Brotherly Love

By Jim Sargent

The mystery started in the spring of 1946 with a letter. Someone "drops a dime" on bootleggers, and one of the smugglers is Frank's brother, Jack. But that's the least of Mickey Mathews' worries. Jack's wife has been murdered, and soon after, Jack disappears. Before additional people vanish, Mickey and Fra

• Language: English
• Publisher: Doce Blant Publishing
• Release date: Sep 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781955413206

Jim Sargent

Jim Sargent is a retired professor of American History. His accomplishments include an undergraduate degree from Eastern Michigan University, followed by his masters and PhD in US History at Michigan State in 1970. Jim taught history for forty years, mostly at Virginia Western Community College. After years of writing historical articles for journals, as well as interview articles about sports history, Jim turned to writing fiction. He first penned a baseball novel but soon switched to mysteries. Creating a series of books in The Mickey Mathews Mysteries, Jim added his historical expertise about 20th Century America to his fictional plots and characters to write The California Redwoods.

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Copyright ©2023 by Jim Sargent

All rights reserved.

This book or part thereof may not be reproduced in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or otherwise, or by any information storage and retrieval system, except as may be expressly permitted in writing from the publisher as provided by the United States of America copyright law. Requests for permission should be addressed to Doce Blant Publishing, Attn: Rights and Permissions Dept., P. O. BOX 7903, North Port, FL 34286

Published by

Doce Blant Publishing, North Port, FL 34286

www.doceblant.com

Cover by Fiona Jayde Media

Layout design by The Deliberate Page

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-955413-18-3

Hardbound ISBN: 978-1-955413-19-0

ePub ISBN: 978-1-955413-20-6

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023943809

Printed in the United States of America

www.doceblant.com

This is a fictional work. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, including events and locations, is entirely coincidental.

Brotherly Love

Jim Sargent

Contents

1

Brothers Yesterday, and Tomorrow

2

Jenny and Billy

3

Family Matters

4

Port Huron

5

The Smugglers

6

On to Sarnia

7

Traveling in Ontario

8

Dangerous Night

9

Sarnia Again

10

Back to Port Huron

11

The Search Begins

12

Along the Huron Shore

13

Missing Boy

14

Pieces of the Puzzle

15

Operation Up North

16

The Longest Night

17

Danger, Death, and the Morning After

1

Brothers Yesterday, and Tomorrow

Frank Tuttle remembered well the Thursday in May 1946 when he first learned he had a sister-in-law and a nephew. Bart, the postman, arrived at the white bungalow on Emmet Street in Ypsilanti around noon. A thickset, white-haired man who walked with a stoop, the mailman carried his leather pouch by a strap over one shoulder. When Frank came out on the porch, Bart handed him an envelope.

Hey, Frank! His black eyes twinkled under busy eyebrows. How’re y’all doing?

Taking a break for lunch, Bart. How’re you?"

Frank, the retired Army major with 30 years of service, towered over Bart. A muscular six-foot-two, Frank, an even-handed fellow who recently turned 56, exercised daily, often with his best friend, Mickey Mathews. Both worked for Michigan Normal College, Frank as head of security and Mickey as a history professor. They liked using the gym on nearby Cross Street. All of the college’s employees enjoyed the perk. Only Mickey, the onetime Hurons football and baseball standout, exercised as regularly as Frank who loved staying physically fit.

Eying the mailman, Frank ran a hand through his cinnamon-and-salt crewcut. He thought, I’d hate to lug that bag up and down the streets all day. He said, Hope you have a good day, Bart.

Flashing a grin, Bart shuffled away. Standing on the porch, Frank looked around the neighborhood located one block south of the college campus. He had purchased the house when he moved to Ypsilanti in 1942. Later, he and Norma Jean were married in a joint ceremony with Mickey and Patty Mathews on July 29, 1944.

Frank looked at the envelope. The return address indicated a street in Port Huron, and a feminine hand had penned Jenny Tuttle.

The surname caught Frank’s eye. He didn’t have any living female relatives. He had a younger brother Jack, three years his junior. Frank’s mind flashed down the tunnel of memory to his life on the Baltimore waterfront before the Great War. His coming-of-age years proved unhappy times, due largely to his alcoholic father. Friends called the family’s patriarch Big Mort.

Irene, his mother, a short brunette, occasionally drank heavily. Too often she suffered from the violent behavior of her domineering husband. On occasion, when Mort had departed for the day, Frank remembered his mother shooing away both sons to entertain a new friend, often dressed like a sailor. Seldom did she clean the apartment occupying the second floor of the aging, Victorian style building with its steep roof, turrets, and gables. Still, Irene displayed a mother’s courage. She stepped between her mean-spirited husband and their two sons on many occasions, sometimes absorbing blows meant for the boys.

One day after New Year’s in 1907, Jack stole the wallet of a seaman. On the way home, he purchased a bus ticket. When Frank last saw him, Jack was carrying a bulging knapsack. Shortly afterward Frank heard that Jack, then 14, had boarded the bus for Detroit. Several weeks later the younger son wrote to his mother saying he was living with an uncle, Sam Diamond. At the letter’s end, someone, perhaps Diamond, printed: Jack’s OK.

A few days before leaving home, Jack had discovered the identity of his real father. The youth often earned nickels and dimes by doing favors for sailors drinking at Roger’s Bar, operated by hard-nosed Roger Peskovitch. Showing a softer side, Roger allowed Jack to sleep in a back room, if he feared going home meant a beating.

Occasionally Irene came to Roger’s. If the other bartender was present, Roger would take Irene and go to his room upstairs. Upon hearing about his mother’s barroom visits, Frank remembered feeling ashamed. Peskovitch, a two-fisted owner who carried a switchblade, once boxed as a middleweight. Few men messed with Rugged Roger, including Mort, who was meaner and bigger.

Frank worked at various jobs to help support the family. He tried to avoid the wrath of Mort, who had slowed by the time his older son reached high school. The father, once a tough longshoreman and a hard-throwing pitcher in town baseball, skidded further into drinking, playing cards, and occasionally brawling at the local bar.

Frank, who was tall, strong, and agile, excelled at sandlot football. He played quarterback, thanks to his triple threat abilities. A rugged tackler on defense, he hit opposing ball carriers like a tank. In baseball he thrived as a slugging catcher. His power at bat let him enjoy several summers of standout play for the Fell’s Point nine. But he never tried out for the teams at Harbor High.

Frank gave up sports after his mother died in a fall on their stairway in the spring of 1909. A senior the previous fall, Frank worked more than twenty hours a week on the docks, loading and unloading freighters. He lasted two more years as a dock worker. Ruggedly handsome, he dreamed of escaping Baltimore. On March 3, 1911, he enlisted in the Army. A week later he boarded a bus headed for Fort Hood, Texas. Once Frank left home, he never returned. Over the years he rose to the rank of major, and he retired from the Army in Hawaii in 1941.

Looking up from the envelope, the retired major watched three students strolling along the sidewalk across from him. Each had books, notebooks, pencils, and pens, the tools of a student’s trade. Talking and laughing, they looked carefree. Frank smiled.

World War II had faded from people’s awareness after the Japanese surrendered on V-J Day in August of 1945. At Normal College, reminders of the war such as military uniforms, recruiting posters, and having fewer male students vanished like fog in the rising sun. Life returned to the new postwar normal. In place of wartime rationing, the newspapers, magazines, and radio stations advertised a vast array of consumer goods; notably automobiles, appliances, and clothing. More than a thousand students, including plenty of Army and Navy veterans, enrolled at Normal College. Faith, hope, and prosperity brightened most people’s lives.

Going inside, Frank walked through the blue-walled living room into the bright white kitchen. He checked the calendar taped to the refrigerator. It was Thursday, May 9. Outside, a breeze ruffled leaves on the trees. The day felt cool as the temperature hovered in the mid-60s. A horn beeped on the street. A dog started barking a few doors away. Ike, Frank’s large black and brown military-trained German shepherd, lay next to the kitchen table munching a bone.

Slicing the envelope open, Frank placed the letter on the table. Taking a cold beer from the refrigerator, he popped the cap and eased himself into a blue-cushioned wooden chair. Ike, briefly eying his master, returned to the bone.

Ignoring the erratic spelling, Frank read the typing: "You cant know me, but Im married to your brother Jack. We live in Port Huron, which is in Michgan. Jack, hes a driver for Huron Trucking. One office is downtown and another plus a warehouse is crossed the river, in Sarnia. Jacks a good man. Hes a provider. He tries real hard. Deep down I know he loves me. He dont mean to get mad but he drinks, you know. Well just a little. We wuz married in ‘33 in Deetroit. We moved here 3 years back when one of Jacks pals got him the drivin job. Plus Jack has ways of makin extra $$$. Like secret trips at night with Pete. Jacks real smart. Me, I work 5 days at Chips Eats, its a diner. Were not far from the big bridge, the blue water.

"Mainly I want you knowin we got Billy. Hes 13. He looks kinda like his old man. Hes got black hair and slender and thin face, black eyes and all. Billy likes baseball and the Tigers – he trys hard in school. I dont think the teachers is alwuz fair. Hes a good son. See – Billy dont know any of his family. Jack and his ol Deetroit pal Gene – they kinda look alike you know. Well, they wuz drinking awhile back – so Jack mentions he had it tough growin up in Baldamore, plus hes got a big brother Frank. Jack says someone told him not to far back you wuz a Army guy now livin in Ypsalanta (sp?). Thats 2 ½ hours from here. Naturaly thats news to me too."

For a moment Frank wondered how his brother had learned his whereabouts, but he returned to the letter. "If you dont mind I would appraciate havin Billy meet his uncle. He dont know many relatives, xcept my mother Jane – but she died 1 year back, and theres my sis Caroline.

"We got a old Ford – could me and Billy drive from Port H to Yspalanta and see you? Im off Saturday and Sunday this week, so we could probaly make it Sat by 12. Thank you – your sister-in-law (signed), Jenny

"PS – Please call me at the number below. Its Port H too. PS again – Jacks in Canada."

As Frank finished the letter, the black wall telephone beside the refrigerator rang. Frowning, he arose and answered it. He heard, Frank, I knew you’d be there for lunch. What’s up?

Mickey, my pal, how’re you doing today? He hesitated. I was having a good day, but I just read a letter from my sister-in-law.

"Really? I didn’t know you had a sister-in-law. Mickey’s chuckle came through the wire. Frank, have you been holding out on us? Patty’s gonna want to hear this news."

So will Norma Jean, pal. Another pause. "Actually, I ought to tell my wife first. Jenny’s the woman’s name, and she’s got a son named Billy. This means my wife’s an aunt… And I’m an uncle. I hope you understand…" Frank’s deep voice trailed off.

Listen, my friend. That’s no problem. Speaking in the clipped tones of a Michigan native, Mickey continued: Today I got a message at the History Department from John Becker, of the FBI’s Detroit Office. We’ve worked with Becker before, but he didn’t say what he wanted.

He switched subjects. I’m about to go over to the gym. Why don’t you join me?

Frank trusted Mickey more than anyone else. Okay pal. I’ll be there in five minutes.

The two friends hung up. They could hardly know a new murder mystery loomed like a dark cloud on their horizon.

II

Just before 7:00 on Friday evening, the two couples strolled through the black door emblazoned with the red heart, the trademark of Heart’s Delight on Michigan Avenue. The previous night, Frank had shared Jenny’s letter with Norma Jean. She agreed with inviting the sister-in-law and nephew that Saturday. As requested, Frank called Jenny in Port Huron. After they exchanged greeting, he told her about Norma Jean, his wife of two years. Jenny’s voice indicated she took his marital news in stride.

Afterward, Frank and Norma Jean talked to Mickey and Patty, who rented the upstairs apartment. The four friends decided to get together over dinner on Friday. They picked Heart’s Delight partly because Norma Jean had worked there for years and partly because the Sunday magazine Ypsilanti Life rated it the best restaurant in town.

When they entered the restaurant, their eyes adjusted to the lighting. Booths with overstuffed black benches flanking the oak tables lined the walls. A dozen more tables with matching sets of chairs filled the center of the polished hardwood floor. On the left side of the rear wall, a corridor beside two Bell Telephone booths led to the manager’s office, rest rooms, and the storeroom. The blue walls, the red hearts, the black benches and tables, the framed pictures of Normal College athletes, and the good food kept patrons returning.

Frank had reserved a booth near the right rear corner. He and Norma Jean began seeing each other in mid-1942. A longtime bachelor, he had carved an arrow through a heart above his name and Norma Jean’s in the table’s surface. The wooden heart caused them to smile every time they saw it. Norma Jean usually ran her fingers over the carved heart, elbowing Frank in the process. In return, he squeezed her leg. Patty preferred the restaurant too, including a menu which offered mostly baked instead of fried entrees. Mickey liked the food, the atmosphere, and the friendship.

The table, set with shiny flatware, crystal water glasses, and linen napkins embroidered with green hearts, awaited them. As soon as the two couples sat across from each other, a tall blue-eyed blonde materialized.

Her voice sounded husky. If it isn’t Norma Jean and Frank, along with Patty and Mickey.

Grinning, the tired-eyed Mary Dudek looked at Frank like an old friend. Her outfit included a long sleeve white blouse with a knee-length black skirt. Friendly and upbeat, she had a pink rose pinned to the blouse beneath her white name tag.

Let me guess. Mickey and Frank want steaks. She smiled, winking one eye. We have the Porterhouse on special this weekend. Wanna try it?

Both men nodded, figuring the special would be good. They and their wives had watched Mary wait tables for more than two years. Despite raising an elementary-age daughter, Mary looked on life’s brighter side. She often called Ypsilanti the center of her universe.

Patty, glancing at Norma Jean, asked the waitress what came with the baked chicken. After being told green beans was vegetable of the day and the potatoes were mashed, the two women ordered the chicken dinner. Making notes, Mary headed for the kitchen.

We gave you the story last night, observed Norma Jean. "Now Frank’s an uncle, and I’m an aunt! Can you imagine?"

She smiled. A beauty queen now past forty, she exercised to maintain the full figure that men found appealing. Standing five-foot-six, she carefully styled her bouffant blonde hair. Applying red lipstick, purple eye makeup around her blue eyes, and blush rouge to her high cheeks, she looked quite attractive. Smiling often, she made friends easily. Frank loved the best woman he said he ever met, and she loved him too.

Mickey liked Norma Jean too, and he loved Patty. His wife showed unfailing kindness, empathy for others, and a sharp mind. Her blue eyes smiled when she looked at others. The wavy auburn hair flowed to her shoulders. Patty’s ivory face projected an intangible beauty emanating from her inner soul. The rosy cheeks matched her sunny personality. Shapely at five-foot-two, she looked like a fashion model that preferred dressing in casual clothes.

Patty adored Mickey. At their duplex in Honolulu, she had saved his life with a swift swing of his old baseball bat against the neck of an enemy agent on the agonizing day of December 7, 1941. Those real-life events, thinly disguised, were recounted in one of Mickey’s early novels, Final Secret.

A casual observer might not see Mickey as a hero, perhaps because he seldom spoke of his accomplishments. Quiet, modest, and forthright, he was born and raised in Flint. Six feet tall, he had sandy hair, hazel eyes, an aquiline nose, and a narrow face. Fair-minded in his treatment of others, he was smart, forthright, and athletic.

A native of Flint, Mickey lettered at Central High in football, basketball, and baseball, and he also earned good grades. Later, at Normal College, where he graduated with honors in the Class of ‘33, he starred in football as a single wing quarterback. As a senior, he won second-team All-American football honors as well as All-Conference honors in baseball as an outfielder and first baseman. Later, in 1941, he learned to shoot the military M1911 semi-automatic .45 pistol, thanks to Frank’s tutoring. Like Frank, Mickey never lost his nerve.

An accomplished novelist, Mickey enjoyed teaching two classes of American History at Michigan Normal. Those who met him liked his upbeat personality, his traditional values, and his respect for others. More than one sportswriter thought the Flint native would play a professional sport, but Mickey wanted to be a writer.

As if on cue, he turned to Frank. What do you think about finding your long-lost brother Jack? You said he lives in Port Huron with a wife and son.

Feeling relaxed, Frank’s mind returned to his brother and his circumstances. Well, Jenny surprised me and Norma Jean. Neither of us has much in the way of family. My mother died after a stairway fall back in 1909. After World War I ended, I got a letter from a neighbor saying our father passed away after a heart attack. He paused. Actually, I used to figure he’d drink himself to death. He was headed down that road when I left to join the Army in 1911.

Mickey looked curious. What about Jack? I don’t remember you speaking about a brother.

You understand I haven’t heard from Jack since he left our house around age fourteen, right?

Mickey nodded, and Frank continued: "By the time Jack was eight or nine, he was a thief. The day he bought that bus ticket to Detroit, he got the money by stealing a wallet. He told me that morning. He said, ‘I’m tired of being whipped for no reason, especially since Mort ain’t my real dad.’ That made him angry. He said, ‘I’m going to Uncle Sam’s in Detroit. Good luck, Frankie.’

Those were his last words to me. I haven’t heard from him since. He shook his head. If I had to guess, I’d say Jack graduated to grand larceny. At least, that’s where he was headed.

Talk around the table ceased for a few moments. The ceiling fans whirled lazily like the blades had no other speed. Mary and two more waitresses hurried between the kitchen and the booths and tables. The room buzzed with conversation. A small bandstand near their table was empty. Around 9:00 a four-instrument combo would appear, half the lights would be turned off, and the romantic atmosphere would spread like an enchanting mist.

Mary returned with the dinners on a tray, serving the women first. Mickey said a blessing, and they began eating. From time to time one of the four remarked on the food, the day’s work, or another light topic. Mary returned every few minutes, asking what else she could bring.

After the two couples enjoyed dessert, Mary gave each husband a check, and received $20 from both. When she returned with change, the men left $3 tips, and the couples departed. Mickey checked his gold-plated Bulova. The time was 8:45 when they stepped outside.

Darkness enveloped the college town, traffic on Michigan Avenue had dwindled, and a driver beeped at a car in front of him. To the east, a nearly full moon climbed over the horizon like a circular yellow lamp. The weather in early May remained warm, so the friends had walked to the restaurant. Mickey and Frank liked the exercise, and Patty and Norma Jean liked being outdoors. They strolled home.

Twenty minutes later, they took seats around the kitchen table, the wives opposite each other and the husbands at each end. If I understand correctly, Frank remarked, we’re gonna play Euchre and have a drink or two, right?

Norma Jean squeezed his forearm as she handed him a deck of cards. You’re correct, Baby. What you forgot to say is the girls will beat the guys. Right, Patty?

They liked Euchre, a popular game in Michigan. Frank grinned at Mickey. My pal and me won’t be easy to beat, he joked. "Yeah, the girls might win, but not without a fight!"

Mickey grinned. He knew everyone liked the light-hearted banter and joking that surrounded a game of cards. On Friday night, nobody wanted to think about serious matters.

After a few hands, Norma Jean asked what her husband had decided to do. Frank sighed. I figure we need to wait until after we meet them tomorrow. They’ll be here by noon.

Norma Jean agreed. Let’s have a cookout in the back yard. That way we can have fun, and Jenny won’t feel pressured to talk.

Good idea, said Frank. Maybe later Mickey and I can play ball with Billy. Her letter says he likes baseball. We could walk over on campus, maybe throw and hit a few.

Mickey added, I’ll make sure we have another ball glove. If Billy’s a lefty, he can use my old glove.

As Norma Jean stood up to pour a round of drinks, Patty said, We’ll soon see who’s the best!

Good enough, replied Frank, grinning. "Now it’s time to play some real Euchre!"

III

By 11:00 on Saturday morning, everyone in the Tuttle bungalow awaited the visitors. Frank and Mickey along with Ike had enjoyed a walk on campus, starting at the McKenny Student Union, circling the baseball and football fields, and looping back around Pierce Hall. While they were gone, Norma Jean and Patty prepared for the cookout by covering the old picnic table with a blue tablecloth. A bag of charcoal leaned against the often-used concrete grill. Six weathered lawn chairs with blue cushions were arranged with three on either side of the picnic table.

About that time Frank and Mickey returned, laughing and joking. In the living room, they found their wives relaxing on the maroon chesterfield. The husbands sat on the two overstuffed blue chairs. Ike flopped on his favorite spot, the brown and blue mat between the chairs.

A few minutes before noon, the sound of an automobile braking came from the street. Norma Jean pulled back the curtains for a peek. She grinned. It’s them!

The two couples pushed open the screen door and walked outside, just as a slim boy opened the passenger’s door of the gray prewar Ford. Climbing out, he looked at the adults on the porch. From the driver’s side appeared a slender brunette in her late thirties. She looked stylish in a blue blouse, black belt, and navy blue skirt, but the darting eyes and flushed cheeks made her appear nervous.

Norma Jean and Patty descended the two steps, meeting Jenny part way up the walk. We’re glad you’re here, said Norma Jean. She looked nice in red blouse, blue jeans, and brown penny loafers.

Patty, attired in a yellow blouse, jeans, and loafers, stood beside her. Hi, folks. Offering her disarming smile, she added, Welcome to Ypsilanti!

Jenny managed a smile. Grabbing the boy’s hand, she announced, This is Billy.

The teenage boy smiled crookedly, but he didn’t speak. His black eyes