2005-01-31T17:23:00.000-08:00

The Case of the Vanished Lover
a Stealthboxxer Mystery

Chapter 8

I drove out of the McPhetridge farm and back over the hill toward
town. It was only 12:30 so I decided to grab a bite to eat before I
went back to my office. The Spar Restaurant on 4th Ave is the home of
the best fish and chips in Olympia. They also serve a great milkshake.
And best of all, the old guys that congregate there in the noon hour
always have some great stories to share with any patron that will
listen.

As I drove back toward Olympia and the Spar a thought occurred to me,
maybe I should ask some of the old men at the Spar if they knew
anything about McCaw and Geraldson. Most of the older gents that hang
out at the Spar are old loggers that survived the woods and lived to
tell all about it. The stories they tell are often embellished but
more than not true. It couldn't hurt to ask.

I parked along 4th Ave and walked half a block and crossed the street
to the restaurant. I entered and walked up and sat at the middle seat
at the bar. There were 3 older fellows at the far end of the bar
holding a discussion on the merits of corked boots versus rubber soled
boots in the woods. There was a middle aged couple at a booth along
the wall and another man wearing a grey fedora in the booth at the far
end reading a paper. I listened in on the boot debate and perused the
menu on the chalkboard mounted on the wall across the bar. Special of
the day was a Reuben Sandwich and fries. Soup of the day- beef and
barley. I decided on a cheeseburger, no fries and a vanilla shake.

While I waited for my meal I listened to the old timers and their
discussion. It had drifted away from the fine differences in sole
material and on to what is the best salmon lure for fishing the river
mouths of Puget Sound. The daredevil spoon was holding a lead two to
one over the flasher and salmon fly. One fellow mentioned using fresh
cut herring and was quickly beaten down with cries of "chummer" and
"poacher" and the debate quickly continued on to the virtues of using
lures over live bait for the purely sportsman aspect of it. Then one
of them, an almost balded man with a red plaid shirt and suspenders
hitched to a pair of grubby old dungarees began talking about the
salmon runs up McClane Creek that he used to see back around the turn
of the century.

That was my cue. I had finished my cheeseburger and was sipping my
shake. Finally I made my intro. "Say, Mr. I heard you mention fishing
in McClane Creek. You around when the McCaw Company had their
operation going on over at Mud Bay?"

"Shore, I worked for McCaw back 'round '04. Was a choker first up at
Bordeaux then worked the yarder until 1912. I moved on to Simpson up
out of Shelton and then to Weyerhauser's operation over at Woodard
Bay. McCaw was a pretty hazardous outfit as I remember it. Why you
ask?" At the mention of McCaw by the old timer the man reading the
paper peered over the news and looked at me in the mirror on the far
wall. As soon as he realized that I had seen him look he quickly
returned to his paper.

"Oh, well, I had heard somewhere that the McCaw Company had a large
operation out in the Black Hills and that quite a lot of men had died
in an accident there back near the turn of the century. I've never
before met anyone who actually worked for McCaw so I was just curious
if you had heard about the accident."

"McCaw a large operation? Naw! Small potata's. Now Weyerhauser's camp
up at Vail was a big outfit. I used to....."

"Aw come on Bill, you know that Simpson's Stump Lake Camp was bigger
than the Vail operation." said one of his cronies. Now a discussion
erupted over what logging camp was bigger than the rest on the basis
of how many bunk cars were parked there or how large the mess halls
were and so on. Mr. Fedora pretended not to listen but I caught him
looking over the paper through the mirror from time to time. I let
the discussion continue and left three dollars on the counter for my
$2.15 lunch and exited the cafe quickly.

Instead of returning to my car I decided to duck into a furniture
store at the next corner to throw off a certain nosy someone in case
he tried to follow. I browsed the lamp shades near the front of the
store while I watched the window for Mr. Fedora. Sure enough, he
walked quickly along the sidewalk and stopped outside the front of the
store. He appeared as if he didn't know where to go and then turned
toward the store. I quickly ducked behind a wardrobe and slipped off
my overcoat and hat in case he was keying on my clothing. He walked
through the store and eyeballed all the customers while I acted like I
was inspecting the price tag of the wardrobe. A salesperson began
walking toward him and he turned and left satisfied to himself that I
hadn't chosen to hide inside.

I moved back to the window to see where he headed. He crossed the
street and was almost hit by a truck then he got into a dark blue
Plymouth and drove up the hill and out of sight. Feeling secure
enough to leave the store but not too sure if Mr. Fedora would come
back, I decided to loop around the store and walked through the
alleyway back to the next street and to my car. What would have been
so interesting to Mr. Fedora to make him want to follow me at the
mention of McCaw? I was afraid that I had let the cat out of the bag
so to speak with my question to the old man but I was glad that I had
made this Fedora fellow before he could waylay me and do who knows what.

I got in my car and doublechecked to make sure that the strongbox that
McPhetridge had given me was still there. Then I drove back to my
office. The long way. Always making sure to keep an eye out for blue
Plymouths. No followers. Now to deal with Phyllis. I think I'd rather
deal with the man in the fedora.

"Look here, Enigma. Like I told you on Friday, if you don't pay me in
full by the end of this week I am leaving." I didn't figure I'd get
lambasted the second I walked in the door.

"So good to see you too Phyllis. Look, I'm really sorry about your
back pay. I don't think paying you will be a problem. This new client
has already paid me a sizable retainer and I expect that I can wring
some more out of her too. I should be able to pay the rest of the
$120 I owe you by Friday."

"What about my $85 for working this week? Don't forget that. I'm not
gonna let you walk all over me again, SB."

"How about I give you another $40 right now and the rest on Friday?"

"Allright, but you better not Welch on me Enigma Stealthboxxer or I
will walk. Friday at 5pm and no later!"

"Allright."

"So that sappy dame I sent up to you on Friday was for real? I figured
her for a jilted Suzie. What the heck are you doing for her? You goin
soft these days or just desperate for a meal ticket?"

"Very funny, Phyllis. You know as well as I do that my case load has
been rather light lately. To tell you the truth she barged in here and
laid a sob story on me about her man disappearing and then before I
could get any real information out of her she dropped a wad of cash
and left. I kind of took the case by default."

"So this dame have anything to do with those people you have me
digging up?"

"I think so, yes. Whacha get?"

"Well, I've got an address for Davis McPhetridge."

"I'm way ahead of you there. I just came from the McPhetridge farm
and I spoke with the man myself. What about McCaw and Geraldson? You
find out anything on them?"

"Geraldson Corporation had an office on Mud Bay, which just happens to
be next door to the McPhetridge farm....which I see you already know.
They just sold their property on September 28. The regional manager
who was in charge of their office is named John Corbin and he owns a
home over on Eastside Street. Here is the address. But don't bother
calling on him because my friend at the county clerk's office tells me
the home is being sold and the deal will close this week. She says
the Corbin has a forwarding address in Colorado."

"Yes, McPhetridge mentioned that Geraldson was moving their office
back to their headquarters in Colorado. Did you find anything on McCaw?"

"Well that took some doing. All I could find was a record of the McCaw
Corporation, which incidentally was headquarted at the same address as
the Geraldson Corporation....so, you know that too. Anyway the McCaw
Company closed in 1927."

"Yes, I know all that. Did you find out anything on the former
president of the company, Sam McCaw?"

"Well, the clerk's office did find a record of his posthumous death
certificate. Seems he died in 1917 while away on business in Alaska
and the body was never found."

"Yes, I am aware of that also. Did McCaw have any family?"

"He left behind a wife and a son, also named Sam. Records show they
rented out their home in West Olympia and moved out of town in 1918."

"Any record on where they went?"

"The assessor's office showed a mailing address for their taxes as in
the town of Steilacoom. Here is the address."

"You able to confirm that the McCaw's are still in Steilacoom?"

"Way ahead of you, SB. Sam McCaw Jr. is the deeded owner of the house
in Steilacoom. His mother died in 1930."

"Phyllis, you do some great work."

"Yeah, well I had to call in a lot of favors to get it SB. I think it
should be at least worth another one of those gold coins you been
laying around here. What's this all about anyway? I can't see how any
of this can be connected to that crazy lady I sent up to you the other
day."

"I'm not sure what it's all about either but the deeper I dig the
smellier it gets. Tell you what, you did a great job in gathering the
info. Here's a ten spot for your trouble. Consider this a bonus.
Like I promised, you'll get the rest of your pay on Friday."

"I'd better. Remember what I said. I'll walk."

"I know. Tell you what. It's already after 2 and it's not likely that
I will get any calls other than bill collectors today. Why don't you
take the rest of the afternoon off?"

"With pay, right?"

"Of course."

"Thanks, SB. Maybe you're not so bad after all. Here's a message from
the phone company and three from the electric company, you had better
pay them off soon or they will cut off the power--just not before you
pay me, and the mail is on your desk." She grabbed her coat and hat
and purse and headed for the door smiling. Then, she turned to me just
before leaving, "Just remember, I mean it about walking."

The door slammed and I stood there just like last Friday. Yes,
Phyllis, I believe you.

To be continued . . .

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