By Walker Jackson

Synopsis

Fast paced read drenched with nonstop action and exotic port-of-calls. If you've read my other McTrite Mysteries, you know chuckles await you.

Joe Hancock, stricken with worry, phones PI Hackney McTrite. The suspicious death of an old flame and their torrid relationship threatens his Shangri La. He's marrying a beautiful wealthy angel. Laura wouldn't tolerate wild oats he'd sowed seven years earlier. Well, adroit McTrite shoulders the task of keeping Hancock out of the loop. The trial becomes a mockery of the not so just justice system. A young, ambitious Assistant Prosecutor ends up with egg yoke on his face.

Then McTrite heads for London to testify in the attempted murder trial of killer Ralph Shaw. Shaw's escape adds a background of intrigue. He hates McTrite's guts. Addicted to mystery, McTrite involves himself in the death of a past Wimbledon Champion. Scotland Yard fears a repeat killing is inevitable. A murderous attempt occurs while McTrite lines up overnight for Wimbledon tickets, adding excitement to a rough outing. This mystery is left in limbo.

While all this mayhem unfolds in London, Deloris Pillsbury, his partner, goes to Key West to match wits with the insurance-scam killer. He's brought about the demise of his wife and grandmother. He makes a bold move on Deloris hoping to frighten her away. McTrite, thinking she's in trouble comes to Key West and then they chase the killer to Galveston, Texas. They're in a hurry. The woman with him on the sailboat is in danger. It's when the killer, the woman, and a crew of two are at sea that a strange twist occurs. Finally, Deloris goes to Costa Rica for the final curtain. And McTrite goes back to London for the Wimbledon Finals. You'll have a courtside seat for some Wimbledon action. Without a happy ending, it wouldn't be a McTrite Mystery.

Acknowledgements

Thank you Attorney John Thomas for helping me with the courtroom scene.

Dedication

So, it is in their memory that I dedicate this humble rendering. They were precious, and I miss every one of my canine friends: Sport, Scotty, Skippy, Polly, Sissy, Sammy, Rose, Penny, Pepper, and Princess. They loved me. I loved them. It was love that was more than love. They are unforgettable. My wife and I now have two more adorable doggies, Pepper and Princess. They'll give us something to live for.

N'Awlins

The St. Charles Streetcar screeched to a stop. Joe Hancock, a slender, handsome man, stepped down to the banquette across the street from Cajun Manor. Eight years had come and gone since he'd cast eyes upon this old mansion. Waves of emotion washed over him remembering passionate nights he'd known and false promises he'd heard within its walls.

His life had changed. His compelling and consuming ambitions to earn a civil engineering degree had been fulfilled. He'd acquired a promising engineering position in New Orleans with the State of Louisiana. Compared to the mere subsistence he'd known for the last five years, his life style was princely.

And it was the perfect arrangement. Laura would be interning at Tulane's pediatric ward. Fortunately, for the perpetuation of his soul, his Christian values had improved. He had, at one time, been ruled by his ardent libido. Two wicked affairs he'd indulged, on that hedonistic furlough after Air Force basic training and its fruition, was the reason he'd come to Cajun Manor this sparkling, crisp spring afternoon.

To enhance his feelings of spring eternal, Laura and Joe's nuptial was planned for late July. He'd met Laura on that fated train to Air Force basic training, which brought into his life Shirley, the owner of this elegant mansion.

Distinguished by tall Gothic columns, rising to the second story veranda, Cajun Manor stood snow-white, stately, and proud. A silent reminder of a grandiose era when cotton was king, mint juleps stylish, and native sons perished on bloody battlefields. The manicured lawn, lush and green, was landscaped with aging magnolias and oaks, hedgerows, and roomy beds of indigenous flowers burdened with ripening buds. Soon they would bloom, becoming kaleidoscopes, and blending aromas would enchant the air.

He walked the rest of the way his mind obsessed with serious thoughts of why he'd come. He observed Shirley's Cadillac parked in the driveway, but Jill's Corvette was missing. For his mission to succeed, he needed to confront both women face to face. He dawdled on the banquette watching the fiery sun descending for a quenching in the Mississippi. Questions he wanted to ask the pair twirled behind his eyes.

Minutes later the Corvette wheeled into the driveway and stopped short of the front walkway. Jill Knight, a dazzling red head, climbed out and pranced up the front steps to the veranda. Her shapely frame disappeared from his view, as the front door closed behind her. After several cars passed, Joe hastily crossed St. Charles Avenue. He strolled to the front door, using the circular driveway. He rang the doorbell and waited nervously patting his right foot.

The door opened. Shirley appeared behind the screen door. Gasping, she said irritably, "What are you doing here?" She was ghostly colored and noticeably disturbed.

"I've come for the truth," he said in an uncompromising tone.

"Why don't you leave well enough alone?" she pouted.

"I confronted Jill today on The Steamboat Company. She lied to me twice."

Her cat eyes grew larger. "You know Jill?"

"Yes! We met on the train the day you and I parted. I told her about the fabulous times I had in New Orleans, and I'm certain I mentioned your name and Cajun Manor. I didn't tell her we'd been intimate, but she probably read that between the lines."

Shirley opened the screen door, ventured onto the veranda, and sat in a chair. Looking to the sky gathering thoughts, she pointed at a chair nearby. "Sit down, Joe."

"Sure. I thought you'd never ask." Joe sat, stretched, and crossed his long legs at his feet. He lit a cigarette.

"So, you met her on the train? Did you become friends?"

"I'd say more like bosom pals."

"You mean intimately?"

"Yes! Intimately."

"So now you think her Francis may be yours?"

Joe offered scornful eyebrows. "It's possible. Of course, she denied having a son. If I'm not the father, what was the point of her lying to me?"

"I don't know. You'll have to ask her."

"I'd like to. Could you ask her to join us?"

"Maybe shortly. What else did she lie about?"

"She said she lived in the French Quarter, making me suspect you two have some kind of a cozy arrangement. Why else would she try to conceal she lives here at Cajun Manor?"

"What do you mean by cozy?" Her voice had a tone of resentment.

"I know Jill's bisexual."

Shirley paused, her lips tightly together. She tried to mask her surprise with a nervous cough. "She's not anymore." Her voice had a touch of hostility.

"I don't believe you. I know a lot more about her. I won't say what, but the knowledge is sufficient for me to believe there are no men in her life. Well, just the Johns."

Shirley was aware Joe had sound reasons for his suspicions. She had no idea what his intentions were. Thoughts came. Does he want the child? Does he just want to know? Does he want to make trouble? Does he want money? After all, I dumped him hard. "Joe, let's be hypothetical for a minute. Suppose you are the father of one or both of the children. Why would you want to enter their world now? They have adjusted to life without a father, and they have everything their little hearts desire. They are both happy children. Jill and I are able to give them every advantage in life." She refrained from any reference to wealth just in case his motivation was money.

"Your reasons are understandable. If they are mine, I'd be shocked. I'm engaged to be married soon."

"Is it money you want?"

His eyes darkened with malice. "I'm mortified you could lay your body next to mine for three straight nights and then ask me that."

"I'm sorry," she said regretfully. "Then what do you want?" Her tone was mellifluous. The timbre in her voice dissipated.

"I'm not sure. I would like to see them up close."

She rose from her seat. "I'll go get Jill. Are you comfortable out here?"

"I'm fine, got a lemonade?"

"Sure. Some booze too."

He extinguished a cigarette, lit another, and waited. Shortly, she returned with Jill and drinks around. He expected Jill to be perturbed, but she smiled nervously approaching him. She reached down, hugged him, and kissed him on the cheek, then pulled over a chair. "Hello, Papa Joey." She winked. "There's more truth than fiction in my greeting." She hoped to disguise her apprehension with humor.

He strained not to smile. "Hello, Mama Knight."

The warm smile said she loved his characterization.

"So I lied. I did it because I love Francis. I couldn't go on living if something happen to him." She was very serious now. She gripped Joe's hands firmly. Her hands were cold and clammy and Joe felt her desperation. "He's made a big difference in my life. I've become a righteous woman, because of him. Joey, he is all I have. Mother is dead." Her tone was compromising. Her condescending eyes pleaded for compassion.

Jill's eyes were tear-stained when he looked at her. "Is Francis mine?"

"I think so. The timing was right. He has many of your features. However, there was another man only a few days after you, but he used protection."

"What have you told him about his father?"

"Francis thinks he's dead, and he has accepted it. It would be a tumultuous experience for him to suddenly find out he has a father. Think what it would do to our relationship. I don't want his life to be blemished like mine was."

"Does Francis carry Knight for a last name?"

"Yes." Her tone had softened. "Joey, when Francis was about two, I realized, due to the likeness, he was probably yours, and I had a notion to find you and let you know. Then I thought, what was the point? You were a young man enjoying worldly adventure. I also knew your sworn commitment to finish college and you didn't need an added burden. Marriage was out of the question. I did what I thought was best for all concerned."

Shirley had been quiet, but attentive. She knew her turn would come. Observing their empty glasses, she excused herself and went inside to fix another round of drinks.

Joe had mixed emotions. Jill's explanations for her earlier actions were well meaning, and he was sympathetic, but he wanted to see Francis. And he wanted future rights to see him. "Jill, you've convinced me your heart is in the right place. I know you're financially able to give Francis all the advantages life has to offer. I know I mean nothing to the child at this point. I think it's best his father remains dead. I only ask that I'm allowed to see him today and to be permitted to look in on him occasionally." He'd been slightly pious.

Tears welled in her eyes and streamed down her beautiful, intelligent face. She spoke between sobs. "Joey, thank you, thank you. The tears are tears of joy."

Joe patted her back gently and slowly the sobbing subsided. She raised herself erect and kissed him chastely on the cheek. "To Francis, you'll be known as Cousin Joey. You'll always be Papa Joey to me."

Shirley came through the front door carrying a tray of drinks. She sensed the good vibes the second she looked at their faces.

"What'd I miss?" Shirley asked, handing out drinks.

"We've come to an understanding. Joe asks that he be able to see Francis occasionally. He'll be my Cousin Joey to Francis."

Shirley exhaled a sigh of relief, thinking and hoping she might strike a similar accord. She sat and asked with a pleading look on her face, "Joe, will you make me the same deal?"

He thought briefly, which seemed like an eternity to Shirley. "Sure. Who will I be to Josephine?"

"Jill's Cousin Joey and a friend." Her face had calmed.

He nodded affirmatively, lit a cigarette, and sipped a generous slug of his John Collins, feeling this arrangement was in the best interest of everyone. He was heavily involved with Laura, with whom he hoped to have a long future and at least ten kids. He had only one other grave concern. "Does anyone in the world know this beside the three of us?"

"Absolutely no one." They had answered simultaneously.

"Then, could I ask that it stay that way? Can it stay a secret forever?"

They nodded affirmatively with warm smiles on their faces.

Shirley spoke. "I've asked Maude to put an extra plate at the dinner table."

"Who's Maude?"

"She's the cook, nanny, and house keeper around here. She's a kind, gentle, sweet Creole lady, and she's probably the best Creole cook and second best Cajun cook in New Orleans, because I'm number one."

He looked engagingly at Shirley. "Jill is the someone you wrote me about in your Dear John letter?"

"Yes. Several weeks after you departed my company, I received your letter. I procrastinated purposely for a few weeks, waiting to see if you had gotten me pregnant. Then, Jill showed up looking for an apartment. We had much in common. She was lonely and pregnant and I couldn't deny her, so I rented her the spare room you stayed in. My apartments were full at the time. We were close, compatible, and both of us had experienced a devastating hurt in our lives.

Joe interrupted. "Yes, I know about her father abusing her when she was a teenager. And I know you lost your first love during the war."

"In a short time our relationship became more than friendship. When I found out I was pregnant, I decided to end our affair. Well, the rest is history." She hesitated and breathed deeply.

"Mrs. Johnson supper is served." The voice came from the front door.

Shirley said, "That's Maude. Gumbo is on the table, Mister Hancock."

Joe left Cajun Manor believing that the arrangements agreed upon were best for adults and adolescents alike. Marriage to Laura was planned in a few weeks. He knew she wouldn't be tolerant of the two wild oats he'd sown eight years earlier.

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