BlackWater
1
It was a dark and stormy night when she walked in. Lois Adams was her name and playing in the movies was her game. For several years now she was the wife in a multipicture serial. She was quite well known in town. I had seen her movies but I felt no excitement having a celebrity in my office. I figured I'd be seeing her soon. Her husband, George S Adams III, was found dead the night before, apparently by his own hand. She had already told the press it was murder not suicide. "He would never do that," she said.
So here she was in my office: "Herbert M Taylor: Private Investigator." I have been a PI, as they say in the business, for one year. Before that, I was a police officer for twelve years. I quit when my partner was killed.
Jack was a great fellow with a beautiful wife, Linda and two adorable children; Susie and John. They had family trips every weekend. The first Sunday of every month was Zoo Day for the Veech family.
One month I was invited to join them at the zoo. I met them at the monkey cage. Jack was jumping up and down like a monkey. He even made monkey noises. He was such a card.
One day we were in a car chase after gunrunners. We followed them through three cities when all of a sudden they stopped short of the county line. We got out of the squad car to use it as a shield during the gun fight that followed. Before I knew it, Jack was down. I went to him and he was shot in the head. I didn't leave him to die alone so the bad guys got away and I lost my job.
2
Lois jumped at a particularly loud clap of thunder. "The storm's getting closer," she said in her soft alto voice. Lightning flashed and she turned her head sharply toward the window. Her brown hair was in a snood which flopped from the sudden movement. "One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand," Thunder struck. "Only two miles away. I'll be straightforward. My husband did not kill himself. The police don't believe me and I want you to find his killer."
"Why don't the police believe you?"
"There was a note. I have it here somewhere," She rummaged around in her purse. "Here it is," she said leaning over my desk. Her perfume floated over to me. Chanel No 5. Her blouse had a V-neck but not too low. The skirt was straight and form fitting but not too tight to cause problems sitting. Classy.
I took the note from her. It said:
"Goodbye cruel world! My life here is done. There is nothing more I can do to make life worth living. To my lovely wife Lois I leave the house, property and business. Sam will be the manager and live in the guest house at BlackWater. Sorry baby, but I had to do this.
George S Adams III"
"Why don't the cops have this?" I asked.
"They read it, called it a suicide and closed the case. They gave it to me because of the Will he wrote in it."
"Yeah. Didn't he have a Will already?"
"Yes but he had Sam getting everything and they had a falling out last week. I don't know what happened but they wouldn't talk to each other."
"Who's Sam?"
"Sam was his personal valet; had been for three years. Sam's father was George's valet until he died a couple years ago then Sam took over."
"Why weren't you in the first Will?"
"Because I have only been married to him for two years. That Will was made out before I was around."
"What's BlackWater?"
"The place where we lived. A river runs underneath the house. There's a well in the cellar. If you look down the well, you can see the river flowing but it looks black."
"What's the business?"
"Funeral homes. He owned the two in town and five out of town."
"Adams Funeral Parlors. I had never put the two names together."
"It's the only thing he ever did. He quit school to work at one back in North
Carolina and saved enough money to open his own. It didn't last very long. Six months I think. George moved out here and opened one. His brother lived here and had told him there wasn't a funeral parlor for fifty miles. As the town grew, so did his business. He was a very wealthy man. Self-made."
"Is that his writing on the note?"
"Yes, but I think he was forced to write it. Some of the letters look different from his normal writing; almost scared. Here look at this," she handed me a card. "That's a postcard he sent me from New York."
On the front was a picture of the Statue of Liberty at night. On the back was the note to Lois;
"Hey baby! I miss you but I'll be home on the 15th.
All My Love . . . Georgie"
She was right. This writing didn't have the frantic quality of the suicide note. "I'll help you. One-hundred bucks a week plus expenses." That was the normal pay scale except the expenses. I figured I could make a little extra from this lady.
"Thank you so much."
"Don't thank me till it's all over. Now, tell me about yourself."
"Why?"
"I like to know who my clients are. Besides, if the police were to take this case, you would be their number one suspect."
"I guess you're right about that. I was born and raised in West Virginia. My family was poor. My grandmother lived with us in our one-room house. We loved each other dearly.
"When I was fourteen, I decided I wasn't going to be poor when I grew up, so I stayed in school while my two older brothers, my only siblings, found jobs on farms.
"After I finished school, the first person in my family to do so, I moved out here to become an actress in the movies. Talkies were just starting to take over. I had bit parts here and there until I became 'Joan' in the Here's Joan series. Then I met Georgie. He made me feel like the movie star I wasn't. Oh yes the movies were popular, but I wasn't a Bette Davis or Joan Crawford.
"George and I were friends for three years before we got married. Two-and-a-half years later and he's dead." She stood up lighting a cigarette. "Please find the killer Mr Taylor. I'm at BlackWater most of the time. You can get in touch with me there if needed. Thank you." She extended her hand for a shake.
"Goodbye Mrs Adams." She quietly closed the door behind her.
I took this case because it sounded exciting plus it was not another marital case.
Most of my clients are women wanting me to follow husbands to see if they are unfaithful or not. More often than not, they are cheating.
I've had a couple movie star clients before and they aren't any different from other people. Some think they are and those are the ones I raise my fee for. I figure if they think they are special, they should pay a special rate.
One client, who was in the movies, was on her third marriage and she was only twenty-six. It turned out that her husband wasn't cheating but they have since divorced.
She is now married to the co-star of her new movie. I try not to take movie stars as clients because of the potential publicity involved, but most of them flash their sad puppy-dog eyes and I can't resist. It's a bad habit in my business, feeling for the clients, but I get along pretty good.
3
When I woke the next morning, the rain had already stopped. The birds were singing, the sun was shining and flowers were everywhere. I decided to go to BlackWater and talk to Sam the valet.
BlackWater was huge. The house stood on a hill, almost a mountain I'd say, in the middle of trees. You can't even see it from the road. It was three stories tall in most places, two and four stories everywhere else. Sections look as if they were added on as an afterthought. The main house had three turrets, one octagonal, two round and an exterior of what looked like a cobblestone walk. Ivy had taken over part of the front and what appeared to be the entire side. The porch covered the entire front and about half of the north side and the octagonal turret was the end of the porch at the southeast corner.
BlackWater's guest house was almost a small replica of the main house. The major difference was the guest house had only one turret, it was octagonal, on the southeast corner. It sat about two-hundred yards to the south of the main house. A multi-door garage sat between the two houses for use by everyone. Trees and flowers were everywhere.
I parked my car and went to the front door. As I was about to knock, the door opened. "Herb Taylor here to see Sam Johnson," I said to the butler.
"One moment please," he said and shut the door in my face. What a rude butler.
I waited for twenty minutes and he didn't show. As I was turning to go to the guest house the door opened. "I'm Sam Johnson. Who are you and what do you want?"
"I'm Herb Taylor: Private Investigator. May I ask you a few questions about George Adams?"
"He's dead."
"I know that and I want to find out why."
"He killed himself."
"My client doesn't seem to think so."
"And who might that be?"
"None of your business."
"Why do you want to talk to me?"
"You were his valet. You would know him better than anyone else. May I come in or are we going to stand in the doorway?"
"Come into the parlor." he said with a sigh.
The parlor was huge, of course, and brown. No colors--only shades of brown. Depressing for a parlor. I sat on the fat brown-velvet sofa. Next to it was an end table with a courting lamp. Must have been his mother's. "How long did you work for Mr Adams," I asked.
"About three years. My dad worked for him until he died then I took over.
"How did Mr and Mrs Adams get along?"
"George hated her but he also felt sorry for her."
"He didn't love her?"
"He did when they got married but she had an affair and he never forgave her. George gave her her own bedroom and he wouldn't eat meals the same time she did. One time, she was coming down the hall toward him and he turned to go up three flights of stairs. He went down a hallway, down the back stairs into the hall he was in before. He was on his way to the washroom so he avoided her by going out of his way."
"So he didn't hate her. He was disappointed with her and ignored her for a while."
"If you call eighteen months a while."
"Were they talking when he died?"
"Yes but only because her mother died a month ago and he just adored her mother."
"So if he hadn't of died, do you think they would have reconciled with time?"
"Yes I do."
"You said he felt sorry for her. Why?"
"He didn't kick her out of the house because she had no place to go. She is a terrible actress and he thought she could never get work in the movies now, after she gave up Joan."
"So he didn't ask for a divorce?"
"Oh no. He didn't believe in it. Marriage is a sacred institution.' he always said. Yeah, Institute for the Insane.' I would say."
"So you're not married?"
"Nope. Don't believe in it. My parents were forced to marry. They were both miserable because they wouldn't get a divorce. I don't want that to happen to me."
"You can pick your own mat these days."
"Is that all Mr Taylor? I have work to do."
"That's right. You now run seven funeral parlors. So sorry to keep you from your work." His face was so red after I said that I thought he was going to burst into flames.
"Goodbye Mr Taylor."
4
I went back to my office to eat lunch. Emma, my secretary was eating lunch at her desk. "Won't you join me Mr Taylor? I've got plenty soup. It's tomato."
"Emma please call me Herb."
"But that's so informal. Here eat the rest of my soup. I'm finished." She pushed her bowl to the other side of the desk as I sat." Today is Friday Mr Taylor."
"Yeah, I remember seeing that somewhere."
"You probably have big plans for the weekend. I just bought a new book so I think I'll sit on the front porch and read it this weekend. I might even have me a bowl of ice cream. Banana flavor--my favorite. Although I am partial to strawberry ice cream with melted chocolate poured over it. The best thing to eat with ice cream is a big piece of lemon cake. I don't care what flavor ice cream you're eating, just make sure the cake is lemon. I like my cake to have raspberry icing. Talk about making your lips pucker. Momma had her own recipe for raspberry icing. Best stuff you ever tasted. I've tried to make it but it just ain't momma's icing."
"Any phone calls Emma?"
"One. Linda Veech. She said it's urgent and very important. Here's her number. She wants you to call." I took the paper with her number on it. Klondike 350.' A new number. She probably moved after Jack was killed. "Isn't she the wife of your partner that was killed? Poor lady. I don't know if I could live if my husband was killed, not that I'm married or seeing anyone for that matter. My momma was fourteen when she got married. Gee that's young. Can you imagine being married at that young age? I can't even imagine being married . . . " Boy Emma sure could talk, but she's the best secretary anyone could have.
A while back I went to my Uncle's wedding on a Saturday. When I got to the office on Thursday morning, Emma asked me if I remembered to drop my suit off at the cleaners. Of course I hadn't. She went to my place, got the suit and took it to the cleaners. Friday morning when I got to the office, the suit was hanging on my door. I don't know how she got them to clean it so fast, but there it was nice and clean.
"Well, thanks for the soup Emma. I gotta get back to work."
"Oh you're welcome, Mr Taylor. Anytime!"
5
I called Linda from my office. She picked up after only one ring. Really must be urgent. "Hello?" a sweet voice said.
"Linda? This is Herb Taylor. What's the problem?"
"I'm sorry I called you. I didn't know who else to call. The police have been no help."
"Just calm down and tell me what's wrong. Are the kids alright?"
"They're fine. I sent them somewhere. I've been followed for at lest the past four days."
"How many different followers have you seen?"
"Just one. The same man every day. He looks about six feet. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Limps on his left leg. He has a scar in his forehead above his right eye."
"Stay there. I'll be right over. Don't talk to anybody and stay inside." She gave me
her address. Not too far away. I should be there in ten minutes.
Linda was frazzled when I got there. She had a pot of coffee on the table in the
living room. I sat on the sofa and poured myself a cup of good old Java. "Do you have any idea who he is or why he's following you?"
"No. All I can think of is he's somebody Jack arrested and now he's getting even for it. His car is a black sedan with a rusted circle dent in the driver's door."
"That's the car we were driving when Jack was shot. I'll never forget that car."
"But why would they want me? They were never arrested were they?"
"No. They don't want you or they'd have you by now. They're following you to get to somebody else. Do you know anybody Jack ever dealt with in work or outside of work?"
"No. I kept my distance from his work. It was hard enough to accept the fact my husband was a cop let alone getting involved."
"Do you have any relatives your family doesn't like?"
"My brother, but he killed himself this week. You probably heard of him. George Adams."
"That's the case I'm working on right now. He was your brother?"
"Yes but he was ignored by the family. He stole the family business from our brother Tim when dad died. The funeral parlor was left to Tim. One day George went to the parlor, tied up Tim and took over just like that. Tim had a bad heart and he was weak. He couldn't put up any kind of fight or he'd probably have a heart attack. Every week George gave Tim money. Said it was the least he could do, give him his share, since he couldn't work. Tim believed him about the profits until George bought BlackWater. He couldn't believe George could afford such a big place on the money he was getting from the business; the split was supposed to be fifty-fifty. Tim asked George where his money came from and George told him he'd stolen it from him. This made Tim mad, of course, and they started fighting. Tim had a heart attack and died in the parlor of BlackWater. George had the business."
"So where were you during all of this?"
"I was with Jack in Florida. He worked there for a couple years. We didn't like the hurricanes so we came back home. When we got back, Tim was already gone. George didn't even call me to tell me my brother died. Come to find out, Tim had left the business to George in his Will. I've always wondered if George knew that and couldn't wait to get the business." A loud crash came from the back of the house. Somebody had thrown a rock through the kitchen window. A note tied to the rock said:
"Remember this face. You will see it often."
Linda screamed and I looked up at a man looking in through the broken window. It was the man who had been following her. I saw the scar on his forehead and he had bushy eyebrows that grew over his nose to form one giant brow. I took off running at him.
Boy he could run. If he limped like Linda said he did, he forgot to do it now. I ran around to the front yard as he got in his car and sped away. I jumped into mine and followed.
He wasn't a good high-speed driver. He went through neighborhoods with children playing. I bet we made their day, and he hit many cars parked on the side of the street.
After weaving through town for ten or fifteen minutes, we were in the country. On a long straight road he pulled farther ahead. I lost him after he went over a hill. There were several crossroads and I didn't see him down any of them. This guy was good. He planned the whole chase. I had to get back to Linda to make sure she was safe.
Her house was empty. Her car and purse were there but she was gone. I fell for an old trick; get the cop out of there and kidnap the person. I always wondered why kidnappers often worked that way. It makes the other person feel stupid and inadequate. I went back to my office.
to be continued...
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