Deadly Return (A Dr Josiah Bartlett Mystery Book 5) by Daniel Bjork

Author:Daniel Bjork [Bjork, Daniel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lume Books
Published: 2017-11-16T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

The Oyster House was unbelievable. I forgot all about the case, about my family about everything but gobbling down the next dish. The others had a dozen oysters I had two and would have gone for three except for the disapproving looks of my companions.

“Josiah, for Christ sake don’t let your appetite spoil the meal for the rest of us!” John said as he nudged me hard.

Next came clam chowder soup with saltine crackers. Simply wonderful, all those little pieces of tender clam swimming in a creamy butter broth. Then came broiled blackened cod, fresh with young potatoes—they were the best—and baby carrots. Finally a bread pudding mixed with caramel sauce. No whiskey was necessary. Oh my goodness. I asked the waiter for another napkin, a bib napkin of course.

My companions were finished, wiping their mouths while I was having a second helping of bread pudding. Billy and Barney slowly arose and walked toward the entrance. I was left alone with the bill. I put a twenty note on the table and followed. I followed them in silence. What the hell, couldn’t they enjoy a fabulous meal before we went a detecting?

John and I would check out the apartment or residence at 334 Union Street where a Scott Worthington was living in 1860 and 1861, or so said the City Directory. Billy and Barney went their respective ways, but we agreed to reconnoitre at the Parker House the next day for dinner.

We walked to the address, perhaps two blocks from the restaurant. There was no nameplate on the door, just 334. It looked from the outside like a rundown townhouse. Gulls swirled and cawed dipping up and down, forever hunger. There was litter on the street, but you would expect that near the docks.

We opened the outer door and saw indeed that this was an apartment, for there were four mailboxes and stairs to the second floor. Four separate apartments, no name on any of the mail boxes, just 1,2,3,4. We walked to the first bottom floor apartment #1 and knocked.

“What do you fellows need? We ain’t got enough ourselves, so you has come a callin’ at the wrong place,” said a young woman in a robe with her hair done up in a bun. She also was smoking a thin cigar.

“Oh now man we don’t need a thing, except some information,” I ventured. “Is there a Mr. Scott Worthington that lives in one of these apartments?”

“I don’t anyone who lives here mister.”

“You mean you wouldn’t recognize any of your neighbours, I mean others who live in this building?”

“Well sure I would, but not by name, nor would they know mine.”

“Is there perhaps a young man who has an apartment, say in his twenties who might be living here madam?” I used the formal ‘madam’ to gain her favour; I was sure she was not addressed as such.

She smiled, a vixen smile and moved her feet and unloosened her robe as if it didn’t fit.

“I would know if a young lad lived here,” she said.

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