A Charm of Powerful Trouble (A Harry Reese Mystery Book 4) (13 page)

“Yes, all right.”

She went out and we watched from the window. At first, Uncle Tim just kept chopping as she talked. But at last, he laid down the ax and listened.

It was then that Uncle Hiram made his entrance, leading a half dozen cows up to the barn. The girls—still hidden in the wagon—must have resumed chattering. Uncle Hiram walked up and just stared for a while. As did the cows. Then, curiosity having gotten the better of him, he gingerly approached the back flap and lifted it. His expression reminded me of a child on Christmas morning who runs to the tree and finds exactly what he’s been praying for.

The cows, Uncle Tim, and Emmie all joined him and I could see she was trying to explain things. Meanwhile, the two old boys began helping the girls out of the wagon.

“Harrison! What have you done?”

“I was about to broach the subject. It’s a rather complicated story. Perhaps it would be better to let Emmie explain.”

“Just when the community had settled into perfect harmony.”

“Oh, they aren’t here as converts.”

Luckily, Emmie soon reappeared.

“I was just about to tell Aunt Purlina about how we rescued the girls from unspeakable servitude, Emmie.”

“Oh, it’s true, Aunt Purlina.”

She then told the whole lurid story. Emmie has no problem creating lurid stories from whole cloth, but this one hewed fairly closely to the facts, which were plenty lurid on their own.

“I suppose we have no choice, as Christians, but to give them refuge. But arrangements must be made.”

“Yes, of course,” Emmie agreed. “I’ve already formulated a plan. We run a marriage bureau.”

“What do you mean, a marriage bureau?”

“Well, there are thousands of Chinamen here, but very few Chinese women. The tong wished to capitalize on this in their own brutal way. But what if we exploit it to the good of the girls? We make men compete for them. They must prove themselves, both financially and to the satisfaction of the girl in question.”

“These men would pay a fee?” Like all Oneidans, Aunt Purlina had a pretty keen business sense.

“Oh, yes. I would think there would be a handsome return for the community.”

“One hates to sound mercenary about such matters, but the truth is, things have been difficult for us.”

“Oh, it isn’t in the least way mercenary,” Emmie assured her. “We are saving souls here.”

To see Emmie work a person like this always gives me pause. I can’t help wondering which of my own resolutions were reached similarly.

Dinner was an amusing clash of cultures, the two old gents showing great deference to the girls and they in turn matching them courtesy for courtesy. It made for an agreeable, if excessively inefficient, table. It took twenty minutes to pass the potatoes from one end to the other.

Early the next morning I borrowed ten dollars from Uncle Hiram, leaving him an I.O.U. in the jar under his workbench that served as his bank. Then Emmie and I said good-bye to the Corinthians, and the girls, and started on the drive back to Glens Falls.

“You know, Harry, if they’d do a little proselytizing they’d have no trouble winning converts.”

“You among them?”

“Perhaps. At least I could be sure I’d be appreciated.”

“Not by Aunt Purlina.”

“No, she seems rather determined to minimize the competition. You don’t think she did in Aunt Lavinia and Aunt Liz, do you?”

“They weren’t exactly the competition. Remember, I told you things had gotten pretty complex there at the end. One of the two had given up on men entirely. At least that’s what Carlotta told me.”

“But I wonder how Uncle Hiram and Uncle Tim feel about sharing one older woman.”

“Well, there is a positive for them.”

“What’s that? Familiarity?”

“There’s no longer any need to practice male continence. It always struck me as the kink in their divine plan.”

“The Oneidans appear to have the ideal system. Much more equitable than the Mormons, certainly.”

“I suppose. But it seems to me they both expound the same basic principle.”

“A rejection of traditional marriage?”

“No, something a little more rudimentary. Both sects were founded by middle-aged men, and what middle-aged man doesn’t find compelling a religion that allows him to have multiple, younger lovers? The only difference is that the Oneidans included middle-aged women in the program. You see, it was a tenet of complex marriage that the older members should teach the young.”

“Very generous.”

“Yes—no doubt the work was exhausting.”

At Glens Falls, we returned the rig and then retrieved a wire from Carlotta at the Western Union office:

No Nell. Lou’s wife arrived.

“Where do you think Lou went, Emmie?”

“Perhaps to the farm. You just better hope Aunt Nell did go back to Buffalo, Harry.”

“There is something else I should tell you.”

“About Aunt Nell?”

“Yes. There is some—just slight—possibility that she was kidnapped by a White Rat named Ainslie.”

At this point, Emmie became rather insistent on hearing the details, including how the report came from the Chinamen via Thibaut’s pantomime.

“Is that really true, Harry?”

“If I’m going to believe your tale about the two Chinese lovers being randomly reunited on Lake Champlain—only to be forced into flight by the machinations of the evil tug-boat tong—I think it only fair that you believe mine.”

“Well, let’s pray Aunt Nell is all right. Otherwise, you’ll need to tell your tale to Cousin Charlie.”

“Yes, I’d prefer to avoid that. He was always rather attached to her.”

“
Was
? Why are you using the past tense?”

“Grammatical imprecision.”

We had lunch and caught the 2:10 to Albany. It was about then I was able to identify the species of vine I had tripped over while ambushing the Chinaman. My right ankle was covered in welts and the itch soon became a preoccupation.

“We still don’t know who had Ernie Joy killed and why, Harry.”

“We know who shot him. Did you ask Lou Ling about it?”

“There was no way really to interview him until Xiang-Mei arrived, and then we needed to act quickly with the escape. But he did say he was aware it was a real gun only after he fired it.”

“But he picked it up from the usual place?”

“Yes, wedged in at the foot of the bunk Carlotta was in. So she must have put it there.”

“There’s something else I learned.”

I handed her the newspaper story about the murder of Cyrus Twinem. She read it intently.

“The killer Mrs. Twinem describes sounds exactly like Ernie Joy.”

“Yes. The excursion to Weedsport wasn’t wholly unproductive.”

“That’s where you came across this?”

“Remember the White Rat I mentioned? Ainslie?”

“The man who kidnapped Aunt Nell?”

“
May
have kidnapped Aunt Nell. He left it in Carlotta’s room. She told me he thinks Mrs. Twinem somehow coerced Ernie Joy into helping her.”

“They were lovers?”

“Something like that. But both Ainslie and Carlotta seem sure Ernie wouldn’t have shot anyone.”

“It does sound uncharacteristic that a man who tires of women so easily would risk so much over one. But it certainly complicates things. And the plot was hard enough to follow as it was.”

“I didn’t even realize there was one. Did Lou tell you what he did with the gun after he left the warehouse?”

“He said he wasn’t aware he still had it until he reached the farm, and then he threw it into some bushes.”

“Where was he planning to go on the canal boat?”

“An uncle has a laundry in Plattsburgh. And he’d been assured there were plenty of crickets there. But Xiang-Mei seemed anxious to get to New York.”

In Albany, we went to the New York Central depot in order to catch the 4:50 express. I saw a familiar face at the ticket window.

“There’s Cliff Ainslie, Emmie. Buying a ticket.”

“Confront him, Harry!”

“Suppose we find a cop and let him do the confronting. Ainslie thinks I’m a Pinkerton, and his feelings toward Pinkertons aren’t unlike Uncle Tim’s.”

“Hurry, Harry. He’s leaving the window.”

With that, Emmie ran off towards him. Or tried to. The gait of a woman holding up a skirt with one hand is always a little awkward. And in a crowded train depot, particularly so. Of course, I doubt she really had any intention of pursuing the fellow. Her purpose was to shame me into pursuing him. A favorite technique of women in general and Emmie in particular. I’m generally pretty immune to the treatment, and probably could have resisted it in this instance if it wasn’t for the nagging memory that it was on my watch that Nell had been misplaced. I went after him, and as soon as he saw me he took to a run. He led me out of the depot and then down to the river.

He was a good twenty years older than I was, but evidently in excellent health. And annoyingly agile. He did a wide circle, down alleys and up avenues, until eventually returning to the depot. We weren’t going much faster than a trot by then, both of us near exhaustion. I tried attracting the attention of a cop, but he was talking to a fetching young girl and rather intent on explaining in minute detail the route to a hotel which I knew to be just across the street.

Ainslie led me out onto one of the platforms, then across tracks to another, then back into the main hall. Finally, he headed down a corridor that seemed to dead-end. He stopped and faced me from about ten feet away and just smiled.

I suppose the Old Sleuth, or Nick Carter, or even Dr. Watson would have seen what was coming next. Unfortunately, none of them were there to offer their insight. The blow came fast and hard.

I woke up about a half hour later, attended by the station doctor.

“You seem to have slipped on the floor and banged your head.”

There was a cop in the room, and I started to tell him the whole tale, which of course was a mistake. I had the two of them just about ready to send me to the State Hospital when I gave up and asked them to page Emmie. A few minutes later, she arrived.

“You let him get away from you, Harry?”

“Apparently he had an accomplice.”

“Have the police gone after them?”

Well, when I told her no, she insisted on going into the whole tale again. Only she started all the way back at Jimmy Yuan’s faux Chinatown.

“When you call the hospital, doc, make it for two,” the cop suggested.

It was clear we weren’t going to get any help in locating Ainslie, so we had supper in the depot and caught the seven o’clock express back to New York. By now we were broke. And we’d left a long trail of creditors, including Captain Stanton, Uncle Hiram, and the Fort Edward Hotel—not to mention Aunt Nell, and Captain Polley’s widow. On top of that, I was completely exhausted, both physically and mentally.

It isn’t my intention to elicit your sympathy. I simply want to explain why it was that I voiced no objection when Emmie suggested she visit the parlor car with her lucky deck. It’s true Emmie had once been kicked off a train for cheating at cards. But to her credit, she’d gotten a good deal better at it since then.

I did think of one possible hitch, however. “Will you be allowed to enter a game without any money to wager?”

“What makes you think I haven’t any money?”

“You told me so.”

“One doesn’t include seed money in such calculations, Harry.”

“Doesn’t one?”

“Certainly not. Does the farmer add his seed corn to his larder?”

“How much seed corn do you have?”

“Enough to enter a serious game of poker. No more than that. You should be thankful I had the foresight to set some aside.”

As much as I hated to admit it, she did have a point. I slipped in and out of sleep over the next couple hours, then woke with a start as the conductors announced our approach to New York. I recognized the older fellow going down the aisle. This wasn’t particularly odd, given that my work involved a lot of travel on this line. But then it dawned on me. This was the Empire State Express, the very train Emmie had been forbidden to ride again by its chief conductor.

I got up and went back to the parlor car. There were some fellows playing cards, but no sign of Emmie. Then I went through the entire train. She was nowhere on it. By then we’d arrived at Grand Central. I took our things off and searched the platform. It was quickly emptying, but still no sign of Emmie.

You might be thinking, “If she’d been found by her nemesis, the head conductor, she had probably been set off the train somewhere after Albany.” And that would certainly explain matters—
if
the Empire State Express made any stops between Albany and New York.

Would a head conductor be cruel enough to throw a woman off a speeding train? That seemed highly improbable. But when I worded the question slightly differently, “Could a woman so annoy a head conductor that he would—no doubt against his better judgment—throw said woman off a speeding train?” I wasn’t so sure. And when I replaced “a woman” with “Emmie,” I began to worry.