A Charm of Powerful Trouble (A Harry Reese Mystery Book 4) (8 page)

“Don’t try to change the subject. We’re talking about your attitude toward Emmie.”

“Well, I’ll make an effort to exhibit more concern.”

“Genuine concern, Harry.”

I told her I would, but judging from her expression I think she doubted my sincerity.

We reached Albany a little after four and checked into the Ten Eyck Hotel. Then we set forth to find the entrance to the canal. Of course everyone knows the Erie Canal begins at the Hudson in Albany. But not many people know exactly where. Even in Albany.

Eventually we located the entrance about a mile north of the city proper. There was a little point that projected into the river and we found our way to the tip. Here one could see both the river traffic and the approach to the canal.

“We’ll need to come out even earlier tomorrow morning,” I said. “We should get back to the hotel for dinner.”

We’d just been served when I noticed two men being seated nearby. One was the White Rat who’d advocated dispatching me back at Erbe’s casino. He was in his late forties, with dark hair and a lean physique. His face was an ordinary one, but he made lively use of his mouth and eyes. I described him to Aunt Nell, whose back was to them, and she suggested we listen in. Most of the conversation was spent griping about life on the road, cheating agents, lazy stagehands, and actresses who guarded their virtue too assiduously. But as dessert arrived, their talk turned to something more interesting.

“I need you to take over my turn tomorrow night, Fred,” the rodent said.

“What’s up?”

“I know where the woman behind Ernie’s killing is. I’m going up there right after the matinee.”

“Up where?”

Just then a woman at the next table did a convincing imitation of a hyena and neither of us heard the reply. We sat through the rest of their meal, but they returned to more mundane subjects. Then they left the room.

“Who could they mean but Emmie?” Aunt Nell asked. “She arranged the shooting.”

Not wanting to exhibit any lack of proper concern, I conceded it was a possibility.

By four-thirty the next morning, we’d made our way to the little peninsula we’d scouted out the day before. It was nothing more than a vacant lot with a wide assortment of weeds poking through the gravelly soil. But off near the point, I spotted a pile of rubble from a collapsed shed. I fashioned a little bench out of some miscellaneous boards and we sat down and took turns scanning the river with the field glasses. The sun hadn’t risen, but it was light enough to make out all the tugs and barges.

It was a cool, damp morning and Aunt Nell had nestled pretty close beside me. I heard her teeth chatter, so I gave her my jacket and put my arm around her. Then she laid her head on my shoulder and moved in even closer.

When a fellow finds himself like that, with an attractive woman pressed up beside him, her hand warming itself on his thigh…. Well, by then I wasn’t feeling any chill, and I sensed that things were about to take on a life of their own.

I hopped up and built a little fire, hoping to obviate any pretext for intimacy. But as soon as I’d gotten it going, she coaxed me back on the bench and we were right back where we started.

I hopped up again, stoked the fire, and, before temptation made its presence felt, suggested I go see if I could procure some breakfast, as we’d gone out before the hotel kitchen had opened.

“Yes, perhaps that would be a good idea,” Nell agreed.

There was no way of knowing what had been going through her own mind a few minutes before, but I had the impression she’d been feeling the same ambivalence. Then again, she may have just been feeling the cold.

It took some serious searching, but in due course I came across a lunch counter about six blocks away. I had the fellow wrap up some sausage and biscuits, then took that along with a pail of coffee back to our lookout. Nell was nowhere to be seen. I was sure I was in the right spot, so I didn’t see any alternative but to sit down and hope she had just needed to attend to things and would be back momentarily. I started on the coffee, setting the food aside until her return.

At first. But fifteen minutes later I was feeling a little annoyed. So I got a head start on the sausage. It was very good sausage, so I had no trouble increasing my umbrage to a point that justified finishing it off completely. After that, it was the work of a moment to do likewise with the biscuits. I watched a couple more tugs on the river, but there was no sign of the
Captain Shandy
.

A good half hour had passed since my return and I realized something was amiss. I stood up, ready to take some decisive action—and only then saw the note that had been pinned to the bench. Why I hadn’t seen it when I approached I can’t say. I suppose I was focused on seeing Nell. Or the food. Or perhaps some combination. It read simply:

Highbinders spying on us. Will lead them off, you keep watch.

I was relieved to learn I’d unintentionally followed her instructions. But why she was convinced these Chinese fellows were ruthless highbinders still seemed puzzling. They looked an awful lot like two of the farmers Willie had held conference with at the farm on Bowery Bay. And what harm could come from her leading a couple of Chinese farmers about Albany?

That was my thinking until about nine. Then I started to imagine quite a variety of ways she
could
come to harm. And then my having to explain to Charlie how I sat enjoying the view of the river while his mother was being kidnapped by white slavers. There was but one choice: try to find Nell and hope we got back in time for the tow.

I set out toward the main part of the city, visited both railroad depots, the capitol, the hotels, etc. Then I thought I’d check back at our lookout on the river one last time. The only ones about were a couple fishermen.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen a woman here this morning?” I asked.

“Woman? What’s yours look like?”

“Good-looking. Fortyish, but not at all matronly.”

“Sounds just like my Celia.”

“No, it don’t,” his partner corrected.

“She was good-looking when she left me.”

“Bah. Yours have all her teeth?” he asked me.

“Seems to.”

“Then she ain’t Celia.”

“No, I s’pose not,” her former mate conceded.

“Any sign of a tow arriving from New York?” I asked. “I’m looking for a canal boat being brought up by the
Captain Shandy
.”

“A couple of tows’ve gone by, didn’t see the names.”

“Gone by? I thought the canal boats would be left off here.”

“Most go up to West Troy, enter the canal there.”

“How far is that?”

“Oh, five or six miles.”

My whole life I’d been hearing about Clinton’s Ditch going from Albany to Buffalo. Never a word about West Troy.

I left a message for Nell with the fishermen, and likewise agreed to deliver one to Celia should I come across her. Then I went back to the hotel and found Nell in the lobby leaving me a note.

“Has the tow arrived?” she asked.

“Well, I can’t say for sure. It seems there’s another entrance to the canal upriver. We can head up there after lunch. But I was absent a good part of the morning looking for you.”

“Then we’re in luck, Harry.”

“Are we?”

“While I was leading the Chinamen about, I saw the White Rat at the train depot. He was in line at the ticket counter. I got up close and overheard him.” She handed me a slip of paper where she’d written, “Weedsport, four o’clock train.”

“Weedsport?”

“Yes, and as soon as I heard it, I remembered Emmie told me that Mrs. Stanton’s boat often went to some place that begins with a ‘W.’ It couldn’t be a coincidence. We know he’s after Emmie.”

“Mrs. Stanton smuggles Chinamen from Weedsport?”

“They must cross from Canada to there.”

Nell’s familiarity with matters geographic rivaled Emmie’s.

“Weedsport is in the middle of the state.”

“Then why does it call itself a port?”

“Well, it is on the canal. Maybe they thought it sounded better than Weedsville.”

“The point is, the White Rat is going there to confront Emmie. So we need to go there as well.”

“You don’t think Emmie may just be up in West Troy?”

“No. It’s obvious he knows something we don’t. Perhaps she’s gotten off the boat and taken a train to Weedsport. You can’t very well stand idly by and let another man have his way with your wife.”

I was disinclined to be swept up by the hysteria, but I knew if I equivocated Nell would accuse me of being inadequately concerned. Besides, I wasn’t so sure Emmie had ever gotten on that canal boat. I agreed to her proposal, but took the time to send a wire back to the apartment just in case Emmie had never left Brooklyn.

At the depot, I bought tickets for the four o’clock train and we found a place where we could keep an eye out. A little while later I saw the two Chinamen go up to a ticket window. When they left, I snuck up to the same window.

“Say, did those two Chinamen buy tickets?”

“Why not? Chinamen can ride the train.”

“Yes, but I was wondering which train.”

“Any train they want. You think we run separate trains for them?”

“No, no. I’m just curious to know where those two fellows are going.”

“Weedsport.”

“Weedsport? Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure.”

I went back and told Nell.

“Well, now we have confirmation,” she said.

“Of what exactly?”

“That Weedsport
is
the objective, of course. The highbinders must have a secret hideout there.”

“Have you ever been to Weedsport?”

“No. Have you?”

“Yes, and I can say with some certainty that it would not be the ideal location for a group of Chinamen to site their hideout. Strangers tend to stand out in a town like that.”

“Maybe it’s in an old abandoned farm house. Use your imagination, Harry.”

The very same admonition Emmie utters just before launching us on some misadventure.

We boarded the train and saw the Chinamen do likewise. I promptly fell asleep. When I woke, Nell was gone. But at the far end of the car I saw the White Rat. He was talking to the conductor and they seemed to be looking at me. Then the Rat went off in the other direction. When the conductor passed, I asked him about it.

“He said he was a friend of yours, but didn’t want to wake you. Just asked where you were going.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Sure. Was it a secret?”

Nell returned not long after and reported that she’d also seen the White Rat.

In Syracuse, we had an hour layover. Nell went off to attend to things and we agreed to meet in the station restaurant ten minutes later. On the platform, I again saw the White Rat. I followed him to a ticket window and then saw him walk out of the depot. I asked the fellow at the window what had transpired.

“He bought a ticket to Weedsport.”

“Weedsport?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Oh, nothing.”

I went to the restaurant and found Nell already seated.

“Look, Harry. The White Rat is over in the corner there.”

It may seem the level of detail I’ve provided regarding the machinations at train depots is excessive, but it will help to explain the farce that was slowly unfolding. The true scope of the absurdity wouldn’t become apparent until the next afternoon, but I did have my first taste of it. You see, Nell’s White Rat was not my White Rat. In fact, it seemed likely he was no rat at all. Just a fellow who from behind happened to look something like the White Rat.

Nell was feeling pretty excited about the whole thing, and even if she did have some misperceptions as to what was cause and what effect, she wasn’t wrong in thinking the White Rat was headed to Weedsport. Or that the Chinamen had chosen that destination as well. So there didn’t seem any point in spoiling her fun.

We boarded the train and were in Weedsport at quarter past nine. You may have anticipated what happened next. We saw her White Rat, the non-White Rat, stride off toward town. The real White Rat was hiding at the edge of the depot, most likely waiting to follow
us
. And though I saw no sign of the Chinamen, I assumed they were likewise situated. Nell insisted we follow her Rat. He went to the Willard House, where the clerk greeted him as an old friend.

“The fish running, Mr. Johnson?”

“Notice, Harry, he has no fishing gear,” Nell whispered. “And the clerk winked at him. He must be in on it, too.”

When the non-Rat left for his room, we booked two for ourselves. Throughout the exchange, Nell inspected the clerk with a suspicious eye. She got him so nervous he toppled a bottle of ink. This, of course, confirmed her suspicion that he was indeed in on the ill-defined “it.”

After we put our things upstairs, Nell led me outside and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “We should look for the
Sophie Arnould
, Harry.”

“It won’t be here for another week, assuming it’s coming here. Canal boats are usually propelled by mule.”

“Then the White Rat must
know
Emmie’s taken a train.”

“Yes, no doubt.”

We stopped by the Western Union office to see if there was a response to the wire I’d sent to the apartment. There was not. Then we went out for a stroll.

A walk around downtown Weedsport is not a long one, and even on a Saturday evening, diversions are few. But like any town worthy of the name, Weedsport did have a theatre, the Burritt Opera House. And that Saturday evening it offered a program of vaudevillians. Of course, a small venue like this has to settle for third- and fourth-rate acts, the ones just hoping to cover their hotel bill and fare to the next town. So in one sense, it wasn’t particularly surprising to see Cissie Lightner listed right at the top on the sandwich sign out front.

“Carlotta!” I exclaimed.

“Where?” Nell asked.

“There. Cissie Lightner is her stage name.”

“Cissie Lightner and the Frolicsome Frenchman,” Nell read. “Could it be Thibaut?”

“I suppose it could be. It doesn’t take much to launch a career in vaudeville.”

“This explains everything, Harry.”

“Does it?”

“It isn’t Emmie the Rat is after, but Carlotta. She was jilted by Ernie Joy, and was there when he was shot. Naturally, the Rat would suspect her of being behind it.”

A familiar, but always disturbing, sensation came upon me. It normally appeared on those occasions when Emmie similarly came to a logical conclusion based on a series of her own imaginings. She so twists your own thinking that you feel the same euphoria at her discovery that she does. At least until you start mulling over how she arrived at it.

Still, there’s no denying that it was an extraordinary coincidence that Carlotta would be playing Weedsport on this particular night. I suggested we see if we could still catch the end of the show.