One Good Deed(24)

He smoked a Lucky right down to nothing, drank his gin slow and easy, and pondered why he had not taken the simpler route and become a hog-brain basher like Dickie Dill. This made him think of the scrawled note he’d found in Ernestine Crabtree’s office. He pulled it out of his old jacket, read it again, found it even more disturbing, and put it back where it had been.

Maybe there was one person who could help him with his dilemma.

Jackie Tuttle. But he had no idea where she even lived.

But Poca wasn’t that big a place. He waited until the darkness was about to fall, put on his new hat, and then set out to find her.





Chapter 9



HIS SEARCH ENDED abruptly in the lobby of the Derby Hotel, where Jackie was sitting in a cane back chair in front of an empty fireplace topped by a slab of marble collecting still more dust. He stopped and looked down at her as Jackie smiled up at him.

“Well, get a load of you,” said Archer.

“Surprised?” she said.

“You can see that for yourself.”

She eyed his new clothes. “Nice duds.”

“Yeah, lot better than what I had.”

“I can see that for myself.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you to come down. What else?”

“Why?”

“Hank phoned and said you’d come by today. And he told me where you were staying.”

“Why would he call you about that?”

“Hank tells me most things.” She rose. “Let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

She wore a skintight dark blue cocktail dress, a white scarf around her neck, and a black, fitted pillbox hat with a bit of frilly lace tacked up. Her shoes were black with low heels and bows on the toes. Her costly nylon stockings gleamed over her shapely calves. Gold chandelier hoops hung from her ears, and she held a small clutch purse in her gloved hands.

“You do look sharp,” she said, running her hand along his lapel and then clutching his tie and pulling on it for good measure, bending him down to near her height. “With a little work you might be approaching dreamboat status. Sort of like Cary Grant and Clark Gable all rolled into one.”

“You’re nice on the eyes too,” he said appreciatively. “Prettier than any gal I’ve seen at the movies.”

“Glad we got all that out of the way. But don’t say that in front of Hank. He’s a jealous man. And that knife isn’t the only weapon he carries.”

“Yeah, I saw his belly gun up close and personal today. But his wife doesn’t seem to be the jealous type. In fact, she doesn’t seem to give a whit.”

As they walked out into the fading light and headed down the street, Jackie said, “Oh, Marjorie gives a whit, trust me.”

“Care to explain?”

“Not really. And I’m not sure you’re set up to understand even if I did.”

They slid into a shallow booth with red vinyl seats at the Checkered Past.

Jackie ordered a gin and tonic with a twist of lime.

Archer went with a ginger ale.

She looked at him oddly. “You lost your thirst or are you waiting to tell them the rest of the ingredients for a highball? They do a nice Seven and Seven here in case you’re interested.”

“No, just trying to watch my p’s and q’s.”

“How is not drinking doing that?”

“If I get sauced, I might say or do something with you I might regret.”

“Hell, Archer, that’s half the fun.”

She sipped her drink when it came, while he chugged his.

“So, Marjorie?” began Archer.

“What about her?”

“She knows about you and Hank.”

“I know she does.”

“You’re really not going to enlighten me, then?”

She took off her pillbox and set it on the table next to her place setting. “And why exactly do you feel the need to be enlightened?”

“I don’t like not knowing things. Gets under my skin.”

“That’s a good attribute, but it doesn’t persuade me. I hear you talked to Lucas Tuttle.”

“You mean your father, yeah, I did.”

She shrugged. “And what did the old gasbag say?”

“Why ask me? Pittleman must’ve told you, since I told him.”

“I’m not going back home, Archer, if that’s what you want to know.”

“Okay. But your father truly seems to miss you.”

She looked at her menu. “What’re you in the mood for?”

“Steak and potatoes, coffee, black. Piece of the cobbler to finish.”

She glanced up at him. “You sound certain about that and you haven’t even looked at the menu.”

“I am sure.”

“You’ve eaten here before?”

“Last night.”

“What’d you have?”

“Same as what I just said.”

“You don’t like variety?”

“Two things in a row is variety, of a sort.”

“You’d make an intriguing study, Archer.”

“Of what kind?”

She pulled out a pack of Chesterfields and offered him one, which he took. She lit his with her metal lighter, cupping her gloved hand around his, and then did the same for herself. Jackie blew out a cloud of smoke and said, “Hell, just about any kind of study.”