Page 12 of Buck Baxter and the Mysteries of Love

Too busy being the son that his father demanded he be.

I couldn’t bear to watch the pomp and ceremony another second. Quickly I said to Stella, “Come on, let’s find that damn chauffeur.”

Muttering apologies, I pushed and shoved my way through the crowd, piggybacking Stella until we reached the edge of the throng, and I lowered her down a little too abruptly. She landed with a plonk.

“Hey, careful with the merchandise, toots. I ain’t a sack of potatoes, you know. You still grumpy and grouchy? You need to build a bridge and get over it, we got a case to solve. Things are just gettin’ juicy, too. A high-class dame, a handsome chauffeur, a one-eyed German with a mean right hook who’s pals with the richest guy in town… Who knows what’ll pop up next?”

“I can’t wait to find out.” My tone was slippery with sarcasm,but quite frankly I could use the distraction, something to take my mind off Harry. “Over this way, I saw an exit sign leading to a loading dock. If this guy’s a real chauffeur, he’ll be out back trading cigarettes and scandals with the other drivers.”

“And if heain’ta real chauffeur?”

“I guess we’re about to find out.”

While the Harts posed for family photos on the stage behind us, Stella and I made our way off the platform and out onto the loading dock.

Sure enough, a dozen drivers were gathered in a group beside their bosses’ Hudsons and Lincolns, puffing on cigarettes and laughing as they no doubt exchanged stories about their employers. And while I could see Hart’s limo, there was no sign of his chauffeur.

We made our way farther along the dock, away from the chatter of the drivers, and my uneasiness returned at the sight of a stack of large wooden crates, their sides stenciled with the words “Fragile” and “Do Not Open.”

“What the hell’s in those?” I pondered aloud.

Stella shrugged. “Fancy china. Crystal champagne glasses. Why should you care?”

“Precisely our thought,” said a voice. It belonged to a man in a black suit who suddenly stepped out from behind the crates. He was accompanied by not one, not two, but three more gentlemen in black suits, as well as a fourth man… young, handsome and dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform.

“Mr. Baxter, I believe,” said the first man. “You’re Mr. Buck Baxter?”

“How do you know who I am?”

“We spoke to Lanky Larry at the Cheshire. We know you had a run-in with Herr Garbutt’s bodyguard, Hans Hammer, and by the bruises on your face he certainly gave you a hammering. And yet here you are, back for more and about to step into the middle of somethingyou’ll regret.”

“And who exactly are you?”

The man pulled a badge from his pocket and flipped it open. “Special Agent Smith, Federal Bureau of Investigations.”

Stella elbowed me in the knee excitedly. “I told you something else was gonna pop up!”

I ignored her. “The FBI? What the hell are you doing here?”

“The same question we’d like to ask you.”

I pointed to the chauffeur. “We’re here to investigate a suspected affair between Mrs. Hart and her driver. Although I’ve got a hunch he ain’t a chauffeur at all.”

“Special Agent Jarvis has been working undercover for several months, although we have concerns that his cover has been compromised now, given the fact that Herr Garbutt’s bodyguard was snooping around the Cheshire the same time as you. I’m afraid that’s something we can’t allow to happen again.”

“If you’re asking me to back away from my case, I’m sorry, but that ain’t happening.”

“Mr. Baxter, we’re the FBI. We’re notaskingyou to do anything. We’retellingyou, if you don’t stop interfering with our investigation, we’ll have you and your assistant thrown in jail faster than you can blink.”

“You’ll arrest us?” Stella piped up angrily. “For what exactly?”

“How about possession of illegal opioids.”

“Oh yeah, I guess there’s that,” Stella mumbled guiltily.

“There’s also the charge of sexual solicitation, something Lanky Larry could attest to.”

“Hey, a girl’s gotta make a livin’.”

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