Terror Flower (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 5) (8 page)

“Dollars?” asked Tench, his voice showing surprise.

“Several hundred thousand. Only one in existence.”

“Where did he get it?” asked Tench, as they moved on.

Tench would always remember Strake’s answer. “I don’t ask,” said Strake, his head held perfectly straight ahead, as if he wanted to avoid seeing anything but what he had come for.

“Mister Strake has a special invitation to be here,” said Marengo, scanning other tables where the products displayed included ancient chain drive transmissions, handmade spoked wheels and headlight lanterns. The table attendees appeared the same, like they were guards rather than antique conservators or auctioneers. Tench understood. This place was like a bank and the parts were money taken out of vaults.

“You don’t touch unless you want to buy. You don’t buy unless the seller knows you, knows you can keep your mouth shut,” said Strake.

Strake moved ahead to speak with a slender well-dressed man who looked much out of place in the barn. The man spoke for a few minutes, then smiled and shook Strake’s hand.

Strake came back to them and said. “The fuel pump has been loaded in the back of the Mercedes. We can go now.”

“Who was the man?” asked Julie as they left the barn and went back to the Mercedes.

“An agent of a collector like me,” said Strake. Strake grinned at Marengo. “We got a good deal,” he said.

“Always. I make sure,” replied Marengo.

“We might want to find out who took the Rolls, in case we need some Rolls parts,” said Strake, winking at Marengo, as he herded his daughter and Tench back into the sedan.

“It will be hard to do, but we will try,” said Marengo.

“Your mother said you wouldn’t want to come, Julie,” said Strake, when everyone was back in their seats. “She doesn’t like my business. Maybe I was wrong bringing you here. However, all my cars will be yours someday. You and your sister, although she doesn’t like it either.”

Strake looked at Tench. “If I ask you to join me again, Jimmy, you’ll come, I’d bet. You like the machines. You’ll never get close to them any other way.”

Marengo added, “Of course we have to keep quiet where we take the parts we get here. They know how good our money is, but we make sure they don’t know where we keep our cars,” he said. He looked at Tench as he spoke, nodding his head to make sure Tench understood.

“Why keep quiet? Why not tell people you have these great cars?” Tench had said and had regretted immediately his dumb remark.

Strake sighed and looked at Tench with anger. “Boy, maybe I made a mistake letting you come along. I thought you were smart, you knew how to keep shut about things, growing up in the city and all,” he said. He bent his head back, talking slowly like a teacher. “The man we got to worry about is the man who sold it to us. He might come over to our place and try to get it back, maybe steal it, try to sell it again. We got to make sure he doesn’t have the opportunity.”

Marengo said over his shoulder to Julie, as the big car lurched in a rut as it came on to the major highway, “These cars are just like a bank for your father.”

“Yes,” said Strake. “The best bank in the world. Safe in a man’s own backyard. We’ll show some of them one day in a museum that is well guarded, but some will always be private, kept only for me to see.”

“I’ve got to talk to you,” Julie had said a few weeks ago on their last telephone conversation. She had spoken almost in a whisper as though someone was listening, spying on her.

“Are you all right?” Tench asked, softly, so only she heard.

“Be careful,” she had whispered.

“Why?”

She had not answered.

Tench had said, trying to say something pleasant, something to would take the edge off her voice, “Do you remember the Cunningham roadster?”

“The car’s still there,” she said. Then she had added, “At least I think it is.” She started to cry. “I think some of them are gone. I asked Stagmatter and he wouldn’t tell me.”

“He’s selling them?” asked Tench.

“I don’t know.”

“I see the trucks coming in,” said Tench.

“Well, maybe it’s my imagination. I just worry for my father.” She had paused then said, “I think a lot about you. I’m so sorry for what I did to you, Jimmy.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Tench had said. He heard her sob.

“I left you alone. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“All past,” he said softly.

“I wanted so many times to call you, to explain,” she said.

“You didn’t have to explain.”

“You remember that I told you of my fear. When I was a little girl, an old woman who took care of told me that I could go up the mountain and touch either good or evil. I was afraid of that.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“That is why I had to leave. Someday you will understand.”

He tried her phone in Dallas again and this time he let it ring and ring until he trembled hearing the empty buzzing. He stood up from his desk. Outside his office he heard the clanking of wrenches as the men worked on the day’s repairs. He walked outside into the sun. Smote was right. Too much had happened to just be coincidence. He knew he had to talk with the sheriff again.

Chapter Six

4PM, Tuesday August 17

The Sheriff, in his gray uniform, was sitting back in his desk chair talking on the phone when Tench poked his head in. Satter waved to him. As he entered, Tench noticed the secretary setting materials in front of each chair at his conference table.

“He’s got a meeting, Tench,” she said.

Tench nodded and sat down.

Satter hung up and said “What's on your mind, Jimmy? We got lots of work today.”

“What’s up?” Tench asked.

“Getting ready for this talk by the professor. We got to have the police in the street to make sure there isn't any trouble with all the television coverage this lady and her managers have stirred up.”

“Complicated, eh?”

“Some radical types might be coming here to get their pictures taken. Some like the United Nations and some don’t. Some think the UN is building an army to invade the USA. Some fanatic might not like this professor’s book. Everybody hates something.”

“Those people are wasting their time. The United Nations committee people are making an excuse for a weekend vacation.”

The Sheriff shook his head. “You got that right, Jimmy. I also know that if anything happens we’ll get a bunch of Federal investigators in here. I tried to tell your aunt.”

“Something else has been bothering me,” Tench said.

“Shoot.”

“It’s about the way Captain Bob died.”

“That again?” Satter leaned back in his chair and said, “I told Smote I can’t find anything looks like he was killed. It just isn’t there no matter how much he wants to believe it.”

“I went up to Strake’s with him and we found the old man’s anchor.”

Satter sat up. “That's something. Where was it?”

“Right up near the shoreline by the Strake property.”

“You’re sure it was Peake's anchor?”

“Yes sir. Smote says Captain Bob would have gone after it, got it back if he lost it himself.”

Satter looked thoughtful. “You'd think so.”

The sheriff slapped the desk. “Might be something, Jimmy. Point is, how can I prove it?” He stood up and put his hands on the desk. “Not long ago those guards shot at a kid climbing the front iron gate at the entrance. Just kids. By the time I got through investigating I was apologizing to Stagmatter. He had all the cards in his favor. The kids were trespassing.”

“Something else has come up, Sheriff,” Tench said.

“I hope it’s better than what you got about Peake.”

“It’s Julie Strake. She doesn’t answer my calls.”

The Sheriff smiled. “You want me to call the Dallas chief of police? Have him send one of his men over to check out Julie's apartment just because she doesn't answer her boyfriend’s phone? I’m not sure he could to do that for me, Jimmy. You can understand we don’t like to get involved in romance affairs.”

“It’s more, Sheriff Satter. Julie and I, we talk every month like clockwork. She’s never missed a call even when she's been traveling. She’s always called me.”

“Look, Jimmy, the only way I been able to police here in River Sunday is to be fair to everybody, take no sides.”

“I know.”

“All I can say, is you let me know if you don’t hear from Julie pretty soon. Keep your eyes open for anything unusual about Strake’s place. I got no special love for those men up there with guns. It doesn't sit right with me and, truth be told, it doesn't please a lot of people. Most folks, though, respect Strake or at least work in his companies and they keep their mouths shut.”

Tench nodded.

“Let me get through this speech by the African this Friday and then we’ll talk again.”

“What are you doing here, Jimmy?” came his aunt’s voice loud behind him.

“Hi,” Tench replied.

“Anyway, I need to talk to you too.” She looked at Satter. “Sheriff, we ready for the meeting?”

“They’ll be coming in,” Satter said. “State police, town police, Coast Guard, everybody we think we’ll need.”

She looked at her watch, then back at Tench and said, “You’ve seen these United Nations folks before, haven’t you?”

“Sure. They come here and rent boats to go fishing every summer. I fix their cars once in a while.”

She nodded. “They come in here from over to Washington, have their little meeting for an hour or so, give some business to the hotel for rooms and food and then they leave.”

“So what do you want to see me about?”

“You and I are going to the meeting.”

“Me?”

“I need someone big and strong to sit with me.”

She nodded. “Let me tell you some history. Back in the Sixties, this little UN meeting in River Sunday was promoted by the Johnson administration. It was to get attention for African issues and hold it in River Sunday because most of the black citizens were descended from slaves brought from African countries. Maryland was also one of the instigators of Liberia to send former slaves back to Africa. Johnson knew his history. Local support came from Pastor Allingham and his church organization mostly to draw international consideration of black rights here in America. All of it was very forward looking.”

“Anyway,” she continued, “Owerri’s publishers found out about our little United Nations meeting. They are making a big deal out of it, insisting the members of the committee hear her talk about her book. It’s all intended to have news coverage to sell more books. They have planned some major network coverage. I’ve been getting calls from the television stations. They want to interview me for local color.”

“News people,” sighed the Sheriff. “We’ll have to block the traffic. It’s going to be tough.”

The Mayor turned back to the Sheriff. “So what do we do?”

“I think I’ve covered our back. Everyone will get their assignments today. The representatives from the United Nations will be checked in Thursday as usual and will start their committee in the morning. The demonstrators just want to parade in front of the hotel. All I hear anyway, so we’ll have a place set up for them.”

Tench did not think much of the UN representatives. He judged people by the cars they drove, typical of any good garage man. They had simple Toyotas and Chevrolets. One time a UN staffer, who only came one summer, and originated from Great Britain, drove a Morgan roadster which Tench thought was an interesting car. The man brought it into the garage for a carburetor adjustment. He didn’t know much about the machine, a jewel of a car. He said his father gave it to him and he himself drove it only to impress his American girl friend back in New York. Tench suspected from the man's description of her car sense she too didn’t know the difference between the hood ornament and the spare tire. Tench had the impression most of these UN experts probably had no heavy experience in Africa either and discussed what they had learned mostly from books and a few quick visits in country.

“What else do you know about the demonstrators, Sheriff?” asked Tench.

“Worst one is a group called NUN or No United Nations. They have some members in River Sunday too. Baltimore warned me about them. They start fights to get television coverage and we’ll have some networks here looking for police brutality.”

“Just be there, Tench,” said the Mayor. “If anyone starts any name calling, you can help me get out of there. The room is pretty small and I don’t want to get hit with a flying copy of the Bell,” she said.

The Sheriff put his hat in his lap. He smoothed his thin hair with his right hand and looked at the Mayor.

“Smote still has a problem about his grandfather’s death,” he said.

The Mayor looked at Tench, and said, “Tell you something, Tench. I know this is coming from you and I thought I made myself clear. People are talking about you helping out this friend of yours. I know he’s a good baseball coach for the kids, but most people don’t like him being so arrogant.”

“So what does it amount to?” asked the Mayor.

“Yes, Ma’am,” said the Sheriff. He had a way of licking his lips with his tongue as if he had to wet his lips before speaking. “Autopsy results were negative. Nothing to make us think it’s a crime.”

“Why does Smote think it is?” asked the Mayor.

“You know the ‘Spaniard.’ He can be pretty hard to work with,” said the Sheriff. He pulled over a small chair and sat down in front of the Mayor. His body dwarfed the chair.

Tench said, “He doesn’t think Captain Peake would have been careless.”

The Sheriff smiled in a fatherly way, and licked his lips. He said, “Well, I could tell you, Jimmy, about a lot of men who died in boats, men who were as good a sailor as Captain Bob.”

The Sheriff went on, looking over again at the Mayor, “Smote thinks he was hurt up at Strake’s.”

Tench said, “Smote thinks, and I agree with him, the old man might have been anchored for some reason off the shoreline.”

“Sheriff,” said the Mayor. “I don’t want any trouble with Smote or the Latino community. Election is coming up.”

He back looked at Tench and said, “We all know Smote doesn’t speak for any of the other Latinos around River Sunday.”