Nick Williams Mystery #3
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.
Original Review June 2024:
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.
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.
Saturday Series Spotlights
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.
The Sartorial Senator #3
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