Summary:
Thursday, July 16, 1953
It's just another Thursday morning in July of 1953 when the doorbell rings at 137 Hartford Street and it's bad news.
Carter's father has been murdered in Georgia and the local sheriff has no intention of finding out who really did it.
So, Nick and Carter borrow the first plane that Marnie, Nick's amazing secretary, can find for them and they zoom off back into the past to see if they can uncover the truth of what really happened before the wrong man is convicted. And, knowing the lay of the land under the moss-covered oaks, Carter is pretty sure that the color of a man's skin will figure heavily in who takes the fall.
In The Laconic Lumberjack, the best Nick can do is stand by Carter's side as he confronts an awful past, uncovers some surprising secrets, and deals with the unsavory reality of small-town hypocrisy.
In the end, Nick and Carter discover more about themselves than they ever expected to find.
Summary:
Friday, October 23, 1953
"Nick! You and Carter have to throw a party for Halloween this year! It's on a Saturday, after all!"
Grudgingly, Nick agrees to be the less-than-amiable host to what turns out to be a bizarre event that will long be remembered by everyone who attends...
When the party is obviously going to be much bigger than Nick & Carter expected, they begin to realize something mysterious is brewing under their very noses. Down in their own basement, as a matter of fact.
A two-timing girlfriend, a locked door, and an unexpected visit from the F.B.I. are just some of the clues that begin to add up to a particularly perplexing Halloween.
So, come on you ghosts and ghouls, witches and warlocks, put on your Halloween best for you have been invited to a memorable evening at 137 Hartford Street in San Francisco on Saturday, October 31, 1953.
Come on in and join the party.
If you dare...
This is a novella of just over 13K words... Boo!
Savage Son #6
Summary:Tuesday, December 15, 1953
Ivan Kopek is missing and his parents desperately want Nick's help. Ike, as he's known to his friends, is quickly found once Nick, Carter, and their pals are on the case. Unfortunately, Ike's in jail for a murder he didn't commit. And it was only because he didn't get the chance to do it himself.
Meanwhile, it's almost Christmas. Nick's least favorite time of the year.
But, Carter wants a Christmas tree and Dr. Parnell Williams, Nick's evil bastard of a father, has summoned them both to the mansion on Sacramento Street for Christmas day at 12 noon. And they're not to be late.
In the end, Christmas brings Nick & Carter a number of unexpected and life-changing packages, both big and small.
The Laconic Lumberjack #4
The Laconic Lumberjack finds Carter faced with his father's murder and the police back in Georgia don't have any plans to make sure the right suspect is apprehended so despite Carter's feelings about his father he knows he needs to get answers. Unfortunately, many things throw a wrench or two into Nick & Carter's plans, one big one being Nick's PI license is not valid in the state of Georgia. As it turns out Nick's money doesn't turn too many heads or help uncover any answers the way it has before.
I won't delve into the mystery too much so as not spoil the who done it. I will say that for some authors multiple twists and turns can bog down a mystery and for others heighten the suspense. Frank W Butterfield falls into the heightens category. One thing that never leaves readers wondering is the passion and love between Carter and Nick but if you are one of the few with doubts Laconic Lumberjack shows how far Nick is willing to go for his guy.
Friendships, family, murder, rampant Old Southern racism, good-bad-indifferent cops, humor, love, hurt, comfort, healing, and mystery. The Laconic Lumberjack has all of this and so much more. Whether you're cheering, booing, swooning, or swearing at the characters one can't deny every factor is needed to tell this leg of N&C's journey. So much amazing storytelling in this series entry that you better make sure you have time to finish because once you start you'll find a desire, a need to know everything will blossom inside.
The Perplexed Pumpkin #5
In The Perplexed Pumpkin a few months have passed and it's a week until Halloween. Reluctantly, the guys have been talked into having a Halloween party and soon the crew hired to get the house ready, well let's just say there are some odd things about the whole thing.
For some(and I include myself here), Halloween(or October in general) is all about the horror and paranormal but once-in-a-while I like to throw in a good mystery to help honor the holiday. Perplexed is that: a wonderful tale of WTH?😉.
You got the guys being locked out of their own basement, a cheating girlfriend case, and the FBI. What could possibly be wrong with this set of obstacles? Not too mention the emotional and professional fallout from their trip to Georgia in The Laconic Lumberjack still lingers at times. Any one of these factors would throw most people's day out of whack and yet for Nick and Carter? Well it seems to be just another day at the office.
I'm not going to say much more so as not to spoil anything. Just this: Halloween has a history and habit of often bringing macabre mayhem to one's door, the macabre might be in short supply in The Perplexed Pumpkin but there is definitely plenty of mayhem afoot to give the guys yet another interesting holiday and story to relay to the reader.
The Savage Son #6
Original Review July 2024:
As it's Xmas in July I was in a holiday reading mood so i skipped ahead a couple of entries and read The Savage Son, the sixth entry in Frank W Butterfield's Nick Williams Mystery series. I want to start by saying as it was when I read #14 The Pitiful Player for my Oscar reads I wasn't lost but I could tell a few things that happened in entries #4 & #5 were still very fresh in Nick and Carter's minds but because of both inner and outer convos I knew enough info for context and yet not enough was retold to spoil going back(which I will over the next few weeks).
Now that I mentioned that, on to The Savage Son.
Carter wants Christmas and all the trimmings, the very things he's went without since meeting Nick as he knew Nick wasn't a fan but this year he wanted it. With some moments of secrecy not often displayed between the couple, Carter gets his Xmas but will it change Nick's thoughts on the holiday? Well I think you all know my answer to that: you have to read to find out😉.
The mystery is so brilliantly weaved throughout with many possible outcomes that before I knew it, the book was over and I was kicking myself for not slowing my pace to make the enjoyment linger. To me that feeling says it all and the epitome of reading greatness. Ivan has gone missing and his parents come to Nick to find him. Sounds simple, sounds straightforward but as we all know in the land of fiction, missing is rarely simple and even rarer to stay at just a missing person. So many twists and turns kept me guessing till nearly the reveal.
Now besides the "main" mystery, there is another unanswered scenario that Nick and Carter find before them. Nick's not-so-favored father, Dr. Parnell Williams, summoning both(and the inclusion of Carter adds even more ??? to the equation) men to his home on Christmas Day at Noon. I can't lie, having read the N&C Holiday short story series I maybe should have picked up on this sooner but I didn't and it knocked me sideways for a moment or two before smacking my head and saying "how did I miss that?".
I don't want to give too much away so I'll end it here but The Savage Son is a brilliant mystery, wonderful established couple romance, with friendships-turned-found-family at every corner, and it somehow manages to embody everything a Christmas tale should: heart. Savage Son may not fit the Hallmark-style holiday fare but it's definitely a delicious holiday treat.
The Laconic Lumberjack #4
137 Hartford Street
San Francisco, Cal.
Thursday, July 16, 1953
Just before 10 in the morning
I was walking downstairs, thinking about the three important things I needed to do that day when I heard a knock on the front door.
It was another bright day and the air was a little on the cool side, as summer days can be in San Francisco. Sinatra was crooning on the hi-fi. I was feeling better than I had felt in a while.
I could hear Carter Jones, my tall, muscled, ex-fireman husband, whistling along with Sinatra and, as always, he sounded handsome. I smiled at the oddness of that thought as I opened the door to see Marnie, the best secretary a guy ever had, and her mother, Mrs. Wilson, standing on the front porch looking sad and apologetic at the same time.
"Come in," I said as I stood back to let them pass.
They both walked in. Marnie was dressed for work. I knew she was going to be meeting Robert, our new boy wonder, at the office later to go over some new ideas about managing my real estate properties. I had hired him over a month ago, and he was working out fine. Better than fine. He was pretty sharp, that kid.
Marnie reached out a gloved hand and said, "Oh Nick! This is terrible!"
They were both standing in the entry hallway. I asked, "Can I get you some coffee?"
Mrs. Wilson said, "No, thank you. I just received a call from Carter's mother."
I was surprised. I knew they had been keeping in touch. Carter's mother was supposed to be visiting San Francisco in a little over a week. Plane tickets had been purchased and arrangements had been made for her to stay with Marnie and Mrs. Wilson, who lived one block up and two blocks over on Collingwood. Mrs. Jones didn't feel comfortable staying with us and, to be honest, the feeling was mutual.
I looked at Marnie, who was dabbing her eyes with one of her lace handkerchiefs.
"What's happened?" I asked.
"Oh, Nick! Carter's father is dead and they think it was murder!"
Mrs. Wilson bustled in an irritated way. "No one knows anything yet other than we're here to help you and Carter pack your bags and get you on a plane."
I shook my head. I wasn't about to go to Albany, Georgia. In July.
"No. There must be a mistake. She's coming here next week." I knew that sounded idiotic but it was what popped out of my mouth.
Mrs. Wilson took me by the elbow and pushed me into the sitting room. "You have to go upstairs and tell that man about his father. We'll be down here if you need us."
I shook my head. "Maybe—"
Mrs. Wilson was firm. "No maybe. He's dead. You have to go. Today."
It finally got through to me. I could hear Carter still whistling upstairs. I looked over at Marnie whose face brimmed over with concern.
I took a deep breath, crossed the sitting room, and began to walk up the stairs. They felt long and steep. I wasn't looking forward to this.
When I got to the landing at the top, I said, "Carter?"
He replied, "Yeah?"
"I need to talk to you."
"Can it wait? I'm on my way to meet Martinelli. We have that arson case down in San Mateo."
"No, honey, it can't wait."
"Honey? Since when—" He was quiet for a moment. "Is something wrong? Who was at the door?"
I entered the room carefully, stopping just inside the doorway, and watched him fiddle with his tie. He was looking at me through the mirror. As usual, he was stooping over to see his reflection. We really needed to get a bigger mirror. But, obviously, not today.
"Marnie and Mrs. Wilson are here."
"Why?" he looked confused.
"Sit down."
"I really—"
"Carter, your father is dead and someone murdered him."
He stood up straight, stopped fidgeting with the tie, and looked forward, without any further movement.
"Are you sure?"
I shrugged. "Yes."
"If you're sure, why are you shrugging? Besides everyone who ever knew him, who would want to kill Daddy?"
I sighed. "We're gonna go find out."
The Perplexed Pumpkin #5
Offices of Consolidated Security
777 Bush Street, 3rd Floor
San Francisco, Cal.
Friday, October 23, 1953
Just before 10 in the morning
"Nick! You and Carter have to throw a party for Halloween this year! It's on a Saturday, after all!"
I looked over at Marnie, the best secretary a guy ever had, who was standing in the doorway to my office with a pout on her face.
She was a no-nonsense kind of gal, so her pout had some meaning behind it. Usually, I would ignore her suggestions about my normally abysmal social life these days but, for some reason, she got my attention.
"Why do you say that, doll?"
"First off, you got all these swell guys working for you now, and they're lots of fun."
I watched her face drop down.
"Unlike some people we could name?"
"Right."
She was talking about my ex, one Jeffery Klein, Esquire. He was my ex-lover, my ex-attorney, and my ex-friend. He was also about to be married to a lovely woman, if the society pages were to be trusted. I wished them both well even though I knew it was bad news.
"So, we got a great gang of guys, and that's why you want me to throw a party, is that it?"
Robert popped his head around the corner and said, "Well, there's more to it than that, Nick."
Robert was my whiz-bang real estate manager who was also an ex-employee of Jeffery's. I'd hired the kid out of pity for his situation, given that he'd been unceremoniously canned, but was over-the-moon happy with his quick mind and his ability to manage an ever-growing list of residential and commercial buildings. He was making me a fortune, and it was the easiest thing ever.
"Does this have anything to do with Joe?" I asked.
Robert blushed and smiled. So, the answer was yes.
"He's come up with a terrific idea for decorating your house and has a whole list of Halloween games we can play. He has a couple of friends who'll make all the food. He'll even bring all the records to play on the hi-fi."
Marnie piped up, "He's practically a host in himself."
I smiled. Joe was a sweet kid in his 20s who Robert had met one night out on the town in early September. They had been inseparable ever since and, according to Marnie, were now living together in Robert's one-bedroom apartment in one of my buildings on Powell Street. I liked the kid and I liked seeing the two of them together. In fact, Carter, my tall, muscled, ex-fireman husband, had invited the two of them over for dinner on the previous Friday. We'd had a fun time. After we had eaten, we took a drive up to the top of Twin Peaks for some parking and necking. We'd dropped them off at a new hot spot on Polk Street before heading home ourselves. On Monday, Robert had reported to me that the two of them had painted the town red that night and the next night, as well, for that matter.
Carter was standing in my office with his back against the wall watching all of this with increasing amusement. I looked at him and asked, "Well, Chief? Waddaya think?"
"Sure. We'll have to invite Pam and Diane."
I nodded. Pam and Diane were the "lady couple," as Carter called them, who lived next door. I added, "And Evelyn and her new gal."
"Roberta," Carter prompted. Evelyn lived on the other side of Pam and Diane and had recently started going with the most voluptuous blonde I'd ever seen.
"Roberta," I echoed. Carter smiled at me in his sweet, southern way.
I looked over at Robert. "Go ahead, kid. Sounds like fun." He smiled at me and quickly disappeared out the door of the office.
The Savage Son #6
Chapter 1
Offices of Consolidated Security
777 Bush Street, 3rd Floor
San Francisco, Cal.
Tuesday, December 15, 1953
Just before 10 in the morning
I sat at my desk and stared off into space. The day was chilly, and I was glad I hadn't taken off my coat when I walked into the office. I tried to read the letters on my desk, but nothing was getting through.
Carter Jones, my tall, muscled, ex-fireman of a husband was mad at me. We'd had a fight the night before, and I ended up sleeping in the front bedroom. I wanted to invite his mother to town for Christmas, and he didn't. Somehow, in the heat of it all, the argument became a repeat of a standing disagreement we had about my father. I was still simmering. And I was hurt. And I didn't like sleeping alone.
Over breakfast, we were cool. He kissed me once we were in the car. But we were quiet on the drive to the office. He dropped me off and Carlo Martinelli, one of our co-workers, got in and the two of them headed north across the Golden Gate Bridge to the small town of Novato.
They were going up there to meet a deputy sheriff and to look over the remains of a suspicious house fire. Consolidated Security, the company we'd founded back in the summer, offered help to local towns and villages with investigations, including arson. Carter and Martinelli had been firemen together in San Francisco at Station 3 before they'd been fired in May for associating with a known homosexual, myself to be precise.
I was still in reverie when I heard Marnie, the best secretary a guy ever had, knock on my office door.
"Nick!"
"What, doll?"
"Where are you?"
"I'm just thinking. What's up?"
"Don't forget you got a 10 o'clock today."
I nodded. "Right. Thanks for the reminder. You got any coffee for me?"
"Sure." She walked over to the side of the front office. I could hear her as she poured the coffee from the percolator and stirred in a couple of sugar cubes.
She walked through the office door, handed over the cup, and stood there looking at me.
"What?"
"You gonna tell me what's really goin' on?"
I took a sip of my coffee, stalling for time. Right then, the front door opened.
Marnie gave me the eye, turned, and walked over to greet the visitor. I heard a few murmurs and then watched as a middle-aged man, about 5'9" tall with gray hair, light blue eyes, and a strong jawline, walked into my office. He was dressed in an everyday suit of clothes that had seen better days but was neat and pressed.
I stood up. "Mr. Kopek?"
The man nodded, hat in hand. "Yes." He didn't look like he wanted to shake, so I didn't offer.
"I'm Nick Williams. Have a seat."
"Thank you."
His speech was clipped, and his accent sounded German or maybe from someplace east of Germany. As he sat down, he took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. Instead of putting it back in his pocket, he held it in his hand as if he was expecting to need it again.
"So, how can I help you?"
"It's my son."
I nodded. I preferred to ask as few questions as possible and let the client do all the talking.
"He's missing."
I waited.
"And I want you to find him for me." He paused. "Please." His voice was quiet but desperate.
"Have you notified the police?"
"No! No police!"
"Why not?"
"Well, you see—" He stopped and looked around. "He, my son, he is like you. And, I don't want the police to be involved. I don't want him to go to jail."
I nodded. "When you say he's like me, do you mean that he's a homosexual?"
The man wiped his face again. "Yes."
"Can you describe your son?" I pulled out a pad and a pencil.
"He's a good boy, Mr. Williams."
I smiled. "I'm sure he is. But, what does he look like?"
"Oh, yes. Well, he is six feet tall and he weighs one hundred and eighty pounds. More or less. Probably more now. He is, how do you call it?" He thought for a moment. "He is a weight builder?"
"He lifts weights?"
"Yes, that is it. He lifts weights."
"How old is he?"
"He is 23 a week ago." The man's face clouded over.
I waited for about half a minute while Mr. Kopek tried not to cry. I pulled out a package of Camels and offered one to the man. He took it.
"Thank you." He reached into his coat, pulled out a box of matches, and lit his own cigarette. I did the same with my old beat-up Zippo.
After we'd both taken a deep drag, he said, "My son disappeared the day of his birthday. He had been with me at the store in the early morning, helping me with the plumbing and, when we finished, he said he was going to meet his friend." The man paused. "I think it is his special friend."
I nodded and waited.
"When he did not come home the next day, my wife and me, we did not know what to think. We waited until the noon and then we decided to go visit his other friend, the special friend from before, that we knew where he worked. But he did not know anything." Mr. Kopek shook his head slowly as he took another drag on his cigarette.
I asked, "And you haven't heard anything since?"
"No. Nothing."
"What is the name of the friend you went to see?"
"He is Randy Robbins. He works at Ernie's. Do you know it? Very expensive."
I nodded. Carter had taken me to Ernie's the night before Halloween. It had been a wonderful evening, full of champagne and laughter. Or, at least that's the little I could remember. It was all a blur. A very pleasant blur.
Snapping back to the present, I asked, "And, do you know the name of his friend, the one he was going to meet?"
"No. My wife, she thinks this is so, but I do not know the name."
"Where does your son work?"
"He drives a truck. For the newspaper."
"Which one?"
"The Call-Bulletin."
"Is he in the Teamsters?"
"Yes!" Mr. Kopek smiled with pride.
"What does his face look like?"
"He has yellow hair."
"Blond?"
"Yes, blond. His eyes are green, like his mother."
"Any scars?"
"Yes, one." He pointed. "On his chin."
"Is it small or large?"
"It is small. When we left Czechoslovakia, he was five years old. The day we left, he tripped and fell on the stones on the street."
"Are you Czechoslovakian?"
"No. There is no such thing. There are Czechs, and there are Slovaks. And then there are Poles. And that is what Kopek is: Polish. We are from Silesia, the Polish part of Czechoslovakia."
"And you left before the Germans took over?"
"Yes. We knew it was coming. We came to New York in 1935. And then, my cousin, he lived here, and he invited us to San Francisco."
I nodded. "Where do you and your wife live?"
"We are at 335 Turk Street. Apartment 5-R."
I wrote down the address and kept a straight face. That was one of the apartment buildings I happened to own.
"How did you find out about Consolidated Security?"
Mr. Kopek shrugged. "I... well... my wife. She knew about you from Ivan."
"And Ivan is your son?"
"Yes. But his friends call him Ike. Like the President." Mr. Kopek smiled broadly.
"How did your son know about us?"
"He has all the, how do you say?" He paused for a moment. Using his hands to demonstrate, he said, "He takes the scissors, and he cuts the newspaper."
"He collects clippings from the paper?"
Mr. Kopek nodded. "Yes, that is it. He has the clippings in a book. The famous and wealthy Nicholas Williams. He has many clippings of you and—" He looked away and wiped his face again with his handkerchief. "You and the other one."
"Carter Jones?"
"Yes. Mr. Jones."
I nodded. That made me think of something. "When your son is lifting weights, does he do that at home?"
Mr. Kopek shook his head. "Oh, no, Mr. Williams. He goes to the gymnasium." His pronunciation of the word was odd. He did something strange with the letter "g" when he said it.
"What is the name of it?"
Mr. Kopek shrugged. "This, I do not know."
I asked, "What is your phone number?"
"It is Prospect 5612."
"You mentioned a store. What do you do, Mr. Kopek?"
"Oh, I own the grocery at the corner of Turk and Leavenworth. Maybe you know it? It is the Maryland Market."
I shook my head. "Sorry." I leaned back in my chair and asked, "How about if I come by this evening when you and your wife are at home?"
Mr. Kopek looked surprised. "Yes. Of course. But, why?"
"I'd like to have a look at your son's bedroom. That might help me discover where he's gone."
"Yes. That is fine. You come at 8. We will prepare you a nice dinner."
I smiled. "That would be nice. I'll probably bring along a friend."
"Your special friend?"
"No. A work friend. By the name of Andy Anderson."
"Oh, yes." He wiped his face again. "How much this cost?"
"Can you pay me a hundred today?"
His eyes opened wide. "One hundred? That is all?" It was a token amount. Truth be told, I didn't need the money. We would find the man's son and I'd tell Marnie to skip sending the bill.
"Well, let's start there and see how it goes."
He nodded, looking very relieved. "Yes. Good. I give you one hundred." He reached into his pocket, took out a folder-over hundred-dollar bill, and handed it to me across the desk. I put it down on the blotter and called out, "Marnie?"
"Yeah, Nick?"
"Can you make out a receipt for Mr. Kopek? He's paying a hundred."
"Sure." She walked into the office. "Mr. Kopek?"
He stood up and nodded.
"Come in here with me, and I'll make you out a receipt."
I stood. He looked at me and asked, "Tonight at 8, yes?"
I nodded and smiled. "Yes. Thank you for coming in, Mr. Kopek."
He smiled briefly. "Thank you, Mr. Williams." Once again, he didn't offer his hand, and I followed suit.
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 Laconic Lumberjack #4
SMASHWORDS / iTUNES / KOBO
B&N / iTUNES AUDIO / AUDIBLE
The Perplexed Pumpkin #5
The Savage Son #6
Nick Williams Mystery Series
SMASHWORDS / iTUNES / KOBO
B&N / iTUNES AUDIO / AUDIBLE
Nick & Carter Holiday Series
