Nick Williams Mystery #9
Wednesday, August 11, 1954
Nick and Carter are sailing across the sea to Honolulu on an impromptu holiday.
For the sake of propriety and decorum, the ship's captain pairs them off with a "lady couple" who turn out to be much more than they appear at first glance.
When one of them turns up dead in Nick and Carter's cabin, the hunt is on to find the other one before it's too late.
I had intended to read this last month for part of my Pride postings but time had other plans. I'm just glad I took the time now. So good!!! Once again Nick and Carter find themselves in the middle of yet another crime. Nick's secretary and step-sister, Marnie was supposed to be on the cruise with her new husband for their honeymoon, but as fate often does with this group, the newlyweds had to stay home so it's only natural that the lads take their reservation. Let's face it, there probably isn't another duo that deserves a vacation more.
The mystery had me guessing up until nearly the reveal. We've seen the pair do their sleuthing without their found family and colleagues before but not often. They aren't completely without assistance from their gang as there are a few ship to shore communications for information but most of it falls on the lads' shoulders. Of course, they do find a few helpful partners on board too, which may just lead to additions to their group of sleuths back home, they do seem to stumble across at least one person looking for a change during their shenanigans😉. As good as the mystery was, I honestly think my favorite part is learning how Nick and Carter first met Rosalind Russell and her husband, who has popped in a few times in future entries. I should have known their meeting wouldn't be as mundane as through a Hollywood studio😉. When I think of Rosalind Russell, or Roz as her friends call her, her films His Girl Friday and Auntie Mame always come to mind, which are both characters that make for a perfect Nick and Carter friendship.
An all around great addition to the Nick Williams Mystery and the Nick and Carter Universe.
RATING:
Prologue
1198 Sacramento Street
San Francisco, Cal.
Saturday, August 7, 1954
About a quarter until noon
I knocked on the door of my old bedroom. We'd only been living in my family home for a few weeks, so it still seemed odd to me to see that familiar door behind which I'd spent many lonely, frustrated, and angry hours.
My father opened the door and smiled. "Come in, boys." Carter, my handsome ex-fireman of a husband, pushed me forward and we walked inside.
Alex LeBeau, the groom, was looking handsome in his wedding suit. As part of our gift to the happy couple, we'd arranged for him to get outfitted for not only the day of his wedding to my stepsister, Marnie Wilson, but also for their honeymoon. According to Marnie, he'd balked at the idea. The notion of two men giving another man a bunch of clothes to wear was just too strange for him. But, when she'd shown him her new outfits for their honeymoon, a gift from her mother, he'd finally given in and let us help.
Alex's father, one Mr. Victor LeBeau, was standing next to his son. They were speaking softly in French. Mr. LeBeau, and his wife Sophie, had immigrated from France back in the 20s. Alex, born Alexandre, was only four years old at the time and had grown up in the City. He might have been born French, but he was definitely an all-American kid. He even played baseball every Saturday afternoon in a beer league. He was a year older than me, but he was still a kid in my eyes.
Both his father and his mother worked for the City of Paris, the department store down at Union Square. They lived in a small apartment at the corner of Vallejo and Stockton, and took the cable car down Powell Street to work each morning.
When Alex had proposed to Marnie about a month earlier, she'd readily agreed and we were all happy for her. I had been worried that she might want to quit working as my indispensable secretary but, a few days earlier, she'd sat down with us over dinner and explained that she and Alex were in agreement that she would work after they got married. Marnie even told us they weren't sure about having children, which was somehow unsettling in a way that was confusing.
In the meantime, they were getting married at our house, a big pile of rocks on Nob Hill at the corner of Sacramento and Taylor. Her own mother had married my father back in April over at Grace Cathedral. That event had turned into a big brouhaha, so she'd asked us if they could get married here.
We'd happily agreed and now the big day had arrived. Once they were married, they were driving down to the new house that my father had just bought on the coast south of Carmel and then, on Wednesday, they were sailing on the S.S. Hilo to Honolulu. Once they arrived the following Sunday, they would be spending two weeks at the "Pink Palace," also known as the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, on the beaches of Waikiki. The trip had been part of our gift as well. We even managed to get them the best rooms on the ship and in the hotel, courtesy of the efforts of Ralph, my intrepid travel agent.
I walked over to Alex and his father. They looked up and his father smiled. Alex, on the other hand, looked nervous. "Well?" I asked.
Rubbing his hands together, Alex sighed. "If this is supposed to be the happiest day of my life, then why am I so danged nervous?"
I laughed and said, "Can't help you there but I bet my father can since he just got hitched himself."
My father harrumphed behind me and said, "Leticia and I did not get 'hitched,' Nicholas. We were betrothed. And, Alex, my boy, I was just as nervous as you even though I'm a good thirty years older."
Mr. LeBeau nodded. "Alors, this is what I tell you, mon fils. It is normal. If you were not nervous, then I would be concerned."
Alex nodded and said, "Thank you, Papa." He quickly hugged his father and then stepped back. Looking around the room, he asked me, "Isn't it weird to be in your old bedroom like this?"
I laughed and said, "You have no idea."
My father cleared his throat and asked, "Where is that Charlie Woodmore?" He was Alex's best friend and his best man for the ceremony. They had been swimmers at St. Ignatius Preparatory School, which I had attended as well. Although "attend" was stretching things a bit. I had a faint memory of the two of them but mostly what I remembered were the many days that I played hooky, particularly at the end.
Carter said, "He should be here in a minute or two. He was taking care of some last minute things."
Alex sighed dramatically. "Did you help him?"
Carter crossed his massive arms and replied, "I'll have to take the fifth, Your Honor."
Charlie and a handful of their friends had been decorating Alex's 1949 Ford Coupe by stringing up tin cans to the rear fender. Carter had lent a hand. I'd decided to be Switzerland, and remain neutral on the matter.
Right at that moment, Charlie burst in the door, and said, "Come on Al. Time to get a move on, boy."
Charlie had the same build as Alex. Both were long and lean. Alex had dark brown hair with brown eyes while Charlie had dusty blond hair that tended to fly around in the wind no matter how much pomade he rubbed in. His blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight. He was attractive, that was for sure. They both still swam as much as they could, even down in the chilly waters at Ocean Beach.
Charlie's wife, Eva, was one of the gals standing up with Marnie, along with her cousin from down in Burlingame, a sweet girl of 20 or so by the name of Hilda. Marnie's matron of honor was another cousin, a woman of about 35, who lived in Hercules, a small town across the bay. Theresa was busty and, I had noticed, had picked a dress a little too small for her figure. Her husband, Jake, seemed to like it. Marnie had once called him a horn-dog and after spending some time with him the night before during the rehearsal dinner, I could understand why. He couldn't stop talking about Theresa's rack. Even to Carter and me.
Besides Charlie, two of Alex's friends, Ron and Jeff, were standing with him. Ron was a real estate agent, something he'd reminded me about forty times in the last twenty-four hours. Jeff was a police sergeant who worked at the Mission Station and had, so far, kept his distance from Carter and me.
After Charlie combed his hair back in place, Carter and I headed out along the hall and down the stairs to the great room where everyone was waiting. My father and Mr. LeBeau were behind us. Alex and Charlie brought up the rear.
We hadn't set up chairs. Instead, everyone was standing. There was a buffet spread already laid out by our amazing cook, Mrs. Strakova. Drinks were being served by our butler, Gustav, and his boyfriend (and our gardener and occasional chauffeur), Ferdinand. Our housekeeper, Mrs. Kopek, was assisting the kitchen along with a couple of girls hired for the day.
The room was packed with guests from both families. In keeping with tradition, the groom's family and friends were generally on the right, behind his parents. Marnie's crowd was standing behind her mother, and my stepmother, the redoubtable Lettie.
My father walked back into our office, where Marnie had been stashed away for the duration. Since her father was nowhere to be found, Dr. Parnell Williams would be doing the honor as her stepfather. Once the rest of us were all in place, the minister motioned to a string quartet seated by the garden door who stopped playing Mozart and began to play the Wedding March from Lohengrin.
We all turned and watched as Marnie stepped slowly out of the office on my father's arm and began to make her way down the aisle marked by ribbons tied on small wooden posts. She was dressed in white. Her dress was plain and had a long train and she was gorgeous in it. She'd had what Carter's mother had called, "a full morning of beauty," and looked amazing. She'd always been cute. But as she walked down the aisle she looked, well, radiant.
. . .
Once the ceremony was over, Paul Verdier, the President of the City of Paris company and a strikingly handsome man in his early 70s, announced his gift for the couple. It was a very large bottle of French champagne without a label. The bottle rested on a cart and was secured in such a way that allowed it to be tilted for pouring. It had been bottled a few years earlier in France and brought over and added to Mr. Verdier's personal cellar. He supervised one of his employees, a young man of about 25, who carefully opened the large bottle. After everyone had a glass, Mr. Verdier made the first toast to the happy couple. It was all in French and, by the way that Alex's parents both laughed long and hard while Alex turned bright red, it must have been a doozy.
We'd planned four initial toasts, and I was up next. I hadn't thought too hard about what I wanted to say because most of it was too sappy and sloppy. Once the cheering was over, Mr. Verdier said, "Now it's time for Nick, the bride's brother, to toast the bride and groom."
I stepped in front of the fireplace and lifted my glass to Marnie and Alex, who were standing right next to me. "To the best darn stepsister a guy could ever want." I looked around the room and could suddenly hear my own sister's laughter drifting down from upstairs. Janet had been gone for over year, but now living there, in the house we'd grown up in, made me think of her more than I had in all the years after I'd left.
I caught Carter looking at me with a crease of concern on his forehead. He winked at me and smiled. I nodded and continued, "And to Alex, her new husband and my new brother. May you both have years and years of joy and happiness together. To Marnie and Alex!"
Everyone in the room repeated, "To Marnie and Alex!" Marnie stepped next to me and gave me a hug. "Thanks, Nick. I love you."
"I love you, too, doll."
She giggled and stepped back as Alex came forward and shook my hand. "Thanks, Nick."
"Welcome to the family, Alex. We're all a little crazy, but don't worry. I'm sure you'll do just fine."
Alex and Marnie both laughed at that. I turned back to the room and said, "And now it's time for Mr. LeBeau to give his toast."
. . .
Carter and I were walking through the crowd to make it over to the buffet. He wanted more of the puffed pastry with beef in it. And I wanted more caviar. An elegant woman in her 50s, who was holding a small plate of the puffed pastry, stopped us and asked, "You are Mr. Williams, oui?"
I nodded and said, "I am." Motioning to my husband, I said, "And this is Carter Jones." She smiled and nodded. I said, "Thank you for being here. Are you a friend of Alex's parents?"
"Oui. I am Mrs. Anne-Marie Boudier. I work for Mr. Veladier. Are you familiar with the Normandy Lane?"
Carter said, "We first discovered it at Christmas, as a matter of fact." This was an area in the basement of the store that had little shops that, I'd heard, were like the stores in France. There was a cigarette counter, a place to buy bread and pastries, and a little restaurant where they turned meat on a spit.
"I work in the patisserie, the bakery." She picked up one of the pastries. "Who is the person that is cooking these delights? Surely you must have someone from France who works for you?"
I shook my head. "Our cook is from Czechoslovakia. The east part, near Poland."
The woman shook her head. "Non. That is not possible. This has the flavor of Paris. I can taste the time before the war in these foods."
I shrugged. "Maybe Mrs. Strakova lived in Paris before the war. I know she owned her own restaurant at one time. Would you like to meet her?"
Mrs. Boudier nodded.
Carter, who had been stretching his neck to see if any of those pastries were left, put his hand on my shoulder, and said to the woman, "But, only if you promise to not try to hire her."
Mrs. Boudier laughed and nodded her head. "Yes, of course." She put her hand on her heart and said, "I promise."
I said, "Stay right here and let me see what's happening in the kitchen." Without waiting for a reply, and knowing that Carter wouldn't abandon his post, I strode across the dining room and into the kitchen.
Mrs. Strakova was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a sandwich, while the two girls were putting out new plates. As always, the cook was calm and placid will everyone else was running around. Seeing me, she quickly stood up. "Mr. Nick? Is anything wrong?"
I shook my head. "Not at all. The food is amazing, as always. There is a woman outside who used to live in Paris and claims you must be French." I noticed that Mrs. Strakova looked down when I said that. "She'd like to meet you, if you're not too busy."
The older woman took a deep breath and sighed. "Oh, yes, that is fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Oh, yes." She didn't look happy.
"I can ask her to come by the house some other time, if you'd like."
"No, no. Let's get this over with."
"What?" I asked.
"It is nothing. Now would be a good time, Mr. Nick. Not so busy."
I nodded and asked, "Can I take a plate of those puff pastries with beef to Carter?"
Mrs. Strakova's eyes widened in delight, and she smiled. "Oh, yes! Does he like? I made them for him."
I nodded enthusiastically. "He likes them a lot."
. . .
With plate in hand, I made my way over to where Carter and Mrs. Boudier were standing. Carter broke into a huge grin when he saw what I was carrying. I handed him the plate, offered my arm to Mrs. Boudier, and away we went.
When I opened the kitchen door, I saw that Mrs. Strakova was standing by the table as though she was ready for the firing squad. As Mrs. Boudier walked in and looked around, she suddenly stopped and said loudly, "La ZaZa!! Non! This cannot be!"
Mrs. Strakova looked downward. The French woman said, "Mr. Williams! How can you hide this from the rest of San Francisco?"
"Hide what?"
"She." She nodded at Mrs. Strakova. "You have the most famous woman chef of the 1930s working for you!" Walking over to where Mrs. Strakova was standing, Mrs. Boudier reached out and offered the cook a kiss on both cheeks and began to speak rapidly in French. Mrs. Strakova nodded and replied in the same language.
Meanwhile, behind me, I heard the kitchen door open and a gasp. I turned and saw Mr. Veladier coming through with Mr. LeBeau behind him. Mr. Veladier grabbed my hand enthusiastically. "So! It is true! La ZaZa works for you, Mr. Williams!"
I just shrugged. As Mr. Veladier walked over to join the two ladies, Mr. LeBeau stood by me and quietly said, "She was in the resistance, and it was said that she died before the liberation. And, then, poof! Now she is working in your kitchen."
By this time, there was a steady flow of people streaming in, all exclaiming in French. I looked around and said, "Let me find Mrs. Kopek before this gets out of hand." Before I could get through the crowd, Mrs. Kopek herself came in and managed to squeeze her way over to me.
Looking at her, I asked, "Did you know Mrs. Strakova was a famous chef in Paris before the war?" The two of them had grown up together in what had become Czechoslovakia. But Mrs. Kopek had been in San Francisco since 1935, so she might not have known about any of this.
She looked up at me in wonder and shook her head. "No. I know none of this. So strange she no tell me. But, then again, we no talk about the war much. Too many bad memories."
Mr. LeBeau nodded and said to Mrs. Kopek, "She was in the resistance. It is said that she murdered several German officers through her cooking. She could make it look like a heart attack.
Mrs. Kopek smiled wanly. "Now this." She wagged her finger. "This does not surprise me."
. . .
Once the uproar in the kitchen had settled down, I found my way over to Carter. He was still munching on his personal set of pastries while talking with Jeff, the groomsman who was a police sergeant at Mission Station.
"Where you there the night he came in?" That was Carter.
Jeff nodded. "No. But I heard about it after he was murdered. You two were the ones who caught the men who did it, right?"
Carter said, "Along with our friend Mike Robertson, who used to be a lieutenant at North Station."
I looked around for Mike but couldn't see him. I wondered if he'd taken his date upstairs for a "tour of the house."
Jeff took a drink of champagne and nodded thoughtfully. "I never heard what the whole story was."
Carter said, "These two brothers were trying to be mobsters. One of them had done a job for us back a few years ago when we put a safe in our basement."
"That was over in Eureka Valley," I added.
Jeff took another sip.
Carter continued, "So, one of them was working for the construction company that's building Nick's new office building."
Looking at me, Jeff asked, "And you own that construction company, now, right?"
I nodded. "Yeah. The second brother, the one who worked for them, murdered the President of the company. The board wanted to sell out and it looked like a good deal."
Carter shook his head. "Don't let him fool you. Nick isn't a businessman. He just wanted to put one of our friends in her own company. And, of course, he was right. She's already got more work than she can deal with."
"She?"
I nodded. "One of the gals who lived next door to us over on Hartford Street."
Jeff's eyes boggled for a moment when he realized I was talking about a "lady couple." That was a term that Carter liked to use.
Picking the story back up, Carter said, "So, these two clowns end up burning down our house to cover for the fact that they looted our safe. And then they try to get the playwright next door to us to admit he did it. That part is still fuzzy to me."
I looked up at Carter. "They threatened to burn down his house."
"Oh yeah, I forgot about that."
Jeff shook his head. "And then I heard the lieutenant at North Station, who was in charge of the case, resigned as soon as it was over."
I nodded but didn't explain that he had done so before he was exposed in a blackmail scheme. And that he now worked for us. And was that he was Mike's date and was probably upstairs involved in some highly unnatural relations. I figured Jeff would find all that out later from Alex. Or most of it, anyway.
. . .
The time had come for the happy couple to get on the road. By the stretched smile on Marnie's face, I could tell she was ready. They had both changed into more comfortable clothes. Marnie was wearing a pale green skirt under a coat of the same color and a frilly white blouse. Alex was in light brown trousers and a checked coat with big shoulders and a wide lapel. They both looked worn out and happy, all at the same time.
The party moved out onto the sidewalk on Sacramento Street. Alex's Ford was running and ready for them to jump in and go. But Marnie still needed to throw the bouquet. Standing on the edge of the top step of the stairs leading to the front door of the house, Marnie called all the unmarried gals to gather around. There weren't that many, but they made a show of it. She reached back and threw the flowers up in the air.
Since I was standing by the car, I didn't see what happened next, but apparently, in tossing the flowers, Marnie's right foot slipped down the edge of the step and, in an attempt to catch herself, she twisted her left ankle, which then crumbled underneath her. As she fell, she managed to collapse onto her cousin Charlene who then fell onto one of the gals from the department store. She tried not to fall too hard on anyone and stuck out her left hand. In doing so, she broke her arm as it hit the marble step below.
As Lettie said later at the hospital, "If this is the worst that happens, they'll do just fine."
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 Voluptuous Vixen #9
Nick Williams Mystery Series
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Nick & Carter Holiday Series
