Murder in Humboldt
Murder in Humboldt
A Carson Reno Mystery
Gerald W. Darnell
Murder in Humboldt
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2010 Gerald W. Darnell
All Rights Reserved .This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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Dedication
Contribution Credits
Elizabeth Tillman White
Murder in Humboldt
Prologue
Rita - Hostess Starlight Lounge
Nickie/Ronnie Woodson – Owners Chiefs Motel and Restaurant
Tommy Trubush – carhop Chiefs
Gerald Wayne – Owner Wayne Knitting Mill
Bobby James – Mafia associate
Carrie Mae Wilson – Maid
He was right, I would!
Murder
In
Humboldt
This is the story of a small West Tennessee town turned upside down by labor problems and underworld crime. Then, the murder of a local business figure, which seemed to be connected to both.
A Carson Reno Mystery
Written by
Gerald W. Darnell
Murder in Humboldt
Copyright ã 2011 by Gerald W. Darnell
ISBN: 978-0-557-73416-0
Second Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews, without written permission from the publisher.
Gerald W. Darnell
carsonreno@msn.com
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to a real person, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Be sure to check out Carson Reno’s other Mystery Adventures
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The Price of Beauty in Strawberry Land
Killer Among Us
SU nset 4
Horse Tales
the Crossing
“Life is cheap – make sure you buy enough”
Carson Reno
Dedication
To all my friends in Humboldt and especially HHS classes 62,63,64,65,66 and 67.
Contribution Credits
Elizabeth Tillman White
Mary Ann Sizer Fisher
Material Credits
Humboldt Public Library
Gibson County Historical Website
Murder in Humboldt
Prologue
The year is 1962 and this small west Tennessee town has been turned upside down by a labor strike at its main manufacturing plant – Wayne Knitting. It seems that, as a result of the strike, some very serious underworld crime problems have surfaced in Humboldt. A small town sheriff and small town Chief of Police have their hands full dealing with the strike when the worst happens – one of the principal figures surrounding the labor and underworld crime issues is murdered.
Carson Reno is very familiar with Humboldt – after all, he grew up and went to high school there. But, Carson has a very successful private investigation business in Memphis and has no desire or reason to get involved. However, circumstances pull him into the turmoil and into a situation that grows more dangerous everyday. By trying to not become involved, he becomes deeply involved and ultimately the prime suspect for the -
Murder in Humboldt.
Cast of Characters
Carson Reno - Private Detective
Rita - Hostess Starlight Lounge
Marcie – Peabody Hotel Operator
Andy – Bartender Down Under
Nickie/Ronnie Woodson – Owners Chiefs Motel and Restaurant
Tommy Trubush – carhop Chiefs
Jack Logan – Attorney/ Partner
Leroy Epsee – Sheriff Gibson County
Jeff Cole – Deputy Gibson County
Scotty Perry – Deputy Gibson County
Elizabeth Teague – Airline Stewardess and friend of Carson’s
JR Maxwell – Owner of Maxwell Trucking
Mary Ellen Maxwell – Wife of JR Maxwell
Judy Strong – Vice President of Maxwell Trucking
Brenda Patterson – Secretary Maxwell Trucking
Gerald Wayne – Owner Wayne Knitting Mill
Dorothy Wayne – Wife of Gerald Wayne
Nuddy – Bartender Humboldt Country Club
Steve Carrollton – Head of Memphis Mafia
Bubba Knight – Mafia associate
Bobby James – Mafia associate
Raymond Griggs – Chief of Police
Sandra Petty – Motel Clerk
Debbie Day – News Reporter
General Samson – Commander Milan Arsenal
Henry and Diane Clark – Patrons at HCC
Carrie Mae Wilson – Maid
James Cole – Union President
Lester Blankenship – Mary Ellen’s half brother
Barney Graves – Judge
FBI Agents – Giltner, Fisher, Turner
Introduction
M y office address is officially listed as 149 Union Avenue – L6, which means I occupy office 6, located just off the lobby of The Peabody Hotel – Memphis, Tennessee. I actually would consider my address to be 3 rd Avenue – not Union, but the address has its perks.
The location itself is also handy. All my phone calls come through the hotel operator, which is also my answering service. I eat lunch and breakfast in the employee dining room at a great price. I have a beautiful lobby to greet potential clients - and please don’t forget the duck show, it happens twice a day. Aside from the perverts who hang out in the lobby restrooms, I can’t find a lot of fault with my office arrangements.
Besides, these are the 60’s and people are accustomed to the modern ways of doing business. Appearance is everything, or at least a close second to whatever is first. The new real estate buzz is ‘location, location, location’ – I think I have one of the best.
The hotel directory and telephone yellow pages show L6 occupied by ‘The Drake Detective Agency’. That can be confusing, because the name on my office door reads:
Carson Reno – Private and Confidential Investigations
I am Carson Reno and always have been. There has never been a Drake working from this office, or any other in Memphis, that I am aware of. However, when I opened the agency I just could not find any rhyme or rhythm in ‘The Reno Detective Agency’. Besides, everybody who has watched Perry Mason knows Paul Drake, and who knows, people may think this is a branch office or something! A little free publicity and promotion never hurt any business, just as long as they call or show-up with money.
A large number of my clients consist of damaged spouses looking for dirt and evidence on the unfaithful partner. It is possible that infidelity has made me what I am today – not a rich man, but I can pay my bills. Occasionally, I get some insurance investigation work – searching for someone who has successfully snookered the insurance company for their own goodwill, or some poor schmuck who filed false claims and skipped. But mostly I deal with the underbelly of our society – where you find some very bad people and never make friends with anyone.
When I’m not specifically workin
g on a case, I try to spend as much time as possible in or near the office. Another advantage of the Peabody is having access to restaurants, bars, shops and the downtown activity. So staying close is never a problem.
Afternoons and early evenings will usually find me at ‘The Starlight’ Lounge – just off Winchester. Not only is it a good place to ‘hang-out’, it is a great place to look for clients or, in fact, look for those my clients have hired me to find! ‘The Starlight’ has live entertainment starting at noon daily. Yes, I said noon. Everyday it is loaded with housewives who use the early part of the afternoon and evening to visit ‘The Starlight’ for some drink and dance before the husband comes home from work. They cook dinner early, put it in the oven and dance on over to ‘ The Starlight’ for an afternoon of wine and martinis at the ‘tea dance’. I have a friend who calls the place "Club Menopause” – I think that is an appropriate name.
Of course with the ladies come the men, generally just in search of some companionship, but sometimes in search for much more. Regardless, these are my clients, or potential clients, and I see no harm in getting to know as many of them as possible.
Rita is the head hostess at ‘The Starlight’ and works some unbelievable hours. In fact, I don’t remember a time when she wasn’t the first to greet me – regardless of the time. She was once crowned Miss Memphis and, as I understand, had a brief acting career. This lady hasn’t lost a thing with age; she still has those terrific looks and manner that won her so many awards and titles. No question, she is one knockout and a classy lady who knows her stuff and knows her customers. Rita always makes sure I get an opportunity to ‘meet and greet’ those who are in ‘distress’ and might need my services. She’s so good at it that I should put her on the payroll – assuming I had a payroll! However, I do make sure she gets tipped properly – whenever I get the opportunity.
My other hangout is home, or close to it. Home is a 12th floor, one bedroom apartment at the 750 Adams Complexes on Manassas. A great place to call home - they have a small grocery/deli on the ground floor and a little bar in the basement called the ‘Down Under’ . Regardless of your condition, it is always just a short elevator ride home, and sometimes that makes good sense. Every weekend they offer live entertainment to a usually packed house. Being small, space is always limited. But my friend, ‘Andy’ the bartender, can always seem to find me room. Last week I spent 4 hours listening to a new talent, Ronnie Milsap. Though blind, I think this guy has lots of potential.
Our story begins on a Wednesday.
This beautiful day in May began not much different than most others. I slept late, up at 11 after too many Jack/Cokes with Andy the night before, then a stop by my office to pick up the mail and check for messages. I had none. I had lunch at the Rendezvous and a few eye openers with Rita and my friends at ‘ The Starlight’ , before finally settling back at the ‘Down Under’ to read the mail and hear stories from Andy about the night before.
My mail was typical, the usual junk stuff and window envelopes that never contained good news. There was, however, one interesting letter. It was in a plain envelope with a handwritten address and postmarked ‘Humboldt, Tennessee’ . Now, this is both unusual and intriguing. I grew up in Humboldt, in fact my parents still live there, but this was not a note from mother. To my knowledge, this was the only mail correspondence I had EVER gotten from Humboldt – mother was not a big letter writer!
The letter was addressed to Mr. Drake at Drake Detective Agency (I get a lot of those), so they obviously did not know me, or of the fact that I even knew where Humboldt was! I should have quickly realized the potential problems, and simply tossed the envelope and its contents into the trash. Unfortunately, I didn’t. Being nosy will always get you in trouble - trust me.
The envelope contained a poorly typed letter and single $100 bill. It had been typed on plain white paper using a typewriter that was in serious need of a new ribbon. It read as follows:
Mr. Drake:
I have chosen you from the Memphis telephone directory because you offer quiet and discrete investigation in your ad. I am in need of this.
My husband is being unfaithful, and I require proof before seeking a divorce. Can you help me with this?
Please accept the $100 as a down payment, and we can arrange a time to meet and discuss my situation.
My phone number is 784-9847. Please call me if you can help.
Mary Ellen Maxwell
Not being TOTALLY stupid, I did know who Mary Ellen Maxwell was. She was the wife of, JR (Joe Richard) Maxwell, who owns Maxwell Trucking and Warehousing. The business was headquartered in Humboldt, Tennessee.
Mary Ellen and JR Maxwell lived at 221 Warmath Circle, and to my limited knowledge, they were a significant figure within the Humboldt elite. They have two sons, Lewis and Chuck. This was all public information, and was really the extent of my knowledge about the Maxwell family.
I put the letter in my pocket and ordered another Jack/Coke from Andy. I would read it again tomorrow and decide then if I wanted to call Mary Ellen Maxwell. The hundred was used to cover part of my growing bar tab, and I learned from Andy that my friend, TG Sheppard, would be entertaining next weekend. I looked forward to renewing old friendships at the ‘Down Under’ bar.
Andy and I talked baseball the rest of the evening and I took the elevator home sometime before midnight.
DAY ONE
Thursday
I woke mid morning with the thoughts of Mary Ellen’s letter still on my mind. Standing on my 12 th floor patio, I could tell it was going to be a nice, late spring day and maybe a drive to Humboldt and a visit with Mother and Dad would make sense. Besides, I had the hundred from Mary Ellen Maxwell and I had decided to return her money and tell her – NO SALE!
Overnight had brought me to my senses; I knew that whatever Mary Ellen wanted, was NOT something that I could or should be involved with.
~
It was almost 11:00 when I walked into the lobby of the Peabody. When I entered the lobby, Mason Brown was cleaning around the duck fountain, and I stopped to chat.
Mason ‘Booker-T’ Brown is the headman around the Peabody, and nobody questions that. The labor union just describes him as ‘Head Porter’ – but Mason takes care of everything. In addition to being totally responsible for the ducks, he makes and coordinates all work schedules for the doormen, elevator operators, porters and parking garage workers. If you aren’t a maid or a cook, you best look to Mason for instructions – he is the man.
As always, Mason was wearing his ‘Peabody’ uniform of gray coat, gray slacks with red leg stripes, white shirt, black tie and a polished gold nametag – reading MASON BROWN– PEABODY HOTEL
“Mason?” I asked watching them paddle around in the lobby fountain. “How are the ducks?”
I normally pay little attention to this well-known attraction in the Peabody Hotel lobby, but this morning Mason seemed a little more determined with his cleaning activities.
“Mr. Carson, I think one day I might just send them down to the kitchen and let that cook put them on the menu!” he said shaking his head.
“What’s the problem?” I asked.
“One of them ole’ Hens has got diarrhea and she’s been leaving her mess all over my clean lobby! I swear I’m gonna’ kill that duck if she don’t stop doing her ‘business’ where she shouldn’t,” he said as he continued mopping around the fountain.
“Why don’t you just send her back up to the roof?” I thought that would be a plan.
“Can’t,” he said not looking up from his duties.
“Can’t? Why not?”
“Cause she’s my lead duck and wherever she goes they all go. And if she don’t quit messing up my lobby, where they gonna’ go is down to the kitchen!” Mason said with a chuckle.
~
I was still laughing at Mason when I stopped by Marcie’s desk. She was on the phone, so I quickly scribbled a note telling her I would be in Humboldt for the next day or two.
&nbs
p; With the phone still at her ear, she read my note, nodded her understanding, smiled and silently mouthed, “Call me later.” I would forget to do that.
Then I got back in the Ford, rolled down the windows, tuned the radio to my favorite jazz station and pointed it east on highway 70/79.
I still drive a 56 Ford, left over from college. It’s black, 4 doors, V8, manual transmission and nothing fancy. It is, however, very functional and very dependable – not to mention it is built like a tank. It is also very fast. Fast enough to get you into trouble quickly and, hopefully, fast enough to get you out of trouble just as quick.
During the two hour drive to Humboldt, I was trying to find reason with why this lady would have chosen me, or chosen anybody, for that matter. Why not just resolve your own issues on your own terms, and leave everyone else out of the situation? Small towns were a bad place for scandal. Problems almost always appeared larger than they were, and I would advise Mary Ellen to seek help elsewhere – if she really needed it. Unfortunately, I reached no conclusion as to why she thought she needed a private detective. Guess I would need to ask her that question.
~
It was early afternoon when I finally rolled down Main Street in Humboldt.