Marlow: Midnight Blues

By Bill Craig

Willie Walker was a famous saxophonist in the Jazz world. He had played all around the world. But now he was retiring to Key West to open up a Jazz Club at the End of the Road. But people around him start dying, and pretty soon Willie gets the idea that somebody doesn’t want his club to open. His granddaughter Ruby is getting the same idea and hires Marlow to find out who is out to kill her grandfather and why. Willie has secrets he plans on taking to the grave. Secrets he promised never to reveal. But in order to keep Willie alive, Marlow has to uncover those secrets or they both might end up singing the Midnight Blues...

• Language: English
• Publisher: AbsolutelyAmazingEbooks.com
• Release date: Apr 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310110467

Bill Craig

Bill Craig taught himself to read at age four and began writing his own stories at age six. He published his first novel at age 40 and says it only took him 34 years to become an overnight success! He has been publishing steadily ever since that first book Valley of Death and now has 27 books in print or ebook. Bill is the proud father of four children ranging in age from 38 to almost 8. He has 7 grandchildren and 1 great grandchild. Mr. Craig has worked a wide variety of jobs over the years from private security and corrections work to being a grill cook and dishwasher. He has been a news reporter, done factory work and even a stint as a railroad clerk. He currently does customer service work to support his writing addiction. His ultimate goal in life is to break the record held by pulp author and creator of The Shadow, Walter B. Gibson, for writing the most works in a single year!

Book preview

Marlow:

Midnight Blues

Bill Craig

ABSOLUTELY AMAZING eBOOKS

Published by Whiz Bang LLC, 926 Truman Avenue, Key West, Florida 33040, USA.

Marlow: Midnight Blues copyright © 2014 by Bill Craig. Electronic compilation/ paperback edition copyright © 2014 by Whiz Bang LLC.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized ebook editions.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. While the author has made every effort to provide accurate information at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their contents.

For information contact:

[e-mail]

This one is for the Jazz and Blues legends that made this music such a treasured art form. I spend many a night listening to Benny Carter, John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Art Pepper and many more as I write. Thank you for the music that has been so inspiring!

Chapter One

Key West, Florida.

Willie Walker looked around the room. He was barely six foot tall, bending at the shoulders, his black hair having long ago turned gray. Lines etched deeply into his face, giving him what his granddaughter called character. Willie chuckled at the thought as he slouched around the room. He could see what the place would look like when it was done. A whole lot different that it had looked back in ’66.

Willie frowned. That was a long time ago. Too many years. No, he didn’t want to think about 1966. He closed his eyes, hearing the music wash over him, lifting his Sax sax to join in. The notes hung in the air, echoing off the walls as Willie played.

You sound great, Papaw, Elise Walker grinned at him.

You want to sing a long? Willie asked her.

To what? She smiled at him.

Unforgettable?

Sounds good, Papaw. You start it, Elise smiled.

Yes, Childchild, I will, Willie grinned at her as he lifted his sax and started to play. Elise picked up the microphone and waited as her grandfather played the introduction, then stepped in, singing the beloved Jazz jazz standard. Her voice was both haunting and melodic as she sang. The acoustics in the room were perfect. Willie had propped the front door open and people started walking in from the street to listen to the pair.

When Elise finished singing and Willie played out the finale and ended his last note, the room broke out in applause. Elise and Willie both took a bow, surprised at how many folks had wondered wandered in. Elise handed Willie the microphone and he grinned at the crowd.

We ain’t open yet folks, but give us a week or so and we will be. Midnight Blues is gonna feature the best jazz and blues music you ever heard, including a lot of singing by that young lady you just heard. My granddaughter, Elise! Willie said. The room broke into another round of thunderous applause. People started heading for the door, but not before dropping some cash in Willies’ Willie's open case for his saxophone.

Willie Walker closed the door and locked it behind him. Papaw, we made about two-hundred dollars just on that one song! Elise gasped in surprise.

It was more your angelic voice than any thing else, girl. They come in to hear you sing, he told her.

Papaw, what’s this? Elise held up something small and round. Willie walked over to her so he could see it better. He took it from her and turned it over in his chocolate brown fingers. It was a silver ring. A single red stone was set in the silver band. Willie blinked. He knew this ring.

It’s nothing, Elise. Don’t you worry none about it. Why don’t you take that money and go buy you a pretty dress to sing in opening night? Willie smiled at her.

You’ll be okay here, Papaw? Elise asked uncertainly.

I’ll be fine, girl, now you go on! Elise giggled and left. Willie fingered the ring in his pocket. He didn’t need to take it out again and look at it. He knew all too well what it looked like. And who it had belonged to. He shook his head. Those had been ugly times. Ugly times. Times he didn’t want to remember or even think about. Willie locked up and trudged back to the small house that he and Elise shared.

1965, Key West.

Gloria Moss swayed on the stage, letting her body express the music that flowed around her. The band was playing Someone to watch Watch over Oover meMe as she stepped in with the vocals, a haunting tune that wafted around the room, causing everyone to stop speaking and listen to the lyrics. She had them all in the palm of her hand, eating up the performance.

She floated a smile to Willie Walker, the sax player. He was milking the song, making the solos his own. Gloria knew that while her vocals brought in some, it was Willie they were really there to see. She wished Donald could realize that. He refused to believe that it was the band and not the signer singer that the people were flocking to see.

Donald Morgan watched the room. Most of the time his eyes were on Gloria, but occasionally he looked around the room at the crowd. They swayed with the music. While there were a few white faces in the crowd, it was predominately black. It was still the deep Deep southSouth. Most whites wouldn’t come into a club that was predominately black. There were a few adventurous souls, but they were not the rule.

Gloria Moss was a good draw. She had come down from Chicago and New York. But it seemed that the bigger draw were the musicians. Willie Walker, Clyde Montrose, Denny Blake, and Raul Navarro. The customers cared more about who was playing than the singer that was singing front for them.

Donald was less than happy about that. He had worked hard to promote Gloria. He thought that she might be his big break. Instead, it seemed that she was just a mediocre singer in front of a truly great band. He had to do something about that…

It had been a long time since Willie had thought about Gloria. He remembered that last night in Miami. Her manager, Don Morgan, had thrown a fit when he found out she was quitting the business. Willie had given Gloria the ring that had ended up in his sax case.

He had loved her. It had killed him when she had vanished. Going missing just before a big concert on Key West. Nobody had ever seen her again. That bothered Willie. Had bothered him for many, many years.

Of course, Willie had been married back then. Gloria knew he loved her, but she accepted that Willie would never leave his wife. Still, Gloria had left without even saying goodbye. That had cut Willie to the bone. Then Maggie had died a year later from the cancer, leaving Willie with a daughter to raise.

Sheila had been a teenager back then, as rebellious as most, but a good girl. One of the happiest days of his life was when he walked her down the aisle. But the happiest day had been when Elise was born. She looked like her grandma even then, and had grown up to be a beautiful young woman with a voice that was so smooth that even the birds stopped to listen.

The evening air was warm and breezy, and his joints were telling him a storm was blowing in tointo Key West. Willie knew it would take Elise a while to pick out a dress. Lordy but that girl did love to shop! He felt himself smile. It was good to be back in Key West. He had stayed away far too long.

Elise Walker walked along Duval Street, looking through the windows of all the shops, looking to see if anything caught her eye. Papaw had wanted some time to himself. She had been able to read that in his eyes. It had started when he looked at the ring. It meant something to him, she was sure of that. She wondered what it could be…

Eyes watched the girl. She was beautiful for sure, but that voice. He couldn’t believe it. Damn Willie Walker! Why should he have been so lucky? Now he was back and opening up a club of his own. He would have to do something about that. It was time for Willie to pay for what had happened to Gloria.

He smiled. It had been a nice touch, leaving the ring. He knew that Willie would recognize it. Knew that it would worry him some. Well that was just the start. He was gonna take his revenge and it was gonna taste so sweet…

Marlow stood at the grave. He had placed flowers in the small vase when he first arrived. Rain started to fall, pelting his face and arms. He ignored it. The name on the stone read Della Martin. Tears mixed with the rain. God how he missed her! He stood there for several more minutes before turning and walking toward the house where he maintained a small apartment.

By the time he reached home, Marlow was soaked to the skin, his dark hair plastered down on his forehead. The cooler air inside made him shiver. Marlow kicked off his soggy deck shoes and stripped off the dripping Aloha shirt and dropped it on the floor. He locked the door behind him as he walked to the kitchen.

Marlow took a six-ounce glass tumbler from a cabinet and put it on the table. He crossed the room to the refrigerator and pulled open the freezer door. He pulled out the frost-covered bottle of Skoal vodka and twisted off the cap. He poured four fingers deep into the glass and recapped the bottle and put it back in the freezer.

The air conditioner was on high, rattling as it strived to keep the apartment cool against the heat and humidity outside. Still wet, Marlow started to shiver as he picked up the tumbler and took a drink. The heat of the alcohol burnt down his throat and exploded into his belly. Marlow went back to the living room and stripped off his pants and briefs. He picked up the remote and turned the small TV on. He flipped through the channels until he found an old Bogart movie.

Marlow took another drink and then pulled a blanket around him. Here’s looking at you Kid, he toasted the television and took another drink. His eyelids were getting heavy. He drained the glass and sat it on the coffee table. His eyes closed and Rick Marlow slipped into a dreamless sleep.

Have you seen him, Walter? Thom Hark asked as he and Walter Loomis sat at a bar inside The Pier House.

No, Thom I haven’t. Ricky hasn’t been around the office much since he found out about Della’s suicide and even less since her funeral, Walter Loomis shook his head.

I’m worried about him, the reporter for the Key West Citizen took a sip of his drink.

He’s bounced back from worse, New York for instance, Walter sighed.

Yes, and he was barely getting over that when this happened, Thom pointed out.

I will talk to Jessica, and ask what she thinks we should do, Walter said. Jessica was Jessica Harmon, a specialist in post-traumatic