Tom Hoke - Murder in the Grand Manor

The two salesmen almost clicked their heels together. They pitched their bags in a corner and stumbled across the lobby toward the bar.

Jim was right behind them. As far as he knew the only girls in the bar were Aunt Annie and Lena, and he wanted to see their faces when they located the girls.

It was too dark in the bar to get your bearings in a hurry, especially if you were already sloshed. Getting their bearings would be difficult no matter how they went about it.

They tried peering around, and then decided to go straight to the bar where George was mixing something with his usual disgust. The unholy light didn't make his square face more interesting. I supposed the concoctions were Camilles for my lady friends.

"Hello!" The short one greeted George with the ease of a man who had spent many a night enjoying conviviality in some such surroundings. His tall pal put a foot on the railing and said, "How about a couple of bar bourbons and water, huh?" He jingled money in his pocket. They looked like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza from where Jim stood in the doorway.

George didn't look up. "All right," he managed to growl. "Gimme a chance to make these drinks." They were Camilles. He brought them around the bar to Aunt Annie and Lena who were seated at their usual table. The salesmen turned in unison and watched him.

Their eyes, now accustomed to the darkened room, found Aunt Annie and Lena. The tall one nudged the short one who emitted a weak but audible "WHEE!" Jim went to sit with the girls, not to protect them, but to get a little juice in him. "George, how about a bourbon and water after you serve the customers?" he asked.

George nodded and went back to the bar.

"My, my," Jim chided Aunt Annie and Lena.

Shouldn't we be boiling water or something with the hurricane on its way?"

Aunt Annie took a firm grip on her glass. She wrinkled her brow furiously and gave him a scathing glance. "Young man, you are being impertinent! Boiling water is entirely unnecessary at the moment, and you know it."

She sipped from her glass. "Of course, if the water becomes polluted later, we may have to boil it. At the moment Lena and I are fortifying ourselves. We are the only people in the place who are up on hurricanes.

Obviously, someone must take command."

She cocked her head to one side. "At least we seem to be rid of our watchdog. In fact, even the fat bellboy is missing. According to my weather radio, we have four hours before Bertha moves onshore. After we have consumed our drinks we will go immediately to the kitchen and check the food. Then we will gather the guests together in the lobby."

George brought Jim a much needed drink and turned back to the salesmen, who were whispering and puttering over their booze.

Hurricane or no hurricane, Jim needed some answers before the ladies went to the kitchen.

He still wasn't up-to-date on hurricanes. He might have laughed if somebody had told him the next twenty-four hours would scare the pants off him. He said conversationally, "What about the dear departed Mrs. Benning, the gal who owned the hotel? What was her maiden name? Was she tall or short? Did she have any money? Did she dye her hair and drive a Rolls Royce?" Now he was being cute. But he was exasperated. With Jerry Duprey lying in state upstairs, he had only these two sources of information and they were elusive.

Lena, who had seemed to be the leader of the two before had taken a back seat. She gazed quizzically at the ceiling with her mouth firmly shut.

Aunt Annie folded her arms. "I don't think Mrs. Benning had much money, only the hotel.

Her husband left it to her when he died some years ago." Her voice became waspish. "Mrs.

Benning was small and didn't need to dye her hair. It was coal black. And, as I told you, she didn't drive at all, especially a Rolls Royce.

The bellboy drove her for groceries and to the country. Lately he would take her out there and leave her and pick her up later. Now, don't ask me where they went. I don't know."

Then Aunt Annie added, "Young man, you must have gotten out of the wrong side of the bed this morning."

This was fascinating because the bed was jammed into a corner of the room. The wrong side must have been the only side one could get out of in the morning or any other time.

Aunt Annie continued, "Lena can tell you more about Mrs. Benning than I can. She's known her for a much longer time. I told you she used to have long conversations with her before…before toddies," she explained. She addressed Lena. "Do you know, Lena, I bet she used to go for those toddies way back. She was so violently opposed to them."

Lena ignored the last remark. Then she said reluctantly, "Mrs. Benning lost her husband fifteen years ago. He came from somewhere in the east."

Jim asked, "Did she come with him?" He already knew the answer.

"No…," Lena glanced at Aunt Annie. Jim guessed she had a lousy memory, because it took her so long to come up with the answer.

"No, she came from around here," Lena finally said, waving her arm vaguely. "Her maiden name was Dupree. Edith Dupree." She acted like Jim was dragging it out of her. "Edith Dupree?" he said, trying to put one and one together, and she nodded. Lena's accent was different, but he had the connection for a long time. A child of seven could have come up with it. "How do you spell it?" She told him.

So Jerry's last name was Duprey and what was the difference. A little French dressing!

"Mrs. Benning was of French extraction?"

Lena looked at Annie. She seemed surprised.

"Well, I guess partly," she allowed. "Annie, we have to go to the kitchen!" She finished her drink hurriedly and rose. Annie looked at Jim.

"There's a painting of Mrs. Benning in her living room. But this is hardly the time for running it down. We have things to do. You have things to do. We will meet you in the lobby in thirty minutes, Charlie."

Lena, looking somewhat relieved, led the way out. Jim guessed the old girl had a soft spot in her heart for Edith Dupree Benning. He stared at his drink. He wanted to have a look at that painting. Probably because Lena hadn't mentioned it and didn't seem too crazy to have him see it. Then he picked up his two history books and went through the deserted lobby.

He could hear Leddon whispering, probably to himself, in the little room back of the desk.

He creaked up the stairs and went to his room, noticing the wind had picked up and was beginning to batter the window at the end of the hall. He stuck his key in the lock and opened the door, flipping on the light.

There, stretched out on his bed was Jerry Duprey, a very much alive Jerry, who shifted his weight to look at him. Jim closed the door hard with his foot and locked it.

It took only one glance to realize Jerry Duprey was polluted, plastered, stoned, crocked, and totally smashed. He was also scared stupid. Beside him on the floor was half a bottle of dubious whiskey. Considering his contours, it was hardly a feat of great detection to realize the guy whose remains graced the room upstairs must have been the fat bellboy instead of Duprey.

Duprey looked like he'd been dropped from a bungee jump without a cord. "Hello" says the man Jim had chased from Fort Worth, Texas to Bay St. Louis, Mississippi. Now this was an understated salutation, considering the situation. Then he said something far more interesting. "It's there…it really is. I know she found the marker!" He was staring at the wall, talking to himself.

Jim leaned over him and said soothingly,

"Found what, Jerry?"

"The graveyard…the marker…like Aunt Edith said." Then he looked at Jim craftily. Jim decided to change the subject.

He pointed to the ceiling. "The bellboy?" he asked, sitting astraddle the chair. Jerry’s face crumpled like he might burst into tears. "They hit him…thought it was me…they had to kill him. That's why I came to your room.