Tom Hoke - Murder in the Grand Manor

You'd have thought Dracula, thirsting for blood, was hounding the inmates of the hotel.

A couple of steps took Jim to the door. He yelled, "Hold on before you break the glass!" and turned the key in the lock. Things were looking up.

Far from Dracula, it was a female, a very wet female who entered the lobby in a pair of tight, cutoff, blue jean shorts. She had on a man's white shirt which was plastered to her admirable body, almost covering the shorts.

Her wind blown hair was dripping water.

Jim’s eyes finally followed her legs to her feet.

She was barefoot.

She pushed her hair back and said coldly,

"Who do you think you are, Mr. Smith, keeping me out in the rain?" He pushed the door shut, panted against it, and gave her another look. It was Mrs. Wharton, librarian of the Bay St. Louis Library. He should have known by the legs.

She smelled young and must have had on some sort of waterproof perfume, on which he wished he had a patent. She stood indignantly with her hands on her hips, dripping small puddles all around. In that dripping wet outfit, she had a non-stop build. Married or not, discounting the bride and groom, Jim felt less like the superintendent of an Old Folks Home.

"How do you do, I'm sure," he said, looking at her nicely tanned legs. "My, my, what brought you here Mrs. Wharton?"

"They brought me. Men with the Civil Defense," she said breathlessly. "I thought I could stay in the cottage, but there's water on the floor!" She sounded amazed. Then she said haughtily, "My overnight bag is just outside the door you closed."

Jim retrieved it, wondering what had happened to Mr. Wharton. Maybe she was under water? He pointed to a chair and she sat down obediently and began to shiver. "I hope you brought a change of clothing, Mrs.

Wharton?" Jim questioned pleasantly. She stared at him and shook her head. "No…no, I didn't, I don't know why. I just brought pajamas and some pieces of jewelry and a book." She colored. "Not the one you're thinking of, Mr. Smith."

Jim looked over at George. "Will you be kind enough to bring Mrs. Wharton a drink, a strong one, pronto!" George flashed a surly look and using a small flashlight he pulled from his pocket, disappeared into the bar.

Flashlight…light…the words brought Jim’s twenty-twenty hindsight to life and he thought about when he had been passing the time of day with the two Civil Defense guys, and they looked over the hotel. He had noticed a light was shining through the vines over the window of his second floor room. He didn't leave a light on. It was a little late to be wondering what went on in his room with Jerry Duprey stretched out under the bed. But he had to get upstairs. Looking at Mrs.

Wharton, he had a reason.

He turned to Aunt Annie. "Do you have a dress and perhaps a sweater you could loan Mrs. Wharton? I don't know much about women's clothes, but you appear to be the same size."

She said, "Of course," and started toward the stairs. He said hastily, "You better take charge here. Tell me what to get and I'll bring them down. Mrs. Wharton can change in the ladies room, wherever that is. It's safer on the first floor anyway," he added.

Aunt Annie handed Jim her key. "The purple shift hanging in my closet, and perhaps the orange sweater would be nice. It's on the chair." She looked at Mrs. Wharton's feet.

"Bring the white sandals too. They'll do."

Lena broke in, pointing at Mrs. Wharton inelegantly. "How do you know her name, Charlie?" George brought in a drink and handed it to the girl. Jim started for the stairs and called over his shoulder: "I managed to pop into the library today, Lena. Mrs.

Wharton is the librarian."

At the foot of the stairs he decided to be a little firm before he went upstairs. He turned and faced them. He had their full attention.

"According to Aunt Annie and those seasoned gentlemen with Civil Defense, we are going to get the northeast quadrant which is the dirty side of the hurricane. As little as I know about hurricanes, I do know the winds are counterclockwise. With all those little casement windows on the east of the lobby, I suggest you get on with the window taping.

Introduce yourselves, if you must, but let's get on with the windows."

He hurried up the stairs and went quickly to his room. Well, as quickly as anyone can by candlelight. Holding the candle high, he took a look at the same kind of destruction he had witnessed in Mrs. Benning's rooms. It looked like Bertha had turned his room inside out.

The covers were torn off the bed, his bag was turned upside down, and the faded lamp shade was more cockeyed than usual. His bottle of bourbon was empty and tossed into a corner. A cigarette had been stamped out on the floor. There was rage here! He wondered if it were unrequited.

He was sure he was too late, but he dropped to his knees and looked under the bed. To his surprise, there was Jerry Duprey over in the corner still out. He stuck the candle to the floor, reached under the bed and prodded Duprey. No response. Then he grabbed the candle and went out of the room, locking the door behind him in a reflex action. At least, whoever was looking for Jerry wouldn't try his room again. He had to get back downstairs as quickly as possible.

Rushing into Aunt Annie's room, he found the purple shift in the closet, collected the orange sweater and the white sandals, and started down the hall. The candle threw a wicked shadow as he went toward the stairs. He gawked at the outline of a tall man who disappeared in the direction of the back stairs.

Jim wished the little salesman had enough sense to keep his playmate with him. He expected the man to fall downstairs at any moment. The way the wind tore at the hotel made Jim wonder what kept them from simply blowing away. In exasperation he yelled down the hall: "Get on downstairs, you idiot!" and went down the front stairs to the lobby.

He handed Mrs. Wharton the clothes, and she took off for the ladies room. Aunt Annie seemed revived. The taping was going very well, he guessed. Having come out of her blue funk, Aunt Annie was explaining carefully,

"Cross the strips of tape. This keeps the glass from shattering if the windows break." Aunt Annie's instructions were news to Jim. Before this night was over he was going to learn a lot.

Mrs. Wharton reappeared. What a difference!

He grabbed a roll of tape and moved in her direction. Mrs. Wharton didn't look as formidable now. It was becoming. She had combed out her windblown hair which hung about her shoulders and curled upwards at the ends. She looked up at him. Her eyes were almost navy in the light of the kerosene lamp.

Aunt Annie's purple shift was certainly enhanced by Mrs. Wharton's figure.

The question automatically came out of his mouth, "Where is Mr. Wharton?" She certainly wouldn't have left him in her cottage with water lapping at his feet. He spun the roll of masking tape around a finger and looked down at her.

The corners of her mouth turned up in a very attractive smile. She cupped her hands around her mouth and he leaned over. "There IS no Mr. Wharton, Mr. Smith. How do you like that?"

Jim liked it. "But why?" he asked.

"They wanted a married woman for the librarian job. I invented Mr. Wharton just for them. He is supposed to be overseas." She was innocence personified. "It was a very touching wedding, practically at dockside."

Then she said frowning, "If there is a library left after this storm, this happy news would cost me my job. That is, if you tell."

He looked at her gravely. "Your story has reached my tender heart, Mrs. Wharton. I grieve for you. Your secret will never pass my lips."

Right in the middle of their little tete-a-tete, Lena showed up bearing down on them with strands of masking tape hanging from her fingers. Unkindly, Jim found himself comparing her to one of Shakespeare's witches as she approached with her hands flung wide and her pith helmet pushed forward on her head. He grinned at Mrs. Wharton. "Fear not, Toots." Then he said loudly, "Mrs. Wharton, I think you had better help Lena, Lady Mantel.