Tom Hoke - Murder in the Grand Manor

"Can you give us a room?"

Jim pushed himself to his feet and went behind the desk and looked in the cubbyholes holding keys. "How about 110?" he asked, sounding quite professional. He looked for the registration book in vain. Leddon must have taken it to bed with him. Jim wished he had thought of it sooner. He handed Mr. Tribble a key. Tribble went to pick up two bags in the corner of the room, and Mrs. Tribble followed with a candle into the corridor looking for 110.

Jim did catch Mr. Tribble throwing an admiring glance in the direction of his history teacher, so Jim returned to class.

You've either got it or you haven't. Janet had it. It wasn't just those legs. She looked healthy, and there was more. She had a certain spark one gal in a thousand showed. Jim had to get back in her good graces and keep his mind on her story.

"What do you think about the story?" he asked, trying to get her going again. "Do you think it's true?"

"I've researched the subject intensely," she replied. She raised her eyebrows slightly and then captured his full attention, "In 1861 the Civil War started. The only link to New Orleans, except by water, was along the Old Spanish Trail. The wagon came from New Orleans. I studied the microfilm files from the Times Picayune, and apparently the New Orleans mint was in a state of confusion because the State of Louisiana was about to take over, and the Confederate government also wanted the mint. The New Orleans Mint history records indicate there was the possibility the mint was robbed because there were three funds which were supposed to be turned over to the Louisiana Government, and at the same time the United States Government wanted the mint funds returned to them. The Superintendent of the Mint refused to turn over the funds to the United States Government or the Louisiana Government."

Janet glanced up to see if he was still paying attention.

She continued. "The Superintendent of the Mint managed to stall both the United States Government and the Louisiana Government, and with the mint and the entire city in a state of chaos, the 5,000 $20 gold pieces and 330,000 silver half dollars minted in January, 1861 by the United States Government were never turned over. Mint records showed all of the gold and lots of the silver was traded for British gold sovereigns and then deposited into Citizens Bank in New Orleans. On March 15, 1861, those 5,000 double-eagles minted by the U. S. Government and some 330,000 silver half dollars were turned over to the Confederate States of America by the Citizens Bank." Janet looked at him for relief.

"So the mint wasn’t really robbed, but all the newly minted gold was exchanged legally for British gold sovereigns?" He asked, watching her move a strand of hair from her face.

"And what did the Confederate States of America do with the gold?" He smiled the question at her.

"My story is real, Mr. Smith. Believe it or not I think the money taken from the New Orleans Mint in 1861 was buried just outside Bay St.

Louis, and I think the Confederate officer who buried the gold was an employee of the mint.

Janet took another long pull on her drink, and then she added: "I also think he had a friend named Jeane Dupree.

Jim might have arrived at the ancestors of Jerry Duprey with one question, but he was sure of one thing. Jeane Dupree had apparently inherited her land, so perhaps Janet was right on target and didn't even realize it.

Chances were too Janet was going to take her own sweet time in telling the rest of the story.

So far she had proved coincidence can exist.

Suddenly Janet's voice trailed off, and then she looked into his eyes and said bluntly: "Smith, if you're an author, I'm the Statue of Liberty!"

Her eyes had little lights snapping in them. "In the library I asked you about a book that has never been written by an author who never was. Before we go on with your history lesson, why don't you try answering my question.

Who the hell are you?"

Caught off guard, he thought it wise to keep his thoughts about her glib recital to himself.

She was reeling it off far too well, and he needed more of the history lesson, but the only way he could keep it coming his way was to give her a good, believable answer: the truth.

"My name is really Jim Smith," he said. "I come from Chicago. You are correct. I am not an author. As I told Mr. Reese awhile ago, I work for a firm of private investigators. Besides walking into one large hurricane, I tramped into a big fat mystery in the Grand Manor, while looking for the heir to said hotel."

He gave her his most earnest look. "You would never believe how I got from Chicago to Bay St. Louis, unless I went into every sordid little detail. I will at length later, if you insist.

All this is beside the point. Whatever goes on here is probably related to something you know, especially since you have researched the buried treasure legend. I could probably find out a lot more if I had time to ramble through a couple of dozen books, but I don't have the time and I do have you."

Janet gave a questioning look, then nodded, seemingly satisfied with the truth. Then she said, "I understand Mrs. Benning who owned the hotel is dead." Jim moved his head in agreement.

"She just plain died of old age?" Janet asked.

He shook his head. "I would say she did not, but that's only supposition. You'll have to take my word for it. That's another reason I am trying to find out what has been going on here."

"Mrs. Benning was one of my customers recently," Janet added factually. "She stopped by last week and asked if I had any books on United States coins. She checked out an edition of Coin Collector's Guide, but she never returned it. I was hoping to get it back from her before I heard she had died."

Jim interrupted, "Your name is really Wharton?"

She nodded. "My father was Sam Wharton.

He came here from Boston in the early 1950s."

Then she smiled. "He probably robbed a bank in Boston before he left. He was a crusty character with a will of his own."

"I can believe that!" Jim announced, looking at her firm chin.

Janet started to speak again, when suddenly Lena and Aunt Annie were at their side. Aunt Annie had fully recovered her faculties. She put her hand on his shoulder before he could get up. "Now, Charlie," she said, "There is no use in getting hysterical. In a few hours the hurricane will go north." Lena nodded her head. "Yes, in a few hours the hurricane will go north." Just like a parrot, except she emphasized the word north, as if she disliked the thought of anything going in that direction.

But a parrot would hardly reach for the bottle and drink without batting an eye. This she did and passed the bottle to Aunt Annie who, it seemed, could drink straight whiskey as well as Camilles. Aunt Annie HAD recovered her faculties.

Lena looked coyly at Janet and then at Jim.

"My, my, hurricanes make strange friends.

What on earth have you two been talking about?"

He didn't have to answer because the front door blew in just as she finished the last word of her question.

The rattan furniture took off into the dining room, and the table and cards followed. Jim yelled, "Get into the bar, all of you", and grabbed the lantern before it took flight with the furniture. The lobby was empty before the words were out of his mouth. Hurricanes not only make strange friends, but they put wings on feet.

All very well for everyone except him. Much as he disliked the man, he had to deal with Mr.

Leddon. Dodging a chaise lounge, he ducked behind the desk, which seemed firmly anchored to the floor. Keeping the lantern reasonably upright, he looked into the little room back of the desk, expecting to have to carry Leddon out. Leddon was nowhere in sight. Probably out the back door at the back of his room. Jim didn't blame him. The room looked like a cell. A sagging cot and a chair were the only furniture.