The Paradoxical Parent (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 13) Read online

  The Paradoxical Parent

  A Nick Williams Mystery

  Book 13

  By Frank W. Butterfield

  Nick Williams Mysteries

  The Unexpected Heiress

  The Amorous Attorney

  The Sartorial Senator

  The Laconic Lumberjack

  The Perplexed Pumpkin

  The Savage Son

  The Mangled Mobster

  The Iniquitous Investigator

  The Voluptuous Vixen

  The Timid Traitor

  The Sodden Sailor

  The Excluded Exile

  The Paradoxical Parent

  Nick & Carter Stories

  An Enchanted Beginning

  Golden Gate Love Stories

  The One He Waited For

  Their Own Hidden Island

  © 2017 by Frank W. Butterfield. All rights reserved.

  No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without express written permission of the copyright holder.

  This book contains explicit language and suggestive situations.

  This is a work of fiction that refers to historical figures, locales, and events, along with many completely fictional ones. The primary characters are utterly fictional and do not resemble anyone that I have ever met or known of.

  Cover image licensed under copyright from ysbrandcosijn / 123RF Stock Photo.

  Be the first to know about new releases:

  http://nickwilliamspi.com/

  NW13-K-20170804

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Author's Note

  Acknowledgments

  Historical Notes

  More Information

  Paradoxical

  ˌper-ə-ˈdäk-si-kəl

  1. Seemingly absurd or self-contradictory

  Parent

  ˈper-ənt

  1. a : One that begets or brings forth offspring

  b : A person who brings up and cares for another

  Prologue

  Hotel Geneve

  Londres 130

  Mexico City

  Sunday, January 12, 1930

  My dear Parnell,

  I hope the arrival of this letter does not come as too much of a shock. I am quite alive and well. I have written and re-written this letter many times. In doing so, I find that telling you the story of what has transpired since we parted in San Francisco to be the best approach.

  When I first arrived in Acapulco, it took some time for me to recover from the seasickness I was not prepared for upon departure from San Diego. The boat you kindly chartered for me took four days in its journey down the Pacific coast, past the Baja California. We arrived on Saturday, July the 20th. Once on land, and tucked away in my tidy suite of rooms at Señora Rodriguez's lovely seaside casa, I began to slowly recover from the seasickness and, to my surprise, I found my appetite restored. To this day, I do not know if it might have been the warm climate or what. All I know is that I began to feel better almost as soon as I arrived.

  I will tell you, dear Parnell, that I spent many hours wondering if I should write with the good news. However, a now dear friend, Mrs. Hollingsworth (in fact, a member of the English aristocracy and a fellow resident at the casa), advised that I should wait. She suggested that perhaps I was having the sort of rally that cancer patients are known for just before they pass on.

  So, I waited. When September turned into October and I found a need to let out some of my tighter-fitting garments, I began to realize that perhaps the cancer was curing itself. I consulted Dr. Jimenez, the local physician and a close cousin to our dear Señora, and he declared me quite healthy and not suffering at all from any tumors. Not content to rest upon the local doctor, however kind he was, I turned to a man I had come to know, Mr. Theodore Connelly, an Oklahoma oilman. He and Mrs. Connelly have purchased a large piece of land on the hillside overlooking the bay and are building a large vacation home there. Since there is only a single dirt road in or out of Acapulco, they arrive by plane and bring an entire retinue of staff: a butler, housekeeper, maids, a doctor, and a pilot. While their new home is under construction, they have purchased an older house, grand in the 19th century tradition, that is at the center of town, from an impoverished local family. Their doctor, one Joseph J. Harris, was kind enough to consult with me. He, too, arrived at the same conclusion as Dr. Jimenez. Both men are baffled as to what may have happened. I asked that they not contact any of the doctors in San Francisco since I still desired to keep things under my hat, so to speak, until I was quite sure of my cure.

  As Christmas drew nearer, I continued to pray about whether to contact you and the children. It still breaks my heart to think of Nicholas and Janet spending their first Christmas without a mother. I know you did your best, no doubt. But, as I'm sure you will acknowledge, the entire family together is always best, whenever possible.

  I was resolved to wait until the beginning of the year before sending word. On the first of this month, I asked Mrs. Hollingsworth to assist me in preparing what turned out to be the first of many versions of this letter. Mr. and Mrs. Connelly somehow received word of our endeavors and kindly offered the use of their aeroplane so that I might fly directly home to your arms and the kisses of my darling children.

  Alas, a family emergency called the Connellys to Oklahoma. They did kindly bring me here to Mexico City. We arrived on the previous Thursday. Mrs. Hollingsworth has very generously accompanied me this far and will take the train with me to as far as Dallas, where I will arrange for my final train home (and where she will begin a tour of the southern states, as has been her desire for some time).

  Since I arrived in Mexico City, I have been in contact, by wire, with my trustee at the Hibernia Bank on Jones Street. While I still possess most of the five thousand in cash that I left with (it being nearly impossible to spend any amount of money in Acapulco), I did want to see how my nest-egg survived the market fluctuations of the last few months. I was happy to learn that I suffered only a minor loss in the account. I hope you have done as well, if not better, although I trust your small "pile" is still as ample as ever.

  We begin our train journey tomorrow, traveling to Dallas via Monterrey, Nuevo Laredo, and San Antonio. Once we have crossed the border, I will post this letter. I am assured that it will arrive much quicker in that way than if it is sent through the Mexican mails.

  I will remain in Dallas until I hear from you. You may reach me by phone or by telegram at the Hotel Adolphus.

  I have no desire to appear on the doorstep of the house without having given you ample time to prepare for such a shocking return. I hope that, as you read this letter, you will understand why I have waited this long. It is not because I do not love you and my darling children. I love you all with all my heart and all my soul. I so look forward to our reunion, when I can find myself once again in your loving arms.

  I remain, faithfully,

  Your loving wife,

  Alexandra

  Waldorf-Astoria Hotel

  301 Park Avenue

&nb
sp; N.Y.C.

  March 30, 1935

  Parnell --

  This is my seventeenth letter in five years and I have received no response. I know you are still alive as I have asked inquiry agents to confirm this.

  Why do you not respond?

  I have sent telegrams and made telephone calls. Each time there is either no reply or I am told by Zelda that you are out.

  I know you must despise me for having abandoned you and the children. But, as I have explained again and again, I did not wish to re-appear out of the blue once I was cured for all the many reasons I've mentioned. I would be on the train this very day if that was not still my very real concern.

  I am only left to think that you do not care or are so very angry at me that you ignore my requests to speak with you and, more importantly, with my two dear children.

  I have known you to do some monstrous things but this may be the most monstrous of them all. To knowingly separate your children from their mother, and without any explanation, is almost beyond my capacity to understand and even to forgive.

  So, I send you this last entreaty. I beg that you reply.

  (no signature)

  Chapter 1

  1198 Sacramento Street

  San Francisco, Cal.

  Monday, March 7, 1955

  Half past 10 in the morning

  I was sitting at my desk reading a pile of mail that Marnie had brought to the house from the office when the doorbell rang. I waited to see if anyone else would answer. When the bell rang a second time, I stood, walked around, and opened the door.

  Standing on the front porch were two men in green coveralls. Both had their names sewn onto their work clothes. Howard, a blond man with green eyes, tight white lips, and a frown asked, "Where do ya want 'em, mister?"

  I noticed they had a big flat-bed truck parked on the street. The name of a nursery was painted on the side of the dark green door in a bright red. The men were from Joseph Bonito and Sons, way out on California Street. On the back of the truck were six trees that looked like they might the kind with the cherry blossoms.

  "I'm not sure. Lemme get Ferdinand. He's our gardener."

  "Can you ask him to hurry out? We're blockin' traffic. I don't wanna get a ticket." That was Howard. William, his co-worker, said nothing but was grinning at me like he'd won the lottery.

  "Do you wanna come in?"

  "Nah, mister. We'll wait out here."

  I nodded. "That's fine. Be right back."

  Leaving the door open, I walked around to the dining room and into the kitchen. I found Mrs. Kopek, our housekeeper, along with Mrs. Strakova, our cook, having a long, passionate conversation in Czech.

  Mrs. Kopek stood and asked, "Yes, Mr. Nick?"

  "There's some guys here with some trees. Where's Ferdinand?"

  "He is with Mr. Carter, down in the gymnasium. Shall I find him?"

  "No, I'll go get him. Can you take care of the men who are waiting? I left them at the front door."

  She smiled and nodded as she made her way out to the dining room.

  As I was about to go down the back stairs that led through the garage to Carter's home-built gymnasium, Mrs. Strakova asked, "Will you have lunch here today, Mr. Nick?"

  I shook my head. "No. Carter and I are going over to my father's for lunch."

  She smiled. "Very good. And dinner?"

  I put my hand on the doorknob. "Yes. And whatever you want to make will be good for us."

  "I make you something very special tonight. I think you will like."

  "I know we will." With that, I opened the door and made my way down the stairs.

  Mrs. Strakova was a friend of Mrs. Kopek's from the old country. In the summer of '54, we'd discovered that Mrs. S. had once been a famous chef in Paris before the war. Her food was always delicious and I was looking forward to finally sitting down to one of her dinners after having been away from home for so long.

  Carter, my muscular ex-fireman of a husband, and I had only returned home late Friday night. On Saturday and Sunday, we'd eaten out with various friends or been invited to their houses for a meal. We'd been gone for a while, in Hong Kong and then Sydney, and we were both happy to be home and able to catch up with everyone.

  Walking through the garage, past the two cars, my Buick Roadmaster and Carter's Mercury Monterey, I thought about how much I was enjoying driving on the right side of the road again. Even though Carter had done all the driving in Australia, I'd never gotten used to sitting on the driver's side of the car without a steering wheel in front of me.

  I walked into the gymnasium where I found Ferdinand doing chin-ups while Carter counted.

  "Forty-seven."

  "Ugh."

  "Forty-eight."

  Ferdinand struggled a little on that one.

  "Keep it straight," said Carter. "Forty-nine. One more."

  On the last one, Ferdinand said some sort of curse word in Czech.

  "Fifty. Now, drop and do ten push-ups in fast repetition."

  As Ferdinand, our sometime chauffeur and gardener, dropped to the floor, I said, "The guys from the nursery are here."

  Carter walked over and stood right next to where Ferdinand was stretched out, face-down, on the floor. "You can leave when you give me ten." He lifted his leg and put his huge canvas shoe on Ferdinand's lower back. "Go."

  Moving rapidly, up and down, he did his ten in quick succession. Once he was done, Carter stepped back and offered Ferdinand his hand.

  Ever the petulant kid with a chip on his shoulder, Ferdinand ignored the outstretched hand and stood on his own. He grabbed a towel that was draped over a rack of weights, wiped off his face, and ran out of the room without saying a word.

  I walked over to Carter and gave him a kiss. "Well, it's good to see that some things never change."

  Carter smiled down at me. "He was just mad at me for putting my foot on his back. He always is."

  "Why do you do it?"

  "To make him tighten his abdominal muscles."

  "Oh." I had no interest in the practice of physical culture, bodybuilding, or anything related. I did, however, like bodybuilders. Quite a lot.

  "Why are the guys from the nursery here?" asked Carter.

  "To plant the cherry blossom trees, I think." Before we'd left for our trip, I'd asked Ferdinand to take care of that. He was highly efficient, so I was curious why he was just then getting to it.

  "What time is lunch?" asked Carter as he began to remove his outer pullover. Underneath he was wearing a white t-shirt that was soaked.

  "Noon sharp."

  Carter nodded as he walked over to load some weights on a bar. "What time is it now?"

  I looked at my watch. "It's a quarter til 11."

  "I'll meet you in the shower in twenty minutes. How's that?" He lowered himself onto a bench and put his hands on the bar.

  I walked around, leaned over, and kissed his sweaty forehead. "That's fine."

  He grinned up at me and then lifted the bar up in the air with an exhale of breath. As I walked back into the garage, I could hear him counting and breathing.

  . . .

  "Why aren't they planting those trees?" I was standing on the new brick patio of the private garden that was just off the great room. It was the first time I'd seen the garden since we'd been home. Ferdinand had moved several plants around and made it much more cozy by bricking up circular paths and installing wooden benches here and there. There were newly planted trees of all sorts. The men from the nursery were setting up the trees in large wooden barrels along the outer edge of the brick patio.

  Howard answered before Ferdinand could say anything. "It's too close to bloom to plant these. But your guy here said you wanted to have bloomin' trees so now you got 'em."

  He lifted up a dolly and carried it with him back into the house as I said, "That makes sense."

  Howard grunted as he disappeared into the great room. William walked up to me, looked furtively towards the house, took off his right glove, and o
ffered his hand. "I'm so happy to finally get to meet you, Mr. Williams. You and Mr. Jones are my heroes."

  I shook the kid's hand. He was about 5'9", sturdily built, had black hair that needed a good trim, and dark eyes. He had an infectious grin with big white teeth. As he smiled, I had a sudden thought and then dismissed it. "Thanks, William. Nice to meet you. You been working for Mr. Bonito for long?"

  He shook his head. "I started in October. I was trying to get into the movies down in L.A. and it didn't work out. So, now I'm back home, living with my folks, and working to make some money so maybe I can get back to Hollywood again."

  I nodded. "It's a tough business."

  "It sure is." His eyes widened. "Oh! I'd better go help Mr. Young. He'll be mad as a hornet if I stay here and chat too long." With that, he ran back into the house.

  Ferdinand, who was shivering a little in his thin drawstring pants and t-shirt, walked over and asked, "You like these changes?"

  I nodded. "I do. It looks a lot cozier. More intimate."

  He gave me a tight smile. "I think of palace garden I see in Hungary. One for the empress, I think."

  "You've done a good job with this. Thanks, kid."

  He tightened up. "Mr. Nick. I am not a child."

  I laughed. "As I've told you before, Ferdinand, it's just an expression."

  "Maybe so, but is not a polite expression to say to a man."

  Right then, Howard and William were back with another tree. From inside, I could hear the phone ringing. Ferdinand helped them lift it up into the next wooden barrel. Once that was done, he stepped back. As William bent over, I watched Ferdinand noticing William's very tight ass that was perfectly outlined by his coveralls.

  Gustav, our valet and butler, walked onto the patio and said, "Mr. Nick. It is Miss Marnie on the phone." I nodded and walked back into the house. As I passed Gustav, I heard him mutter something in Czech to Ferdinand. They were lovers and had been for a while. I then heard Ferdinand reply back harshly. I rolled my eyes, hoping they weren't going to have another of their sulking fights.