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    The Andrew Manson Steampunk Mysteries
    The Andrew Manson Steampunk Mysteries
    The Andrew Manson Steampunk Mysteries
    Ebook419 pages6 hours

    The Andrew Manson Steampunk Mysteries

    By Robert Collins

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    About this ebook

    Andrew Manson is an inventor with a passion for mechanics and a knack for getting embroiled in mysteries.

    From Florida to New York City, to Washington, and back again, Andrew finds himself dealing with shady characters in an America where airships won the Civil War.

    Will Andrew be able to get his combustion engine working? Will he ever escape trouble? And what about the fashionable young woman in the Airship Dress?

    This volume contains all five Andrew Manson mystery stories, including the previously published short novels WILLOW HILL and EIGHTY HOUSE.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRobert Collins
    Release dateJul 1, 2017
    ISBN9781370782277
    The Andrew Manson Steampunk Mysteries
    Author

    Robert Collins

    Two people with different cultural backgrounds and ethnicities met at a European and Balkan music and dance ensemble named Koroyar and their lives became intertwined, combining their gifts to continue exploring life as an avenue of creative expression. Robert Collins has a Bachelor of Arts in Anthropology, and has been an educator in the Los Angeles area for thirty years. He studied writing with Joan Oppenheimer in San Diego, with Cork Millner privately, and also in the Santa Barbara Writer's Conferences. Elizabeth Herrera Sabido, at the age of sixteen years, began working as a secretary at the Secretaria de Industria y Comercio in Mexico City where she was born, then she was an educator for twenty-six years, and a teacher of international dance for The Los Angeles Unified School District. She has also studied Traditional Chinese Medicine, and is a Reiki Master Teacher. Attracted by the Unknown, the Forces of the Universe, and the human psyche, during their lives they have studied several different philosophies. Elizabeth has been involved with various religions, Asian studies, and Gnosticism with SamaelAun Weor, and Robert has explored spiritual healing practices in Mexico, and studied with Carlos Castaneda's Cleargreen and Tensegrity. Elizabeth and Robert start their day at four-thirty in the morning. They enjoy playing volleyball and tennis, and in the afternoons play music, alternating between seven different instruments each. Their philosophy of Personal Evolution has led them to explore over 110 countries between the two of them such as Japan, Nepal, Egypt, Bosnia- Herzegovina, the Philippines, Turkey,Russia, etc.

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      Book preview

      The Andrew Manson Steampunk Mysteries - Robert Collins

      INTRODUCTION

      Over the past few years, I’ve published two steampunk mysteries featuring Andrew Manson: Willow Hill and Eighty House. After I wrote that first work, I wrote more. However, none was as long as the first, and it’s only a short novel.

      I decided at the end of 2016 to consolidate some of my series, available as separate ebooks, into single ebook volumes. I was going to do the same with all the Andrew Manson stories I’d written. I thought that, rather than wait until the last one is out to do that, why not do it now, with only two volumes to retire.

      Those two works are now gone. They’ve been replaced by this collection, which is both a print book and an ebook. If you’ve read those first two stories, I hope you’ll enjoy them in one volume. I also hope you like my venture into the steampunk genre.

      Thanks for your support!

      Robert Collins

      WILLOW HILL

      CHAPTER ONE

      He stepped up, into the front of the passenger car, and looked for a place to sit. The impression he got of the car was the same as he’d gotten since getting off the airship in Atlanta and boarding his first train. It felt to him that everything was odd.

      The feeling didn’t come from the other passengers. Most of the seats in the front part of the car were occupied by men in rough jackets and ties, or no jacket or tie at all. Next to a few of the men were women in plain day dresses that probably dated from before the War. There was a mix of ages and hair colors among the group, but one thing was common: they were all white.

      Some of the men bothered to look at him as he glanced around. Their faces bore expressions of mild disdain. He knew those couldn’t result from his clothes. Although his suit and tie appeared cleaner than what they wore, it wasn’t any better. He was still a young man, a year or so out of college. He couldn’t afford to dress like the merchant princes of Wall Street or the grand politicians of Washington.

      It must be because they suspect I’m from the North, he concluded.

      The odd feeling came from the dimensions of the interior. Like most Southern railroads, this one was a broad-gauge line. The tracks were five feet apart, instead of the standard, which was four feet and eight and one-half inches. That meant that the cars and locomotives were that much wider than normal.

      On the surface, he could see why someone would choose the broader gauge. Five feet seems a much simpler number than four and three-quarters feet and a bit more. Once the gauge was set, the width of the ties, and then the width of the right-of-way, all ought to be easy to calculate.

      The only problem with such thinking was that it missed the obvious reason why the odd measurement was standard gauge. It was a standard because of how wagons of all types had been built for centuries. The odd measurement wasn’t from wheel to wheel; that was indeed five feet. It was from the inside of the wheels. To ride on a rail, a wheel needed a flange. The wheel was more stable on a rail if the flange was on the inside of the wheel, rather than the outside. Thus standard gauge was from flange to flange, or the distance between the inside faces of the rail heads.

      It was a technical view of the matter to be sure. But that view made sense when approached rationally. It might feel right to go for the easy measurement of five feet. But because it didn’t follow the standard, it made everything appear a little more unusual than it ought to be.

      That, to him, seemed to sum up his impression of the South so far in his journey. Things down here were done for individual reasons. While there was nothing wrong with being an individual, at some point a fellow had to follow standards. Common sense dictated that at some point one had to comply with standards, be they engineering standards or the laws of society. Too much individualism, and soon everyone and everything would be in opposition to each other, with chaos the result.

      As he made those sour observations, he saw a man sitting alone in the back of the car. There were a handful of empty seats between him and the other passengers. The fellow wore a what seemed to be a good black suit, and with a cravat to boot. He made his way down the aisle to where the man was sitting.

      May I join you, sir? he asked.

      Indeed, young fellow. The man didn’t have the drawl that marked a southerner.

      He sat down. Up close he could see that the man was a decade older. His dark hair was neatly combed, but his bushy mustache was somewhat unruly. He wore a gold wedding band on his right ring finger, but was otherwise bereft of signs of wealth.

      Dalton Jameson, the man said.

      Andrew Manson. He bowed his head.

      Where are you going, Mister Manson?

      Pensacola. You?

      Mobile.

      May I ask the reason for you trip?

      Happy to tell you. I’m in the iron business, young man. I have experience running foundries. An acquaintance of mine is starting a foundry in Mobile. His company paid for my travel from Pittsburgh, that’s where I’m from, down to the Gulf Coast. I’ll probably be there through the rest of the spring and into the summer. I doubt this is a permanent position. What about you, Mister Manson? Does this Reconstruction business bring you south, too?

      No, Mister Jameson. I’m going to Pensacola on personal business. A wedding, to be precise.

      A wedding? Jameson smiled. Not yours, I take it?

      Manson smiled back. No. My best friend from college. He’s marrying a local girl.

      How extraordinary. How did he meet a girl from Pensacola, Florida?

      I’m not entirely sure. He leaned forward. His cousin was in the Union Navy, he said, his voice low. The cousin served on a blockade ship based out of there. He leaned back. Other than that, I don’t know what Richard is thinking.

      Richard?

      Richard Abbott. My friend.

      I see. When is this wedding?

      It’s in less than a couple of weeks, so the letter I got before I left home said.

      Just over a week, you say?

      Yes. I would have liked to have left New York City sooner, but minor skirmishes kept coming up at my job. I had to spend a considerable amount of my budget on an airship ticket to get here on time.

      A few heads turned their way from the front of the passenger car and gave the two men angry looks. Manson was certain it was due to his uttering the word airship. He understood their anger. Airships had been vital to breaking the ability of the Confederacy to resist the Union Army in Virginia, and bring the War to a close.

      Less than a minute later, the car wobbled enough that Manson had to reach out to steady himself. Once he had, he turned to Jameson. The older man seemed unfazed, mentally and physically, by the movement.

      You seemed to handle that better than I, Mister Jameson.

      Jameson shrugged. You get used to it. He glanced out the window next to him. I imagine this track has seen better days, but it will get fixed soon enough.

      You think so?

      Certainly. There are all sorts of opportunities down here, young man. Jameson leaned closer to him., and lowered the tone of his voice. "Take these trains as one example. There wasn’t that much of a railroad mania in the South, what with the slaves and the cotton and such. Naturally, what they did build was in a variety of gauges, because of States’ Rights or some such thing. I’ve already had to change trains a few times, and I’ll have to change trains one more time, as the line for the last leg of my trip to Mobile is still broad gauge.

      "Not only do there need to be more railroads lines down in this part of the country. Lines have to be converted, so cars, mainly freight cars, can go where they need to go. Right now cars have to be unloaded and reloaded, because of this confusion of gauge.

      But you can’t convert these lines piece-meal. The trains still have to run, all more so now, what with Reconstruction and all that. You have to have enough rail, spikes, ties, the whole lot, to convert the line all at once, in a day or two. That’s why I’m coming down here, Mister Manson. There are great opportunities in all that work that needs doing.

      It sounds like you’ll be busy while you’re here.

      Indeed I will. I hate to sound like a gray-haired old fellow, but that’s where the work is these days, Mister Manson. Not in silly ideas like horseless carriages, vocal telegraphs, and other nonsense that otherwise sensible men have been speculating about since Jeff Davis was captured. No, the profit will be in good, old-fashioned hard work. Mark my words. It will be years before any of these scientific fantasies becomes a thing a man can earn a living from.

      ***

      Andrew Manson was surprised at how plainly white the hotel he would be staying in appeared. After all, there was the warm blue of the Gulf of Mexico, the bright blue of the clear sky, and the vivid shades of green in the various trees he’d seen on the walk from the railroad station to the hotel. But there were no welcoming reds or yellows, or even contrasting darker colors to greet him at the entrance. There was white, more white, and the odd touch of woody brown.

      The interior was something of an improvement, but not much. There were a few more shades of brown in the front desk and floor, and bits of color from flowers scattered here and there. The clerk at the front desk wore a plain white coat, a plain white shirt, and a black tie. The few hotel employees who appeared and disappeared wore the same white-on-white jackets and trousers.

      The one contrast to all that, in addition to his own black clothing, came in the form of a familiar face and body. It was a young man in a light tan jacket, light yellow tie, and light brown trousers. Andrew smiled, in relief as much as in happiness, when he saw the young man.

      Richard, he said.

      Andrew, old chum, good to see you again.

      Andrew shook hands with his friend. Their greeting paused while he checked in with the clerk. The clerk gave him the key to his room. Richard offered to take his one suitcase upstairs for him.

      I wish I could have gotten here sooner, Andrew said as he led the way up the staircase. The company worked me to the bone.

      Did you have trouble getting time to come here?

      They were giving me a terrible time. I told them that I was coming, and it didn’t matter to me if my situation was waiting for me when I returned.

      That’s strangely bold for you.

      What can I say? The old man acted like he was still in the Army. Andrew shook his head. As a matter of fact, I found out, when the old fool demanded I not go, that he never got above the rank of Captain. He’d insisted we call him ‘Major,’ and there he was, inflating his rank, like some chicken that thought itself an eagle.

      You must have been worked hard to sound so sour.

      I was. But that’s forgotten for now.

      They had arrived on the second floor, and had made the short trip to Andrew’s room. Andrew unlocked the door, then held it open for Richard to enter with his solitary piece of luggage.

      The room was pleasant, if somewhat sparser than Andrew would have thought. There was a bed, a simple dresser, a wash basin, and a mirror fixed to the wall. The bed was wide enough for two, but had no posts, and the most common of blankets and coverings. The window gave a passable view of the city and the inland green landscape beyond. Andrew waved at the dresser. Richard took the hint and placed the suitcase in front of it.

      Andrew sat down on the bed. At least this is comfortable.

      Rough ride?

      All the way. I spent a great deal of money on an airship ticket from New York to Atlanta. It’s supposed to be richest way for a man to travel. Well, my friend, it’s not. The seats are no different from a passenger car’s. The food is overcooked. The scenery is nice, so long as it’s not cloudy, but that’s about it.

      I’ll keep that in mind, should I care to travel anymore. Richard sat down at the other end of the bed.

      About that, let me say, in person, congratulations.

      Richard smiled. Thank you.

      The nuptials did come as something of a shock. I never placed you as fellow who would settle down before he turned twenty-five.

      It helps when you fight the right girl.

      As I recall, you found a right few girls back in college.

      That I did. But Samantha is different.

      You haven’t told me much about this young lady. What’s her full name again?

      Samantha Grimes. Richard whistled. She’s quite the looker, I have to tell you.

      Is that how you found her? You saw her across a room at a dance, or some such thing?

      I saw across a few rooms at a few dances, Andrew. But that’s not what pulled me into her arms.

      What did?

      "Well, first, I have to tell you my circumstances here. Roger said there were opportunities down here, seeing as the Union Army took this place pretty easily in ’62. No burning, no big battles, and no riots once the Union took command. I came down here hoping to make a go of something. There’s things in the air down here, but it all moves a bit slow for a city boy like me.

      "I went to the dances, hoping to make connections, and to find a girl, maybe two. Samantha’s not the prettiest girl around, but she’s got a fine brain behind that lovely face of hers. You talk to her, and you know she’s no silly southern belle, fanning herself and waxing romantic about old books and the easy life on PaPa’s plantation. Samantha’s smart enough that a fellow ought to give her the benefit of the doubt, so I asked around the city about her.

      That’s when I heard about her family, Andrew. Boy, is there a tale for a novel following her around. Turns out, she’s the heir of a plantation. Willow Hill, so it’s called. But it wasn’t her father’s place. It was her uncle’s plantation.

      Richard leaned towards Andrew. Folks around here say the uncle was spooked by all the Secession talk. There are old Spanish forts here, old British forts, and a fine port that turned out to be ideal for Lincoln’s sea blockade of the Rebellion. Her uncle was sure there was going to be fighting around here. He didn’t think much would be left, so he up and fled. To where, no one knows. He sold off his slaves, his possessions, the last crop in the ground, and got gold for the lot of it.

      Did he run off with all that gold?

      Some folks think he did. Some say he buried it on his plantation, for the day when the War was over. Gold would be good which ever side won. Besides, why take it with you? Someone sees you with it, and you’re done for. No, I think the old fox did hide the gold somewhere on Willow Hill.

      That’s why you’re marrying this young lady? For a fortune you think she might have?

      Not at all, my friend. Oh, sure, I think the gold’s out there somewhere. Samantha lived in the city, not at Willow Hill, so she’s as curious about the story as I am. But even if the tale is just that, lively local gossip, it’s still great fun. No, she’s worth saying the vows with. Even if there’s no gold buried under Willow Hill, there is gold in that old place.

      There is?

      Sure. The land’s fertile, so there’s a chance it could be farmed again. The trouble for Samantha is that she can’t farm it herself.

      Neither can you.

      Not the point. She can allow tenants onto the land to farm, but she needs a man around to deal with them. If she’s married, she can take possession of Willow Hill, since her uncle abandoned it. She wouldn’t have to do that if her father was still around, but he died early in the War, up in Virginia. That’s what the lawyers we talked to told us. You know how lawyers can be.

      That I do.

      So, if she gets Willow Hill, so does her husband. That means we can profit from the land. There wouldn’t be tenant farmers, either. It’s a fair-sized piece of property. It extends out to the woods you may have seen on the train in. There’s a need for wood in these parts, and there’s a lumber company that’s eager to get land and start cutting and shaping.

      So, what? The two of your are going to dismantle the plantation to earn a living?

      We might not have to go that far. While I might be a spry young man, I can see opportunity when it rears its head. So can she. She has no romantic notions about Willow Hill. It’s fun living in that big house, and it will be for a time once we’re husband and wife. But it’s value isn’t in some southern idyl of the ‘good old days’ before the War. Its value is giving us a chance to get some working capital so we can build a life for ourselves where we choose.

      I see the time in this sunny climate is doing you some good.

      Yes, it is. Oh, there’s the odd rainy day, when the memories of the mad uncles and aunts return to the fore of my mind. But I think this is where those fears will die, Andrew.

      Andrew patted his friend on the shoulder. Good to hear that, Rich.

      I’m glad you’re here. Now, before you meet the beautiful lady that’s to become my wife, I have to ask a favor of you.

      Anything.

      There’s a lawyer in town, one Henry Chambers. Over the last day or so Chambers has sent me messages, asking for some sort of chat.

      You haven’t spoken to him?

      Richard shook his head. Samantha’s heard his reputation. Seems this Chambers likes playing cards, but isn’t always good at it.

      Why would he want to meet with you?

      I think you and I could come up with a reason or two, considering what I just told you. That said, I don’t want to put the man completely off. He has a law practice, so it would be better for me to hear him out rather than ignore him.

      Are you going to meet him, then? Do you want me with you?

      Richard shook his head. No. What I’d like you to do, since there’s still plenty of afternoon left, is to go and meet Chambers. Ask what he wants of me. You’re a stranger in town, so if the man isn’t above board, it’s not your problem. You just didn’t know him well enough. You can then tell me, and that’s that. But if the man is better than the rumors around him, you can be my introduction to him.

      What if he only wants to talk to you?

      That’s probably a sign that I shouldn’t talk to him. Stand up to him, Andrew, like you did your boss, back in New York. Remind him of his reputation, and that I wouldn’t want to soil mine or that of my bride-to-be. If he’s humbled, we can chat. If not, he’s not worth the effort.

      You’re right. That’s reasonable enough of you, and a reasonable request.

      Richard stood up. Then I’ll let you unpack and be on your way. If you can, we dine at seven tonight. If you can’t make it in time, I’ll come by in the morning, and you can join Samantha and I for lunch.

      You’re living with her?

      Richard smiled. Separate bedrooms. It’s a big house, and she’d be all alone. If she thought it was improper, she wouldn’t let me stay there. The girl is definitely worth the wait, my friend. Definitely.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Andrew found the law office of Henry Chambers, Esquire, between the central business district of the city and the docks and warehouses that comprised to the port section. The office was on the first floor of a two-floor building, and shared space with an agent for the Gulf Coast Shipping Insurance Company. There was a Rooms for Let sign in one of the front windows that had been crossed out several times with ink.

      The law office comprised two rooms separated by a doorway without a door. The room that could be seen through the front window had a desk and two chairs. The other room had a shelf of law books; papers on the floor suggested there would also be wooden file cabinets of records and papers. The front room was without decoration. Some sunlight lit the room, but most of the light came from two oil lamps.

      Chambers was alone when Andrew arrived. Andrew found that man to be portly, with dark hair matted by sweat. Chambers wasn’t a tall man, either. Andrew was no giant, but of average height, and he seemed have at least half a head on the other man. Chambers had a rumpled white jacket tossed on a coat rack. He wore a white shirt, white trousers, a red tie, and red suspenders. Andrew couldn’t decide if the man was trying to imitate some youthful fashion, or simply didn’t care about his appearance.

      What can I do for you, young fellow? Chambers said when Andrew entered his office. His spoke with a drawl punctuated with a nasal grate.

      Andrew stuck out his right hand. My name is Andrew Manson. I take it you’re Henry Chambers.

      I am.

      I’m a friend of Richard Abbott. He asked me to talk to you.

      I see. Chambers finally shook his hand. It’s a right pleasure to meet you, Mister Manson. Please, do sit down.

      Thank you.

      I’d offer you some refreshment, but I have nothing to offer at this time of day. Another half an hour or so, and I’d be heading out.

      It’s a good thing I came at once, then.

      Indeed, indeed. So, I trust Mister Abbott told you I wished to speak to him.

      He did.

      I also trust he told you about his lovely fiancé, and her colorful uncle.

      I take it you mean the uncle rumored to have hidden gold on his plantation, yes?

      I do indeed.

      Richard told me the story. Neither he nor Miss Grimes seem to take the tale all that seriously.

      I suppose that’s understandable. The young lady never knew her uncle Lowell all that well, being raised here in town and all. As for Mister Abbott, well, and I mean no offense, but Yankees don’t always cotton to the notion that not all the tales we tell are fairy stories.

      Are you saying that you know whether or not this story is true?

      I know there’s some truth to it. Before all the shooting started, I was a junior partner in the law practice of my mentor, the late Simon Beauchamp. Simon represented several of the landowners in these parts, including Lowell Grimes. Simon aided Mister Grimes in the disposition of his property and assets not long after Florida seceded from the Union. So, yes, Lowell Grimes did have a fortune on his person when he disappeared, and yes, it was in gold and silver. Some bars, but mainly Federal coins.

      I see. You were a witness to those sales?

      Chambers grinned. A witness? Tell me, young man, are you a lawyer?

      No. I have a degree in engineering.

      An educated man. Good for you. Well, no, Mister Manson, I was not a direct witness to those sales, but Simon told me what happened. After all, Mister Grimes was the only fellow around these parts that had any fears about the conflict to come.

      His fears were well-founded, I’m sorry to say.

      No one felt that way at the time. But you know what they say about the sad experience of life. Tell me, young man, did you serve in the Yankee Army?

      No. Richard and I graduated only a year ago.

      You were still old enough to serve.

      I was encouraged to pursue my degree. I would have been more valuable to the cause of the Union with a degree in mechanical engineering than as just another soldier.

      I see. I take it the misfortune that befell Mister Abbott’s relatives deterred him from serving, is that so?

      It was, but he was also pursuing engineering, like myself. Civil, rather than mechanical.

      There’s a difference?

      Indeed there is. Mechanical engineering is concerned with how machines work, maintaining them, and ultimately improving on them. Civil engineering relates to bridges, railroads, things like that.

      Most interesting. Well, as I said, I do believe Lowell Grimes did have a modest fortune on him when the late conflict began.

      What does your mentor, Mister Beauchamp, say about that?

      He died at Chickamauga, leading his company in battle.

      I’m sorry to hear that.

      Thank you. Mister Manson, wish you to tell your friend, Mister Abbott, that I would like to assist him in locating any wealth that Lowell Grimes concealed on Willow Hill before he disappeared.

      Why?

      I could be most helpful to Mister Abbott, and Miss Grimes, if the fortune is located.

      How could you be of any help to them?

      The law is not as clear on this matter as we might wish it to be. Lowell Grimes is not dead, as far as anyone knows. He’s only gone missing. No one knows if he simply ran away and hid to escape the fighting, or if he went elsewhere to enlist in the Confederate Army, or even if he was met on the road by ruffians, who cared not about his motivations, but only for the promise of a few coins in his pockets and some other trinkets.

      Andrew saw where Chambers was going at once. In other words, unless Mister Grimes is declared dead, any fortune hidden on his property belongs to him.

      Quite correct, Mister Manson.

      Would you be willing to state in court that Mister Grimes was dead for a share of any fortune, is that it?

      Chambers grinned and shook his head. I’m not saying that, no. What I am saying is that Simon Beauchamp left me his law practice. I inherited his clients, including Lowell Grimes. I can either continue to act in Mister Grimes best interests until his fate is known, or I can agree with Miss Grimes and her husband that Lowell Grimes, having been missing for over five years, ought to be presumed dead unless someone can prove otherwise.

      I see. Tell me, is there any reason why you ought to be interested in whether Lowell Grimes is alive or dead? Other than your client’s best interests, I mean?

      "I do have something of a financial interest in the matter. I don’t have many vices, Mister Manson, except a fine drink every now and again, and the playing of cards. I tend to do well enough at cards that I win as much as I lose. I don’t make much, but neither do I lose much.

      However, it seems that recently Lady Luck decided to find another suitor, and a Yankee one at that. There’s a man who’s come to Pensacola with some scheme about bringing Yankee airships down here. His name is Horatio Pedler. He too enjoys cards, and recently enjoyed them at my expense.

      You owe him a lot of money, and he wants you to pay your debt.

      I offered to pay him a little at a time, but Pedler’s a Yankee businessman, and wants me to clear my debt in a hurry.

      You’d like a share of anything Richard finds in the hopes of paying off this Pedler.

      I hate to sound Yankee, but that is my dilemma.

      You do know that there’s a chance that this Lowell Grimes didn’t bury his fortune on his property, but took it with him. He could be living in style somewhere, or, as you said, he could have been robbed, or even robbed and killed.

      True. In that case, I shall have to resolve my debt some other way.

      Well, then, Mister Chambers, I’ll tell Richard about your offer, and the reasons for it. If he doesn’t give you an answer right away, I’ll relay it to you, seeing as I’m staying here in the city.

      That’s most kind of you, Mister Manson. I do hope I’ll be seeing more of you in the future.

      Andrew stood up first. He waited for Chambers to get up, shook the man’s hand, then left his office.

      He glanced over his shoulder once before starting back to his hotel. He was certain that when he told Richard what the attorney wanted, his friend would decline the offer. His friend wasn’t the sort to be bothered by vague threats. Nor was he the man willing to accept help from a perfect stranger. He remembered back to early in their college days, and how many weeks they’d shared a room before Richard had been willing to allow Andrew to tutor him in one of his more difficult classes.

      He didn’t believe the threat of legal action was all that potent, either. Florida, like most of the old Confederacy, was

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