Tilda and the Gangster 8

As the cart came into Holdingford, curiosity drove people into the streets to see what was happening.
        There's a neat little still at the foot of the hill
        Where the smoke curls up to the sky
        By a whiff of the smell you can plainly tell
        That there's poteen boys close by.
        For it fills the air with a perfume rare
       And betwixt both me and you
       As home we roll, we can drink a bowl
       Or a bucketful of mountain dew.
People stared in amazement at the shriveled women driving the very homely pair of cart horses. She was singing at the top of her lungs and in a less than melodic tone.

"What are yous staring at," Mrs Higgins cackled at those standing nearest, as she pulled up to the curb in front to the hardware store and crept carefully from her perch. She waved her walking stick at the bystanders. "Yous can just go on about your business. An old woman is entitled to her own private transactions when she gets to town."

Mrs. Higgins hobbled into the hardware store and wandered among the merchandise.

"What can I get for you ma'am?" asked Mr. Brundy, who operated the store.

Mrs. Higgins looked at him mysteriously. She slowly examined Mr. Brundy from head to toe through squinted eyes. He appeared to be a representative of the store, but her hearing was such that she hadn't actually heard his question.

"Well," began Mrs. Higgins in her scratchy voice. She tried to speak quietly. "I've driven 15 miles today in the hopes you can help me. I have a matter of a somewhat delicate nature to discuss with you. I had some visitors recently from St. Paul, who offered me a business proposition. These St. Paul gentlemen suggested you might be the best place to find certain items I need for starting up this business venture."

"Do you take my meaning?"   She continued after a pause.  "And speak up.  I don't hear so good."

"Indeed, I do understand your situation quite clearly."  Mr. Brundy almost hollered.  "I am Mr. Brundy. I run this hardware store.  I also help facilitate a few other businesses around town.  Who do I have the honor of addressing?"

After introductions were made, Mr. Brundy helped Mrs. Higgins assemble her merchandise. He loaded her cart with a large copper barrel, a substantial length of copper tubing, three oak barrels and a handful of other items. He handed her a note to take down the block to the farmers co-op where she was told to ask for a Mr. Schwartzinger.

Mr. Schwartzinger, after reading the note from Mr. Brundy, chuckled to himself. He looked at Mrs. Higgins' diminutive frame and chuckled again. "Do you think you can handle this occupation, ma'am? Not meaning any slight, but you're not a very big lady." 

"Speak up, son, my hearing isn't what it used to be. And no, I don't need a new handle on my ice box.  Do I look like I'd spend good money on such?"

Mr. Schwartzinger guffawed.  He tried again, "You... don't... look ...very ...big."

Mrs. Higgins cackled in response to this. "I may not be very big, but I'm tough. You can put your money on me. Those city gentlemen did, after all." And she cackled again.

Mr. Schwartzinger added two bushels of Minnesota 13 seed corn, four pounds of yeast and six 50 pound bags of sugar to the other items in her cart. Just as she was getting ready to leave, Mr. Brundy from the hardware store came to see how she was getting along. Mrs. Higgins shook hands with both gentlemen.

"I'll be seeing yous again when I need a little re-stock in my supplies. I thank yous for your discreet assistance." 

"We will look forward to it, ma'am,"  answered Mr. Schwartzinger for both of them.  

Mrs. Higgins gave a whoop and a holler as she struggled onto the cart seat. "Giddup, horsies!"

        As home we roll, we can drink a bowl
        Or a bucketful of mountain dew.

The two men shook their heads at the awful sound. They watched as she drove slowly out of town.

Mr. Brundy turned to the other man, "What good will our discretion go with that caterwauling following her around.?" 

Prologue to Curiosity's a Killer

Here is the prologue to my latest mystery set in Washington, DC and local areas. It is titled Curiosity's a Killer.

Prologue

Jo Taylor, surprised to hear a knock on the door, rose to answer it. Who could it be? She wondered. No one had visited her at her warehouse before. No one even knew about the warehouse except for her senior officer, who was her boss, and Naval Intelligence. And one other person.

Perhaps, it was him, she thought as she unlocked the chain lock on the door.

“Oh, it’s you,” Taylor said. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” the man uttered, entering the warehouse.

With a quick look to see if Jo was looking, the man relocked the door preventing anyone from interrupting what he was about to do. He gloated inwardly as he watched her resume her seat at her desk. She didn’t know he was aware of what she discovered.

He really did feel bad about what he was about to do. After all, she was a beautiful, intelligent woman and deep down-though he would never openly admit it-he had very strong feelings for her.

But he mustn’t think of that now. Not when everything was going smoothly. Besides, what was about to transpire had to be done. If it didn’t, then the people he was secretly working for would have his head. And those people weren’t ones you want to mess with.

With a quick glance at her, he took out his 9mm semiautomatic pistol out of his jacket and slipped on the silencer.

She must have heard the click as I pulled back the cock because she turned around to face him. Her smile vanished when her eyes found the gun now aiming at her head.

“I see you have discovered I know about your little operation,” Taylor whispered, her eyes now staring into his.

There was so much sorrow in her eyes. He couldn’t tell if it was for her or for him.

Before he could second guess his task, he fired two shots into the middle of her forehead. Her body hit the cold concrete seconds after the bullets hit. He knelt down beside her and felt for a pulse.

None.

“I really did like you, Jo. It’s a shame you discovered my operation. We could have used your intelligence,” he said rising and looking into her lifeless face. A face which only minutes before showed happiness now showed utter surprise.

After setting the timer on the bomb for fifteen minutes, he took today’s security tape out of the VCR, swiped Taylor’s laptop, removed its hard drive, and left the building.

15 minutes later

Boom!

Welcome Londongirl93

I'd like to welcome 17 year old londongirl93 to our list of authors.  She likes to write mysteries and I like reading them.  Welcome londongirl93.

Tilda and the Gangster 7

After a somewhat plain but ample breakfast, I got the men clean warm water to wash up. I felt our simple lifestyle acutely, offering them such primitive facilities.

After their morning toilet was accomplished, Mr. Barker and Mr. Karpis gathered their things. For all appearances they were on their way out the door. But instead, they set their bags by the kitchen door and took a last look around the place as if not quite ready to leave. I wondered at their hesitancy, but managed to keep up the small talk so things didn't get awkward.

Finally after a bit of a lull in the conversation, Mr. Barker cleared his throat in an uncomfortable sort of way, and asked if I knew of a Miss Eggermeir.

"Miss Eggermeir?" I thought a moment. "You must mean Miss Trudy. Well, yes, of course I know her."

"Yes, Miss. Gertrude Eggermeier, that would be. Yes, that would be the woman we need to see," Mr. Barker replied. "Are you able to direct me to her place, please?"

Miss Trudy! Our Miss Trudy! Well, I didn't know what to think of this. I certainly did not know of any business these city dandies should have with our Miss Trudy. And I didn't want to sully her stalwart reputation by sending strange men her way, her being a woman alone on the prairie. And yet I could think of no excuse I could use to thwart them. I would not lie, but I didn't see a way I could tell the truth either.

I was rendered completely speechless.

"Uh, well, yeeeees... I suppose I do know how to get to her place...It...it...it's not at all far from here." I stammered to a stop.

"Did we show you our vegetable garden?" I choked out.

The two men looked at each other and engaged in a sort of eyebrow communication. Mr. Barker turned back toward me. "Now, Miss Tilda," Mr. Barker coaxed (for that is my given name, if I haven't yet mentioned it), "Miss Tilda, as much as we love to look at a vegetable garden, I don't suppose there is much to see at this time of year. Isn't that so?"

I nodded slowly. My mind was whirling, searching for a way to save Miss Trudy's good name. But I was finding no answers.

"Now Miss Tilda," Mr. Barker began again, "We have legitimate business with your friend and neighbor. That business is none of your concern if Miss Eggermeier has not kept her neighbors abreast of her entrepreneurial endeavors. Let me assure you that we mean her no harm. We are merely businessmen checking on a business connection."

Well what was I to say to that? Miss Trudy, a business connection? Was it possible? Most of the time I enjoyed being the lady of the house, but there were times when life threw me a situation I didn't quite feel competent to address. And that morning had certainly turned into one of those times.

"Weeelllll," I began. "Well, I suppose I could point you in the right direction." Oh, how I wished Papa was home to decide this. Oh, how I prayed I was not sending evil upon Miss Trudy.

With much nervous stammering, I finally managed to direct the men to Miss Trudy. But I didn't like doing so one bit..

When Mr. Barker and Mr. Karpis finally opened the door and stepped out, Henry came running up to wish them on their way. I was glad that he was there to make light of the situation. I was too undone within myself to play a good hostess to our departing guests.

Henry and I watched them drive out of the yard and down the road until the fancy auto disappeared behind the neighbor's woods. I am sure we couldn't have presented more opposing moods. Henry was grinning widely, excited after having entertained such citified men. I felt pale and shaken.

Tilda and the Gangster 6

After the supper chores were finished, I sent Henry out to the barn to get tucked in. I lingered in the kitchen listening in on the conversation in the dining room. I was bursting with curiosity about these men. Why were they here? What would they be doing in Warroad? What was their St. Paul life like? Did they have wives and children at home?

But there is only so much lingering one can do without drawing attention, and when Papa caught me listening, he sent me out to the barn. I would have to wait for the answers to my many questions.

The next morning, Henry and I were up early tending to our chores. Henry fed and watered the stock and milked our faithful Rosie; I gathered the eggs and headed in to make breakfast. This meal didn't take any planning at all, since our breakfast was generally always the same. We had salt pork and beans, with eggs along side. I would have liked to stir up a little oatmeal to serve with fresh cream, but our rolled oats had petered out the end of April, and Papa had not yet made the arduous trip to town. It was arduous for him because it was a whole day of driving; it was arduous for me because I preferred to avoid Fitjedahl. Whatever our reasons, we had yet to undertake our stocking-up travels, so oatmeal was not to be.

When breakfast was nearly prepared, I began to wonder whether our illustrious guests would ever awake. I asked Papa what I should do if the food was ready before the men made their appearance. Although Papa didn't want to seem rude, he did have a full day's work ahead of him. He had me serve breakfast at our regular time. Henry and Papa and I soon finished our meal, and still Mr. Barker and Mr. Karpis had not awoke.

Papa had to travel a few miles today to visit with one of his members who was sickly. Henry didn't want to leave home when we had such exciting guests, so I sent him to occupy his time out of doors, and out of my way.

I busied myself with the breakfast clean up, and got some beans boiling on the stove. I checked the sponge I'd use for the biscuits I planned for dinner. I kept the beans and pork for the men's breakfast warming on the back of the stove. I would quickly fry some new eggs when I heard the men stirring.

When the kitchen chores were done, I swept the living room and the front porch and dusted the lamps, the end tables, and the upright grand piano Papa had gotten when we still lived in Muenster and his hopes for me were still untarnished.

I had never done well with my music lessons, but I did like to sit and play a bit of music of my own devising. Papa would have liked for me to play the classical composers, but I wanted to play the ragtime tunes I used to hear coming out of the dance halls in Muenster. And so we remained at an impasse.

I tried to only play when Papa was not around, so as to not add further to his feelings of hopelessness regarding his only daughter. That morning, with all the excitement over our dandied guests, I found myself pining after some city music. After I finished the dusting, I sat down at the piano stool intending to play for only a few minutes. I still planned to get out to the garden to plant a few more seeds. But the seeds and the empty ground wouldn't be going anywhere in the next half hour.

I quickly found myself lost in the music, and so I felt my heart go directly into my throat when a deep voice behind me asked where I had learned to play like that.

"Oh, uh, well," I stuttered as I turned to face Mr. Barker. For it was he who had entered the room without my having heard a sound. "I'm not really supposed to be playing these tunes at all. I took lessons when we lived in Muenster, but I never could make my fingers keep up with the works of Bach or Chopin. When I heard these tunes coming from some of the buildings in town, it seems that tunes of a similar style just found their way out my fingertips. I don't play from music, so what I play is probably not correct." I realized I was babbling and stopped myself abruptly.

"The way you play is just like some folks down in the Twin Cities like to hear. I know of several joints down that way that would pay good money to have someone play like that."

I was stunned into silence. I never imagined these tunes that came to me so easily would be a marketable skill. But it was of no import. We did not live in the Twin Cities and were not likely to get there any time soon. Not to mention what Papa would think if I ever asked him if I could play music in a public house.

"Would you like some breakfast, Sir? I can have it ready in five minutes. Is Mr. Karpis awake, too?"

"That would be fine, Miss. I'll get him."

Tilda and the Gangster 5

Last year was our first suckering day, having moved into the area in March of that year. While we were on the way home from Miss Trudy's we happened upon a strange sight. Bertie and Joe, our faithful Morgans, were plodding along with the buggy behind. It was a beautiful, sunny day and we were savoring the memories of all that had transpired. I recalled the silly girls who screeched when when the most handsome boys chased them with a large wet sucker. Henry kept intruding upon my musings with his own adventures of suckering day. And Papa was breathing deeply and sighing as he does when all is right with the world.

Suddenly, the air was filled with a rattly huffing noise coming from around the bend ahead. We were just passing Hausfeld's woods heading west. Since the road ahead curved to the north, we could hear but not see the source of this awful racket.

Papa pulled our buggy off to the side and kept a firm hold on the Morgans' reigns. I got the impression Papa had a pretty good idea what was coming around the bend. I, myself, suspected what we'd see.  As we waited and the sound grew louder yet, Henry was hard pressed to keep still. He really, really wanted to see what it was. Soon enough, after one especially loud cough and sputter, around the bend came an automobile.

I had seen autos occasionally in Muenster, but Henry had been too young when we left to have a keen memory of them. He was jumping and hollering from his buggy seat. Papa was trying to settle him and I myself sat spellbound. But it wasn't the auto that held me rapt; it was the occupants of the vehicle. Both men were very sharply dressed and quite handsome.

The driver of the automobile pulled to a stop next to our buggy. "Good Evening, good sir. Would you be able to direct me to Warroad? We seem to have gotten off the beaten track."

"Yessir, I could certainly tell you the way. But it's quite a long drive yet, even in your fancy transport.   You'll be awfully late arriving. You're better off spending the night at our place. It's just a few miles ahead. We aren't a fancy establishment, but it's a lonesome area you have to pass through. The country up that way is only thinly settled. Not many folks likely to be out to give you a hand should you have any trouble along the way."

"We'd be much obliged to you for putting us up. I think you'll find us well-paying guests."

"No payment necessary. Just follow along behind the buggy. The Morgan's will lead the way. Bertie, Joe, giddup."

Well if Henry was excited before, he was doubly so now. Imagine an automobile in our very yard!  I was still intrigued by the handsome strangers. That ride home from Hausfeld's corner had never taken so long.

I knew, however, having been the lady of the house for so many years already, that I had to pull my concentration back to the task at hand. These men were certainly too high class to get a blanket in the haymow. Henry and I would have to sleep there. I'd have to freshen up Papa and Henry's big bed for the gentlemen. Papa would have to sleep in mine. Thank goodness we had been given an extra set of sheets when Mr. Quinle passed away last winter.

And supper! What did I have on hand that I could serve to such fancy guests? I thought I had a jar of peaches tucked away. There was cheese in the cellar and I could have Papa cut some ham from the smokehouse. I had a few soft potatoes that I saved back last week when I put the potatoes in the ground for the coming summer. If I boiled them and served them with butter and the last of the remaining dried herbs from last summer, that would have to be good enough. It was too early to have any fresh greens or other vegetables on hand.

When I looked up from my planning, Bertie and Joe were just pulling the buggy into our yard.

"Henry, you take care of the horses," Papa reminded. I could tell Henry wanted to get a good look at that car, but it would have to wait. First things first. I winked at him by way of encouragement and then I scurried off to get started on my tasks.

When I had the beds changed and the supper on the table, I found Papa and the men visiting on the front porch. Our front porch faced south, so it was a pleasant temperature early in the year. We had a porch swing which I had begged Papa to build after seeing one in the Sears Roebuck catalog. And we had two wooden rockers. It was not extravagant, but it was my favorite spot on our property. It pleased me to see such fine gentlemen relaxing amidst our simple things.

Henry was with the men, and he was not antsy. I assumed he'd had opportunity for a good look at their auto.

"Tilda, I'd like you to meet Mr. Karpis and Mr. Barker from down St. Paul way."

"Pleased to meet you, sirs. Supper is ready. If you'll come to the dining room, I'll get the food on."

By this time I was nervous as could be about the country fare I laid out. But after seeing the gentlemen take such pleasure in our front porch, I was somewhat reassured. After Papa said the grace, and I saw Mr. Karpis and Mr. Barker tuck into the supper, I was even more comforted. I would have thought they hadn't had a decent meal in weeks. They complimented me profusely and I felt my head swell with pride. I know I oughtn't to feel such pride, but it is somewhat gratifying to give others pleasure with the work of my hands.

Tilda and the Gangster 4

Fred carefully laid out a square of mackintosh before kneeling down to his work. He struggled a bit with the process, but changing a tire was all a part of the age of the automobile. Except in the cities, the roads in those days were not much more than muddy tracks. A car jounced and slid around terribly and a flat tire was an expected part of any road trip.

After the battle with the tire and all its parts was finished, Fred put his tools away and was just folding up his mackintosh when he heard the approach of a horse drawn conveyance of some kind. But above the sound of the approaching vehicle, he heard the most awful crooning he'd ever heard.

Silvy, Silvy, all on one day,
She dressed herself in man's array,
A sword and pistol all by her side,
To meet her true love she did ride.

The noise was awful!

She met her true love all in the plain,
'Stand and deliver, kind sir,' she said,
'Stand and deliver, kind sir,' said she,
Or else this moment you shall die.'

"I might want to die," thought Fred.

Soon the rig came into view. Fred recognized Alvin seated beside a woman of somewhat advanced age. She was driving a farm wagon pulled by a bay and a piebald and singing her old woman heart out. If one could call it singing, that is. The cackling and croaking noises were certainly not in any way melodic.

"Fred, my friend, this is the Mrs. Josiah Higgins," Alvin had to shout to be heard. "She has graciously offered us her home for the night or for as long as we desire to stay."

The said Mrs. Higgins finally stopped her verse as Fred turned to introduce her.

"Mrs. Higgins, ma'am, is my long time friend, Fred. Fred is somewhat apprehensive of becoming beholden to others," Alvin offered as explanation. "I will have to briefly discuss your hospitable offer with him."

"Well, don't take all day about it. I'm itching to have a ride in that auto of yours before it gets dark."

After a short discussion, the men decided to stay the night with Mrs. Higgins. It was a decision they would come to regret. But for now, Alvin eagerly hopped back into the wagon with their hostess. He had taken a fancy to her eccentricities. They continued a short distance past the DeSoto until Mrs. Higgins found a spot wide enough to turn the wagon around easily.

Just as Mrs. Higgins had maneuvered the wagon toward home, Fred fired up the DeSoto. Mrs. Higgins' faithful team jumped and jerked and pulled the wagon into the field along the road. The bay pulled one way and the piebald the other, each snorting and bucking and kicking. Even so, they somehow managed to drag the wagon substantial distance across the greening fields with Alvin and Mrs. Higgins clinging to the seat for dear life.

Eventually the horses wore themselves out of their panic. Mrs. Higgins got down and whispered her own peculiar brand of sweet nothings in their ears. They were soon calm enough for her to climb back aboard and steer them toward home.

Mrs. Higgins did not miss the opportunity to serenade the company once again.

I'll take you home again, Kathleen
Across the ocean wild and wide
To where your heart has ever been
Since you were first my bonnie bride.

After listening to Mrs. Higgins' latest selection, Fred mumbled under his breath, "And starting the car scared the horses? Would somebody please explain that to me?"


"Man, oh, man, I thought we'd never get rid of them, Miss Trudy." Oskar sighed. "We've got lots of work ahead of us if we want to be ready for our next guests."

Tall and lean Oskar Carlson was Miss Trudy's neighbor. He was always on hand to help out when she needed a man around the place. But they also shared another, more nefarious hobby. Oskar helped Miss Trudy operate her still, deep in the woods between her barn and the Fish River.

"Oskar, we've plenty of our product ready for the gentlemen to sample. If they want more, they will know where to find us. I am quite certain that ours is the finest product of the sort in Minnesota's northwoods.