Tom Hoke - Murder in the Grand Manor

Jim leaned over and put his mouth next to Mrs.

Wharton's ear. "Let's talk about why you are really here."

She flashed a wary look, and then she realized he knew she had come to the Grand Manor for a reason. "I don't make much money as a Librarian Mr. Smith", she said softly. "When you stopped by earlier today and you said you were writing about Mississippi history and you asked about legends, I thought to myself just maybe I could help you and maybe make some money on the side. Of course I didn't want to do it on company time!" She looked through him.

"There are several legends in Hancock County which could be useful to you. But this might take all night to explain."

So what? They had all night, if the hotel didn't crash down about their ears or get inundated.

Jim trusted Aunt Annie where the last was concerned. He had to. Mrs. Wharton smelled good, she was very pretty, and she knew a lot of things which might prove useful.

He glanced over at Aunt Annie and Lena.

They looked shrunken and spiritless. He hated to see them like this, so he came up with an idea. Turning to Mrs. Wharton, he asked,

"What's your given name, Toots?"

"No, Janet," she replied without missing a beat.

She raised her eyebrows. "Surely yours isn't really Charlie Smith? There is no such name."

He grinned at her. "As far as I know you are half right. Really, it's Jim, but the last name is Smith."

He rose. "Those two old gals insisted on calling me Charlie, so I went along with them.

They need therapy." He looked down at her.

"We've got a long, long wait. After I dream up something to bring them back to life, we'll have a talk, huh? What else is there to do?" He had a few good ideas, but they seemed impractical at the time. "I need a good old-fashioned history lesson, and I'm not kidding."

He crossed into the dining room, picked up a small serving table and set it between the two old ladies. "Aunt Annie, why don't you and Lena try a couple of hands of double solitaire?

Where are the cards? There must be some someplace."

Aunt Annie looked at him and her backbone stiffened.

"Solitaire!" she shouted. Her tone was scandalized. "Of course I know where the cards are." Then she added gently, "Charlie, you bring us both a Camille. Lena and I can play a snappy game of gin at two bits a game?"

He started for the bar, relieved. Aunt Annie went over to a shelf at the end of the room and picked up a pack of dog-eared cards from the second shelf.

Jim had to make the Camilles. George was in no mood. Reese was smoking a cigar over a tall glass. When Jim went back into the lobby with the drinks, Lena was protesting. He moved the lantern so they could see the cards more easily. "Four bits a game," Lena was insisting.

He looked around the room. The man in the shorts had somehow managed to fall asleep in his chair, and was making small snoring noises. Mr. and Mrs. Tribble were making an attempt to sleep in the dining room. Leddon had apparently retired to the little room back of the desk.

About this time the groom came up with a notion. He seemed quite firm about it. His bride looked helplessly receptive. He picked up a candle, put his arm around his bride and announced loudly, which was unnecessary because Jim was the only one listening, "I think we will retire." They marched self-consciously past the desk and disappeared into the long side of the hotel. Now there was a guy with a great idea!

Jim hurried back to Janet Wharton and settled a little closer to her than he had before. She noticed. "Hurricanes demand companionship, so how about the history lesson and the legends of Hancock County?" Jim suggested.

Something came down with a great clumping noise just outside the front door. He was glad it was dark outside. It was just as well they couldn't see the havoc. The noise didn't disturb Janet. She just looked at him with a question in her eyes. He obliged her. "When this wasn't Mississippi, what was it and when?" he asked.

She took another swallow of whiskey, smiled at him from under those terrific eyelashes and asked, "Which legend do you want to hear, the one about Napoleon's gold or the one about Buried Treasure?" She smiled a provocative smile as he decided.

"Napoleon's gold might be interesting," he offered, "but personally I would prefer to hear about Buried Treasure."

She lit a cigarette. "The Southeastern States, way back when, were known as The Independent Nation of West Florida. The Spanish, the French, the English, and just plain Americans all had a hand in settling The Independent Nation of West Florida." She seemed quite earnest.

"Where does the buried treasure come in?" he interrupted.

"Wait. In 1822 Mississippi was finally under the jurisdiction of the United States Government. The land was given, over prior claims, to the settlers who lived on it and worked it." She paused for effect, then continued. "Many of the early settlers were Americans who settled up and down the Pearl River, just to the west of here. She sipped her whiskey like it was lemonade and mused, "The early settlers were hardy characters, because this whole area was packed with privateers, thieves, and killers. The only accessible path was The Old Spanish Trail, part of which is Highway 90 now. All the rest was wilderness.

Believe me, the whole Gulf of Mexico was a pirate's dream."

Right now, it didn't look like things had changed much. Whatever it had been, the Grand Manor was scarcely a deluxe spot on the Riviera. It seemed to still be a hideout for thieves and killers. It wasn't hard to imagine the way it must have been early in the last century.

"At the beginning of the Civil War, there was a family of Choctaw Indians living on one of the bayous west of here and north of Highway One rainy night in the middle of March, a wagon came from the Old Spanish Trail. The wagon was driven by a uniformed Confederate officer. Two black slaves were in the back."

She looked to see if Jim was paying attention.

He was.

"The Confederate officer stopped the wagon, had the two slaves dig a deep hole, and once it was dug he had them unload the wagon into the hole. They worked quite awhile unloading before they realized they were never going to get out alive. One of them tried to hit the Confederate officer with a shovel, but he was shot in mid-swing. Then the officer shot the other black man too." Mrs. Wharton stopped.

"And how do you know this actually happened?" Jim asked in anticipation.

"I know because there was a Choctaw Indian boy hiding in the woods when it happened.

In 1954 when he was 99 and blind, he told this story to a newspaper reporter who wanted to know what he attributed his old age to.

Apparently the old man was barely 6 years old when the incident took place, but he remembered it like yesterday." Janet glanced at Jim to make sure he was listening.

"So, why didn't he dig up what was buried?"

Jim asked quietly.

"Because the Indians felt it was an evil spot and the spirits were bad in that particular area. The Indians wouldn't go anyplace near there because of the two murders. "

"So, what was buried by the Confederate officer?" Jim questioned.

"Well, that's the hard part. No one really knows. In those years when something was buried, the person who buried it always left a marker near the top of the site to identify what was below." Janet was talking a bit louder.

This was a mistake because it brought the Tribbles to life. Jim got a disapproving glance from Aunt Annie. Lena yelled "GIN!" Mr.

Tribble helped his wife to her feet and up the steps from the dining room as they approached. At least Jim looked like he was running the ship.

"Sorry to bother you, young man," said Mr.

Tribble kindly. "We were not given a room. It seems ridiculous to sit out this storm. We either blow away or we don't." He turned to his wife. "Isn't that right, Lover?" She nodded agreement, "Yes, Lover." He smiled and asked,