Summary:
A Nick Williams Mystery #14
Friday, July 8, 1955
Ben White, a movie producer working on Nick's dime, is ready to show off what he's been up to, so Nick and Carter head to Hollywood to see what there is to see and, to be polite, it stinks.
Ben's director has an idea and he says it's gonna make Nick even richer than he already is.
But, before they can start the cameras rolling, leading man William Fraser is found murdered at the lavish Beverly Hills mansion of seductive silent screen star Juan Zane. Carlo Martinelli, Ben's lover, is arrested and charged with murder even though everyone in town knows he's innocent, including the District Attorney.
Meanwhile, the Beverly Hills Police Chief makes sure that Nick knows that his kind of help isn't wanted in the posh village, home to some of Hollywood's most famous stars. The chief is running a good, clean, wholesome town, after all.
From Muscle Beach to Mulholland Drive, Nick and Carter begin to piece together the clues that point to who did it and why. Somehow they manage to do so in the sweltering heat and noxious smog of the Southland.
In the end, however, will anyone be brought to justice? It's Hollywood, so you'll have to wait for the final reel to find out.
Gotta start by saying this is the first of Frank W Butterfield's full-length novels I've read in the world of Nick Williams and Carter Jones. As a series-read-in-order kind of gal it's unusual for me to start in the middle. I was looking for recs that had a Hollywood/acting theme as Oscar season had arrived and The Pitiful Player came to my attention. I knew starting the middle would normally throw me for a loop but I also knew(or suspected to be more accurate), having read Butterfield's Nick & Carter Holiday short story series there probably wasn't too many side characters that I wouldn't recognize and that for the most part it sounded like these mysteries were standalones.
In I jumped . . . what a glorious splash landing it was.
I won't talk about the mystery part so I don't spoil it for anyone but I loved it, I loved the intricacies, the twists and turns that Nick and Carter found in their quest to free their friend. Sometimes it seemed like every time a question was answered it only led to more questions but eventually everything works itself out with the aid of N&C and their merry band of ever-growing employees and friends.
I'm afraid my knowledge of the LA landscape comes from what I see in films/tv shows so I can't speak to the accuracy of said setting but I can't help but think Butterfield got it pretty spot on considering how awesome his attention to detail was in the N&C Holiday shorts. I do know that the inclusion of real Hollywood actors helped to pull me into the story, to make me feel like a customer at the Brown Derby or Joe's Diner witnessing everything firsthand.
A couple of examples that stood out, that made me stop reading for a second to appreciate the author's efforts:
1. William Hopper at the fundraising event. I'm guessing not too many people realized that Bill Hopper, aka Paul Drake from TVs Perry Mason, was the son of Hedda Hopper. I'll admit I didn't know it until about 10 years ago when I thought I saw him in a bit part of an old movie I was watching and looked it up on Wikipedia. Such a tiny blip in this great story and yet for me it went a long ways to express the respect of the era the author has.
2. The speech Nick gave at above mentioned fundraising event for polio research and vaccine. Nick speaks of a cop's daughter he met not needing an iron lung but still dealing with the disease and probably will for years to come. My grandmother had polio when she was younger but also did not need the iron lung. I think too many people don't understand there were other ways polio hit and just how important the vaccine was. Butterfield including this again spoke volumes to me, such a small point in terms of wordage and pages but a huge point in establishing the era.
Now that those points have been made, I'm going to close out my review by saying even when the time comes and I've read all 32 entries as well as a few others in the Nick and Carter universe, the couple and their found families will never get old, will never fail to entertain. They are just so likeable and loveable you just can't help but gravitate towards them.
Chapter 1
1198 Sacramento Street
San Francisco, Cal.
Friday, July 8, 1955
Half past 7 in the morning
I stood up from the kitchen table and said, "No."
Carter stood and said, "Excuse us, everyone. We're gonna move this argument into the other room."
We'd been having breakfast in the kitchen with Mrs. Strakova, our wonderful cook, Mrs. Kopek, her friend and our housekeeper, and Ferdinand, our gardener and ersatz chauffeur. The other three kids who worked for us had already left the table.
I said, "Thank you, Mrs. Strakova, for another delicious meal." With that, I turned on my heel and made my way through the dining room and into the great room.
As I did, I heard Carter say, "Yes, thank you."
Mrs. Strakova replied, "You are very welcome, Mr. Carter."
As I stood in the great room, looking at the roaring fire that Carter had built while we were waiting for breakfast, I sighed audibly. I was, to put it mildly, sick and tired of having the same conversation over and over again.
Right then, I heard Carter say, "What is the problem, Nick?"
I shook my head and made my way for the stairs. As I made my way up, I could hear him following me. At the top of the stairs, I sped up, passing the two bedrooms on either side of the hallway, and breaking into a trot before banging open the door to our bedroom. I discovered a startled Gustav, our butler and valet, who was putting away the laundry he'd picked up the day before from down on Clay Street.
He looked at me from where he was standing in front of the bureau. "I am sorry, Mr. Nick," he said apologetically.
I slammed the bedroom door behind me and leaned against it. "Don't apologize, Gustav," I said with a sharpness to my voice that he didn't deserve.
"Is this about—"
"Yes."
He smiled wanly and said, "I agree with you."
As Carter knocked on the door behind me and started fiddling with the doorknob, I said, "That's fine, Gustav, but no one asked you." As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I instantly regretted it. I said, "I'm sorry."
He shrugged. "That is fine, Mr. Nick. Shall I come back again to finish?"
"Go ahead and finish. I'm not letting him in." As I said that, Carter banged a little louder on the thick oak door.
Gustav raised his eyebrows for a moment and then turned to finish unfolding and refolding the clothes he was putting away. He had a very specific way that he liked to fold our BVDs and socks. He'd stopped trying to get the laundry to follow his instructions and, instead, had decided he would just have to do it on his own each time the clothes came back.
"Nick." That was Carter. "Let me in."
"You said I was stubborn and you're right. I've already told you. It's not gonna happen." I leaned against the door and kicked off my shoes.
Gustav looked down at my stocking feet with a question on his face.
In a whisper, I said, "Makes it easier to get traction on the rug. My shoes will slip. I may need your help." I wasn't really serious but I wouldn't have turned him down if he offered. Carter banged again.
"No, Mr. Nick. I must not get involved. We all have our little fights, now and then."
I grinned but was also tempted to walk over and knock his block off for quoting me back to me. However, right at that moment, I was too busy trying to figure out which piece of furniture would be heavy enough to keep my very tall, muscular, ex-fireman of a husband from getting in the door. I knew that I had little chance of keeping him out. But I wasn't going down without a fight.
"Nick, I'm gonna start pushing my way in, son. You better get ready."
"I don't care, fireman. You don't scare me." I hoped that by saying those words, usually reserved for our romps in the hay, that I might defuse the tension.
"Look, Nick," said Carter from behind the door. "I have a meeting at 10. We need to get to work. And I don't want to have this argument again."
"If you don't wanna have this argument again, then you should stop asking me about it."
Carter sighed. "But I refuse to believe that you're gonna keep refusing me what I want." He was playing dirty. That was talk straight from our bed. I tried to get mad about it but realized I'd just done the same thing.
"Gustav is in here, fireman."
"Are you gonna stay in there with him and leave me out here, all alone?"
Gustav looked at me with a grin on his face.
I couldn't help but laugh. I stepped away from the door. As I did, Carter opened it. I bent over to pick up my shoes and should have known better because I left myself wide open. Carter took advantage of the situation and gave me a hard swat on my ass. I stood up and turned on him. "What was that for?"
"For being an ass about all of this." He looked down at me with half a smile.
For some reason, I could feel the tension come back. I nodded, walked over to the bench by the bed, and began to put my shoes on.
"What are you doing?" asked Carter.
"What does it look like I'm doing?"
"I know what you're doing. Why do you need to do it?"
"Because these are new and the soles are still too slick."
"Too slick for what?"
Finished, I stood and said, "For getting traction to keep that door closed."
Carter folded his arms. "You thought you were going to be able to keep me out?"
Gustav, who didn't appear to be finished, made a beeline for the door. Without saying anything, he slipped out and pulled the door closed behind him.
I nodded, putting my stone face on. "I did."
"Don't try that look with me, Nicholas Williams."
I melted a little, like I always did when he used my full name. But I wasn't ready to give in. Not yet. "Or what?"
"You know."
That tension was back. And it was riding on the back of unreasonableness. "Look, Carter. Cut the crap."
He rolled his eyes. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
I took a deep breath and thought about his perfectly reasonable question. After a moment, coming up with nothing, I replied honestly. "I don't know."
"Well, I wish you would either tell me what is bothering you about all of this or just get mad and try to slug me or something." His voice cracked at the end.
I blinked several times, trying to keep the tears from getting out. "I dunno. Really, Carter, I don't."
Carter, whose face had been contorted in a frown, appeared to relax. He sighed. "You've been through a lot this year—"
I exploded. "And so the hell have you! So what? Why do you keep saying that? Yes, this has been a tough six months." I waved my hands in the air. "Seven months. However long it's been, it's been tough. But it's over." I brought my voice down. "Can't you see that it's over? Life is back to normal. Why do you have to keep bringing all of that up, over and over again?" I knew I was losing it, but I had a point and I wanted to make it. "Maybe, just maybe, if we stopped talking about it and just got back to living our lives, then it would go away." I plopped down on the bench and looked out the window. "It is fucking cold as fuck in this goddam house. Why the hell do we have all the goddam windows fucking open?"
Suddenly, I couldn't stand the house any more. I wanted out of our gilded cage. I was sick of dealing with all our staff and running the business. I just wanted out.
I looked at Carter for a long moment, wondering if he understood. He just stared at me as if he did but didn't know how to reply. Not knowing what else to do, I stood up, grabbed the shoe box by the wall, and pitched it against the mirror over the bureau. It shattered into several long pieces of glass and made quite a racket. I stood there, not quite sure how to respond to my own violence, and felt really, really cold.
Carter walked over to me and put his hand on my shoulder behind my neck. He ran one finger up and down my spine. It felt soothing in a way I hadn't felt in a while. I thought I was going to cry, but the tears didn't come.
There was a loud knock on the door. "Mr. Nick? Are you OK?" It was Mrs. Kopek.
Carter replied, "We're fine, Mrs. Kopek. We need some time alone."
"Yes, Mr. Carter."
I could hear her walk away down the hall. Whispered voices spoke in Czech and then faded as whoever was there made their way downstairs.
Carter grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me towards him. He looked down at me for a long moment. His eyes were red but no tears came for him either. I wondered if we were just both cried out.
He pulled me over to the bench. We both sat and he put his arm around me. We sat there for a long time. Finally, he stood and walked over to the side of the bed. He picked up the phone and dialed a number. After a moment, he said, "Marnie?" There was a brief pause. "Fine. Look, neither of us are coming in today. I have a meeting at 10. Burgess can take care of it. And, whatever is on Nick's calendar, just move it around or do whatever you have to do." There was a long pause. "We're fine. We just need to find some warm weather, that's all. Now, can you get Robert on the line for me?"
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.
Nick Williams Mystery Series
Nick & Carter Holiday Series
