What Happened on Beale Street Read online

  “I know it’s been many years, but I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “You are a very sweet girl, just like Robert said.”

  “May I ask where you found the rubies?” Nicki still couldn’t take her eyes off the woman’s earlobes.

  “Ah, that was no walk in the park. On the final night of clues, Reginald and I discovered them hidden in the music salon. Unfortunately, that room was later turned into the first floor deli.” Her nose twitched with distaste.

  “I’ll never buy snacks there again.”

  “I don’t know what else I can tell you other than I’ve enjoyed your visit. Please give my regards to the best bellman the Carlton has ever had.”

  “Thank you. I can’t tell you how helpful you have been. Would you mind if I took a couple of photos of you to show Henry? And maybe your maid can take one of us together?”

  “I wouldn’t mind at all.” She smiled graciously.

  While the two women finished lunch, one starting a new life and one in her waning years, Mrs. Fitzhugh told Nicki what she remembered about the final hunt. And Nicki told her about Hunter, their upcoming wedding in a small country church, and the extravagant reception aboard her mother-in-law’s yacht. “I can assure you,” she said, “I’ll be glad when the entire hullaballoo is over and I’m fixing mac-and-cheese for my new husband.”

  Mrs. Fitzhugh laughed. “That’s pretty much how I felt about my wedding day. But try to enjoy yourself. If you’re a fortunate woman, this marriage will last your entire lifetime.”

  Nicki kissed Violet Fitzhugh’s powdered cheek when she left, a stranger no longer. On the way home, she pondered not only her new clues, but the lesson learned from a woman who defined class and charm… qualities that had nothing to do with wealth.

  “Hi, Nate. What’s up?”

  Nate blew exasperation out through his teeth. “I’ll tell you what’s up. If you hadn’t picked up this time, I was calling the cops to report a missing person. Where are you?”

  “Simmer down. As usual, you’re overreacting. I talked to you this morning while you were at Izzy’s. Hey, should I head there now to relieve you as her bodyguard?”

  “You should not. She’ll be at the office all day and then has an open house scheduled. I have it covered. And stop trying to change the subject. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

  “Because it would have been rude to answer during my lovely luncheon.” She put special emphasis on the final word.

  “A Quarter Pounder and fries doesn’t qualify as a luncheon.” Nate turned onto the expressway leading back to Memphis.

  “True, but I’ve been dining alfresco on the terrace of Mrs. Reginald Fitzhugh of Tipton County near Gilt Edge.” Nicki deepened her accent for the sake of drama. “Isn’t that the perfect town for a rich lady to live in?”

  Nate bit back an impolite word. “Either tell me what’s going on or I’ll reach through the phone and strangle you. I told Hunter I would keep an eye on you, and you drive up to Tipton County without telling me?”

  “You tell Mr. Hunter Galen that leg irons have been outlawed in the civilized world. I’m still free to move about the state.” Nicki sounded more annoyed than usual.

  “I’ll tell him. In the meantime, are you on your way back to the Carlton?”

  “I am. Aren’t you curious as to how I got an invitation to lunch with the charming Mrs. Fitzhugh?”

  “Yes, I would love to hear the explanation.” He used such a sweet tone that Nicki launched into a fifteen-minute summation involving hotel registers, rubies, Rolex watches, music rooms, a society matriarch who had patronized the Carlton for more than sixty years, and a terrace overlooking the Mississippi. Nate’s mind was swimming with more details than catfish on the river bottom. “Can’t you ever tell a story in less than a thousand words? I’m already back downtown.”

  “Nope. It can’t be done, and I’m still thirty minutes away. Should I meet you somewhere? Where are you going?”

  “I’m headed to the Blues City Club to talk to Gus the soundman. He had last night off, but he should be on duty tonight. If I can get him to corroborate the roommate’s story, then I can get Detective Marino to release Tito. The more I talk to musicians, the more convinced I am that he was telling the truth. Then I’ll point Marino in the direction of Jimmy Watts. That sax player hated Danny, and for no other reason than Danny had a big heart.”

  “Hold on a minute, Nate. While you were eating breakfast in Germantown, I checked up on Jimmy Watts. He may be creepy, but he has an alibi for the night Danny was killed.”

  Nate pulled to the curb to hear what his cousin had to say. “I thought you were busy with the mystery of the missing jewels all morning.” He imbued the words with unnecessary sarcasm.

  But Nicki took no notice. “How long does it take to dig into public records if you know where to look? Jimmy Watts was in county lockup for forty-eight hours. Apparently, no one bailed Mr. Personality out after police arrested him for disorderly conduct and resisting arrest. My, my. That young man has a bad temper. However, that barroom fistfight gets him off the hook for murder.”

  “Wow. Thanks for checking this out before I sent Marino down the wrong path. Our favorite detective won’t tolerate too many missteps from a PI, even from a fellow Bulldog.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m headed to the hotel to call Hunter. I can’t wait to tell him what I discovered. Keep me in the loop about Gus Crane. Oh, I almost forgot. In case Gus doesn’t choose to cooperate, I dug up a tasty tidbit on him too. A warrant has been issued for his arrest in Texas. The man has eight hundred fifty dollars’ worth of unpaid parking tickets in Houston. Doesn’t exactly qualify him for the FBI’s most wanted list, but he probably doesn’t want local law enforcement to know.”

  “Thanks, Nicki. And you’re doing a great job tracking down Henry’s old pals. He’ll be thrilled one of the participants is still alive.”

  “Two of them,” she corrected. “Maybe Henry and Mrs. Fitzhugh can trigger Mr. Koehler’s memory. See ya later.”

  Nate ended the call and then pulled back out onto the street. Not long later, he was turning into the parking lot of the club. After bribing both a bouncer and a cocktail waitress, he was pointed toward the sound room behind and above the stage. A huge picture window with sliding panels overlooked the floor below. As expected, Gus had just arrived for work, thermos and lunch cooler in hand.

  “Mr. Crane?” Nate asked as he stepped into the cluttered room.

  “I’m Gus Crane. What can I do for you?”

  “Name’s Nate Price. I recently moved here from New Orleans.” He offered a tourist-friendly smile. “They told me downstairs you might be able to help me.”

  Gus’s suspicion meter lowered one notch. “I will if I can. What do you need?” He pointed at a folding chair.

  Nate sat and crossed his legs. “Thanks. I’m marrying a Memphis gal in a few months. We have a reception planned on one of those river barges, but the band is short a sax player. I don’t know if you heard, but Danny Andre died. He was supposed to play at our wedding. How can a band play the blues without a proper set of horns?”

  “A sax isn’t a horn. It’s actually a woodwind. What’s the name of the band you hired? I might be able to recommend someone.”

  “I stand corrected.” Nate placed a hand over his heart. “But you’ve never heard of these guys. They’re friends of mine from college who still get together occasionally. They’re not bad, really. Danny said he would round out the sound. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  Gus’s interest in the upcoming wedding flagged. “Look, I gotta check equipment for tonight’s show.”

  “The gig pays four hundred per man for five hours of music, including breaks. The bride’s family is pulling out the stops for our wedding. You sure you don’t know someone who could use the work?”

  Gus returned to the conversation. “I might know a musician or two.”

  “I want somebody good, not just someone twiddling their thumbs. Te
ll me honestly, Gus, who was as good as Danny? I loved hearing him play his sax.” The words internally made him sad. He would regret never hearing Danny to his dying day.

  The soundman stroked his scraggly goatee. “I can think of a couple guys, but they don’t always get along with amateurs, if you catch my drift. I guess your best shot would be Sam Jessup. He lives in an apartment above the Laundromat on Cooper near Central. Don’t know if he’s available. Maybe he found a permanent gig by now.” Crane copied down a phone number off a bulletin board.

  “Did you like Danny Andre?” Nate asked, tucking the slip of paper into his pocket.

  The question caught Gus by surprise. “I got along with him well enough, not that we had much interaction.”

  “I’m sure you respected him enough to want his killer locked up behind bars.”

  Gus’s gaze narrowed. “Why wouldn’t I want a killer locked up? What’s this about?”

  Nate rose to his full six feet three inches. “This is about you lying about Tito Sullivan. He got locked in your sound room overnight, but you wouldn’t corroborate his alibi. I don’t think he killed Danny, but thanks to you the wrong man is in jail.”

  “What do I care? You’d better get out of here before I call security. You don’t need to hire a sax player. You’ve just been playing me.” His face took on a sheen of perspiration.

  “Actually, I just don’t like the wrong man going to jail.”

  “What do you care about Sullivan? He’s a worthless bum.”

  “He’s a human being who cleaned up his act. And you’re going to call the detective on the case and tell him the truth about where Sullivan was that night.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I would hate to spread gossip about Texas arrest warrants, but I want the real killer behind bars.”

  “Parking tickets,” he snarled. “You’d get me fired over that?”

  “That’s not my desire, Mr. Crane. Call Detective Marino. He’ll just think you’re doing your civic duty after your memory kicked in. Then nobody will have to hear about the money you owe the city of Houston.”

  “Yeah, and if management finds out I let Tito in without paying a cover, I’ll get fired over that.”

  “Nobody will hear it from me or the detective. We just want Danny’s killer caught.”

  Gus plucked the card from Nate’s fingers. “I’ll call tomorrow. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”

  Nate left the Blues City Club and sauntered down Beale Street whistling.

  Two birds… one stone. Let’s just hope both Gus Crane and Sam Jessup live up to expectations.

  TWENTY-TWO

  As Nicki neared the city limits of Memphis, she saw no reason to return to the hotel if Nate was busy tracking down leads. She was glad she straightened him out about Jimmy Watts, but now she had her own new lead to contend with.

  Besides serving a great lunch, Mrs. Fitzhugh brought her full circle regarding the scavenger hunt participants. The whole game began and ended with Mr. and Mrs. Smithfield. They had planned the first hunt and the final one… on the weekend which turned out to be their last on earth. Mrs. Fitzhugh told her they had been killed on Saturday. The guests were given the first clue during dinner on Friday and then took off in different directions to search. No one had found the diamonds by the time everyone went to bed. Paul and Agnes Smithfield, however, had left the hotel earlier in the evening to attend a concert. On their way back, a drunk driver ran a red light and killed all three of the taxi’s occupants. None of the guests knew what had happened until the next day.

  Nicki’s heartrate quickened as a mental picture took shape. Mr. and Mrs. Smithfield hid the jewels on Thursday night. On Friday the first clue was presented to contestants, but it didn’t lead to an early discovery. Then the couple was killed. According to Mrs. Fitzhugh, most of the participants hung around the hotel until lunchtime, uncertain what to do. Once the Smithfields’ children arrived to collect their belongings, one by one the friends went home, never to congregate for the same reason again.

  When Mrs. Fitzhugh accompanied Nicki to the front door in her wheelchair, Nicki had asked if she thought the diamonds might still be where the Smithfields had hidden them.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, dear girl. I’m sure they were discovered by a clever handyman or a lucky maid long ago.”

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  Nicki drove straight to the offices of the Commercial Appeal. This time when the young man accompanied her to the basement archives, he allowed her to scan the old news stories alone. Although he remained in the general vicinity, he no longer hovered over her shoulder.

  She easily found the first story about the deaths of Paul and Agnes Smithfield in December 1960. The accident took place shortly after one a.m. at the corner of Beale Street and Riverside Drive. Unfortunately, thieves reportedly stole some of their jewelry before the ambulance and police arrived. Witnessess at the Carlton reported the couple had been wearing watches and rings that evening that weren’t found at the scene.

  Most likely the gold Rolexes they’d won the previous year, Nicki thought. Their friends would remember those watches, especially the Fitzhughs. Nicki shuddered. What kind of people stole jewelry off dead bodies? Although it had been emptied of cash, Mr. Smithfield’s wallet still contained identification and a valet parking ticket for the hotel. According to the news article, the taxi driver had also been killed, but the other driver walked away with only minor injuries.

  Nicki hoped the police had checked his pockets before they arrested him for vehicular homicide. The remaining report contained a lengthy description of who the Smithfields were and their enormous contributions to Memphis charities. They seemed to have been patrons of many creative endeavors and sat on the board of multiple foundations. Nicki learned this not from the initial news story, but from the many that followed during the aftermath and subsequent funeral. The Smithfields’ entourage rivaled that of a foreign head of state. Nicki studied photos taken at the funeral with her magnifying glass, recognizing not only Henry, Violet Fitzhugh, and Blake and Bunny Koehler, but the likenesses of the Whitleys and Bennetts as well. Nicki experienced a sense of loss for a couple she had never met. The Smithfields had touched many lives with their generosity, and they been loved and respected by their peers.

  After paying for some photocopies, she climbed back into her car just as her phone rang. She looked at the screen. “Hello, Mrs. Fitzhugh. I didn’t think I would hear from you so soon.”

  “I’ve thought of little else other than that last scavenger hunt since you left. See what you started? You asked me about the clue we received at dinner that night.”

  “Yes, ma’am. You said you couldn’t remember.”

  “You know how memories go. Not thirty minutes after you left it popped into my head. Then it took some more time to find that piece of paper with your phone number. Well, I won’t drag out the suspense. The clue was this, more or less: ‘Some places soar to great heights, some command a view of the world, some soothe the soul with tranquil waters, while others warm both body and soul. This location does all this and more.’ ”

  “What do you think that meant?”

  “Most people, including my Reginald, insisted it meant the rooftop patio and garden. It was the highest part of the hotel, and it had a great view of the city. The ‘tranquil waters’ could be the river, and certainly the sun heats the rooftop year round. But my friends and I scoured every inch of that rooftop to no avail, even with flashlights after dark.”

  “What do you think the clue meant, Mrs. Fitzhugh?”

  “I thought it meant the grand lobby. It’s two and half stories high, it has great views from the balcony mezzanine and warmth from the huge fireplace. And some guests say the sound of the fountain calms them. But there’re just too many nooks and crannies to search the entire lobby. I tried but came up empty. Good luck, Miss Price, and keep me posted.”

  Nicki couldn’t get back to the Carlton fast enough. She parked the Lin
coln in the garage and bolted through the back door. Because it was late on a Friday afternoon, tons of people were arriving to start their own getaway weekend. Both levels of the grand lobby were beehives of activity, but that wouldn’t deter a trained investigator from Mississippi. As surreptitiously as possible, she checked under huge potted ferns, looked behind framed prints of the famous fish, and ran her fingers under the edge of the balustrade around the entire balcony. Just as she lifted a heavy oil painting off the wall, two security guards appeared over her shoulder.

  “What on earth are you doing, Miss Price?” To her good fortune, Robert Prescott accompanied the armed guards.

  “Hi, Mr. Prescott. You won’t believe who I met today out in Tipton County. She was so helpful and encouraging.” Nicki replaced the painting on its hooks and clasped her hands behind her back.

  “I know exactly whom you talked to.” The concierge’s brows knit together. To the security guards he said, “This woman is a guest here. I will vouch for her.”

  The guards gave Nicki another once-over, shook their heads, and left.

  “Follow me, young lady, and don’t touch anything along the way.”

  “I’m convinced the jewels hidden by the Smithfields are still here someplace, but I probably should have waited for a less busy time to look,” Nicki murmured as they stepped into an empty meeting room.

  “Oh, you noticed we’re at full capacity this weekend? Your fiancé booked the last suite. And everyone seems to have arrived at the same time.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Prescott. I won’t keep you from your duties. Hunter and I will make this up to you before we leave.”

  His expression softened with her apology. “I’m charmed by your enthusiasm for the Carlton, but I cannot have you ransacking the place—”

  “Understood. I’ll be a model of decorum while I’m here.”