Ron Base - Tree Callister 03 - Another Sanibel Sunset Detective by Ron Base Page B

is not the Hemingway who inhabits this place.” His arm swept up in the direction of the painting. “ This is the Hemingway who lived in Key West. Young, virile, full of the juices of life. You study this portrait, and you understand how this youthful stud took the literary world by storm. A superstar, imbued with that rough masculinity, very much of its time. The same sort of manliness that made Gable and Cooper and Tracy movie stars. No Justins back then, Bieber or Timberlake. These were men . They went to war, and drank hard, and shot wild animals, and fished in the sea, and slept with any woman they could get their hands on, preferably a beauty. All gone today—more’s the pity.”
    A few women present murmured objection. Hank’s eyebrows shot up in feigned surprise. “Oh, my, have I offended some here? Well, I suppose I have, but it’s a minor offense. Remember, please, you are in Mr. Hemingway’s country for the moment, the thinking is old-fashioned and very different. Perhaps I’m merely giving you a taste of it; no more than that.”
    Hank quelled further dissent by herding his charges up narrow stairs to the second floor master bedroom. A ginger cat curled on the bed where once, according to Hank, Hemingway and Pauline had slept and loved. “Now, alas, only cats inhabit that connubial bed.” Hank in wistful voice.
    He brightened as he swept a hand over the sleeping ginger cat: “Behold one of our famous Hemingway cats. These are the direct descendants of the felines nurtured by Ernest and Pauline while they lived here. The more formal name for this cat is a polydactyl—a feline with a genetic mutation that results in being born with more than the usual number of toes on at least one of its paws. This fellow, as you can see, has six toes on his front left paw.”
    Several visitors duly petted and stroked the cat which stretched luxuriously, purring loudly, enjoying the attention.
    Finally, Hank led his merry band of Hemingway followers out to the pool house. “There on the second floor Mr. Hemingway wrote To Have and Have Not .” Another dramatic pause. “The worst piece of crap Mr. Hemingway ever produced, in my estimation.”
    This caused nervous titters and small gasps of astonishment. “Don’t be so shocked. Mr. Hemingway could write bad books just like anyone else. He was not a god, after all. He was a real man and real men fail from time to time. But men are also capable of greatness, and one only has to read The Sun Also Rises to know Mr. Hemingway achieved that greatness.”
    Hank then chose Tree and three others to make the climb up wrought iron stairs to peer through an iron latticework divider into a wide, bright room. An antelope head adorned the wall over a portable typewriter on a round table.
    “A walkway used to connect the master bedroom to the office,” Hank explained. “That way, he merely had to get out of bed in the morning, cross over to the office, and go to work.”
    “What do you think, Mr. Dearlove?” Tree squeezed himself in beside Hank. “What happened in there to make To Have and Have Not such a lousy novel?”
    Dearlove looked momentarily surprised at being addressed by his surname. Then he said, “Maybe it was his lousy marriage. He was too distracted, just didn’t give a damn.”
    The other three tourists began to file back down the stairs. Hank called for four more to come up. He turned back to Tree. “Seen enough?”
    “I think we should talk,” Tree said.
    “About Hemingway?”
    “About Elizabeth Traven,” Tree said.
    “And who might wish to discuss such a subject?”
    “I’m Tree Callister. I’m a private detective.”
    “Are you now?” Hank did not appear impressed.
    “I’m here looking for her.”
    “Well, she’s not at the Hemingway Estate, I can tell you that much. I don’t think Elizabeth even likes Hemingway.” He showed a neat row of yellowing teeth. “Why don’t you go back downstairs, Mr. Tree Callister, have a look in the gift