hi, this is Nick Williams."
"Yes, Mr. Williams. Good afternoon."
"Yeah. Do you have any idea why my secretary isn't at the office?"
"No, sir. I do have messages for you, if you would like them."
"Yeah."
"The first one is from Mr. Klein. He has sent a wire to France."
"Good."
"He also says that the two best days to own a boat are the day you buy it and the day you sell it."
I laughed. "I suppose that's probably true. Anything else?"
"A message from Washington, D.C. It's from a Roger Young. He works for the Senate. He wants to talk to you about an investigation." She paused.
"Does he mention what kind of investigation he wants done?"
"Yes, he does. But I prefer not to repeat it."
I sighed and put my hand over my eyes. "I see. Lemme guess. It's me they're investigatin' and it may have to do with the reason I was in the paper a couple of weeks ago."
"Yes, sir."
"Beyond that, is there anything else he says?"
"He says you can call him as soon as you get the message, regardless of the time."
By this time, Carter was standing by the phone booth with a small bag and a handful of newspapers. I put my hand on the receiver. "Have a pencil?" Normally I carried one, but I was standing there in swim trunks and a cotton t-shirt.
Carter said, "Be right back," and disappeared into the store.
I spoke down the phone. "I'm waiting for a pencil. Any other messages?"
"One last one. From Mr. Klein again. He wants you to call him as soon as you can."
"He called again?"
"Yes, sir. After Mr. Young."
"I see. Well, I'm sorry you had to be the bearer of bad news. I'm sure it's not nice."
"No, sir."
Carter handed me a small notebook and a pencil. I smiled up at my husband and winked. I got a nice southern smile in return and began to notice the hazard of wearing such tight swim trunks.
"I have a pencil. Go ahead with that number."
"The number in Washington is Capitol 2400. Ask for room 122. The name, again, is Roger Young."
"Thanks. Anything else?"
"No, sir."
"Have a good afternoon. Thanks."
"The same to you, Mr. Williams."
With that, the line went dead.
I looked up at Carter and said, "Two more calls." He nodded and then asked, "Do you want me to wait?"
"Yeah. I'm not sure how well this'll go."
I took the dime out of the return slot and dropped it again.
"Number, please."
"Long distance."
I waited and looked at Carter's long, muscled, and hairy legs. They deserved to be looked at.
The same operator, or so it seemed, came back on the line.
"Long distance."
"Washington, D.C. Capitol 2400. And I want to charge this call."
"To what number?"
"San Francisco. Prospect 7777."
She repeated all this and I confirmed.
"Please hold."
There was a brief pause and then the line began to ring. A friendly voice answered. "United States Senate."
"Room 122."
"Thank you."
There were a couple of buzzes.
A male voice answered and simply said, "Yes?"
"I'm calling for Roger Young."
"This is he."
"This is Nick Williams returning your call."
The voice on the other end spoke. "Yes, Mr. Williams. Thank you for calling me back. Can you be here on Monday?"
I replied, "I don't know. What's this about?"
"Didn't your secretary tell you?"
"I want you to tell me."
There was a pause while some papers shuffled in the background. "The Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations would like to ask you some questions about the infiltration of San Francisco by homosexuals."
"I see. And why me?"
"Well, you are an admitted and avowed practicing homosexual, are you not?"
"I'm not sure how that's relevant. Do you have a subpoena?"
"Yes, of course we do. And we decide what's relevant."
"I see. So, you serve the subpoena and then I'll respond. Isn't that how this works?"
"Mr. Williams, I happen to know you can be here by Monday. Why don't you come out here for a friendly conversation with the subcommittee?"
"There's nothing about that subcommittee that's friendly. You serve the subpoena and we'll take it from there."
I dropped the receiver on its hook.
Carter said, "Well, that was fast."
I looked up and asked, "What do you mean?"
He handed me a folded-over copy of the Los Angeles Examiner, a Hearst paper.
McCarthy To Investigate Homos
Senator Joseph McCarthy of Wisconsin announced earlier today the beginning of a new phase in his investigations. Front and center is wealthy Nicholas Williams, notorious scion of the Williams family of San Francisco's Nob Hill. Just recently released by Mexican police for his possible involvement in the murder of M-G-M star Taylor Wells, Williams is expected in Washington on Monday for an appearance before Senator McCarthy's committee. An avowed homosexual, Williams is expected to tell the subcommittee how homosexuality is putting the nation's defense at risk.
"For Pete's sake," was the best I could come up with.
. . .
After talking to Jeffery, Carter and I decided to go to Washington. Jeffery hadn't seen the subpoena but he had seen The San Francisco Examiner and the coverage there was more sensational than in L.A.
The Hearst papers were going after me, and hard. After a nasty article where they'd published the names and addresses of several men caught in a police raid at The Kit Kat Club on Polk Street, I'd stood up to George Hearst, son of William Randolph Hearst, and nominal publisher of that yellow rag called The San Francisco Examiner and told him exactly what I thought about it. We'd been out at the Top of the Mark for dinner that night, had our pictures taken on the way out the door, and ended up on the cover of all the papers the next morning, except the Examiner, of course. Ever since then, the Hearst chain had been taking pot-shots at me whenever they could. I didn't care much. I had a thick skin and was rich enough not to.
We walked back to the slip where the ship was tied up. As we boarded, I saw that Mike was stretched out on the top deck. I pointed that out to Carter. We slowly crept up the stair.
As we did, Mike said, "I can hear you two plotting from a mile away. So, whatever it is, cool it."
I laughed. We sat down next to him. I looked at his pale skin getting some much-needed exposure to the sun. After a couple of days of lying around the ship, I had started to turn brown, just like I remembered happening in the south Pacific. Carter's skin hadn't turned brown as much as it had looked toasted, which, as with anything, made him even more handsome.
Carter threw the Examiner on Mike's bare midriff. "Here. Read this. Nick's in the papers again."
Mike leaned up on one arm and shielded the sun from his eyes with his other arm. "Again? When aren't you in the paper these days?"
I just shrugged. He turned his attention to the front page and scanned it briefly. "'Avowed homosexual?' When did you take that vow?"
I looked at him for a long moment. Carter seized the opening and said, "You should know, Mike."
We all laughed.
Nick Williams Mystery Series
In 1953, the richest homosexual in San Francisco is a private investigator.
Nick Williams lives in a modest bungalow with his fireman husband, a sweet fellow from Georgia by the name of Carter Jones.
Nick's gem of a secretary, Marnie Wilson, is worried that Nick isn't working enough. She knits a lot.
Jeffrey Klein, Esquire, is Nick's friend and lawyer. He represents the guys and gals who get caught in police raids in the Tenderloin.
Lt. Mike Robertson is Nick's first love and best friend. He's a good guy who's one hell of a cop.
The Unexpected Heiress is where their stories begin. Read along and fall in love with the City where cable cars climb halfway to the stars.
Long before the Summer of Love, pride parades down Market Street, and the fight for marriage equality, San Francisco was all about the Red Scare, F.B.I. investigations, yellow journalism run amok, and the ladies who play mahjong over tea.
Nick & Carter Holiday Series
Welcome to a year of holidays with Nick Williams and Carter Jones!
This is a series of short stories with each centered around a specific holiday.
From New Year's Day to Boxing Day, each story stands on its own and might occur in any year from the early 1920s to the first decade of the 21st Century.
Saturday Series Spotlights
Frank W Butterfield
Frank W. Butterfield is the Amazon best-selling author of 89 (and counting) self-published novels, novellas, and short stories. Born and raised in Lubbock, Texas, he has traveled all over the US and Canada and now makes his home in Daytona Beach, Florida. His first attempt at writing at the age of nine with a ball-point pen and a notepad was a failure. Forty years later, he tried again and hasn't stopped since.
B&N / SMASHWORDS / iTUNES
The Unexpected Heiress #1
SMASHWORDS / KOBO / iTUNES
B&N / iTUNES AUDIO / AUDIBLE
The Amorous Attorney #2
SMASHWORDS / KOBO / iTUNES
B&N / iTUNES AUDIO / AUDIBLE
The Sartorial Senator #3
SMASHWORDS / KOBO / iTUNES
B&N / iTUNES AUDIO / AUDIBLE
Nick Williams Mystery Series
SMASHWORDS / iTUNES / KOBO
B&N / iTUNES AUDIO / AUDIBLE
Nick & Carter Holiday Series
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