One Good Deed(30)

“You get many of those?” he asked quietly.

She glanced up at him. “It unfortunately comes with the territory. Please don’t give it another thought.”

He nodded, sensing that she was done with this topic. “So any advice for me?”

“Mr. Archer, it’s not my job to get you out of jams you got yourself into.”

He cracked a grin.

“I’m being serious.”

“I know you are. It’s just that I’ve been in jams mostly my whole life.” He rose and put his hat on. “I’ll get outta this one, too.” He tipped his hat. “Hope you have a nice day.”

She half rose from her seat and started to say something, but Archer was already gone. Crabtree rushed over to the door, opened it, and watched him walk with purpose down the hall and out of sight. She slowly closed the door and went back to her typewriter. But the Royal never clacked once, because she never touched the keys.





Chapter 11



THAT NIGHT, ARCHER, dressed in his new clothes, walked down the street and took up his post across the street from the Cat’s Meow. It was near on eight, and he assumed that Pittleman and Jackie might already be in there. After having had dinner with the woman he felt a pang of jealousy that she was in the company of another man, particularly a man like Hank Pittleman.

While he stood there, Archer thought about what he would discuss with Pittleman when he came out of the bar. He wanted the man to have a few drinks in him before he did so. He didn’t think he was going to get a second chance with the gent. But the fact was the collateral was no more, so perhaps Pittleman would have another plan. At the very least, he couldn’t blame Archer for Tuttle’s torching his own Caddy.

Like any good scout, Archer was prepared for the unexpected, but he had not anticipated what would happen next.

“Mr. Archer?” said the surprised voice.

He turned to find Ernestine Crabtree standing there on the pavement, not six feet away, staring at him. Like his, her clothes were different from what she had started the day with.

The dress that had fallen well below the knee had been replaced with a fresher model in a startling petrol blue paired with a black jacket with a high-back collar. Her dimpled knees showed clearly below the starkly raised hem. And the thick nylons had been replaced with their sheer, silk cousins. The low heels were gone, and her height had shot up to within about two inches of his by virtue of her spiked, strappy footwear. The knotted bun had vanished, and she had on a black fascinator hat with a sticking-up bow and attached short veil. Her blond tresses fell straight down and skimmed her shoulders like a stage curtain against the floor. Her face, freed from being pulled at by the hair and covered by the shell glasses, had now relaxed into a thing of startling beauty, the eyes wide and holding considerable depth. And the paint on her face, lips, and nails rivaled Jackie’s for its vitality.

Archer could only stare openmouthed at her for a few seconds. “Miss Crabtree, what in the world are you…? Well, you look…different.”

She glanced down at herself, and the woman’s pleased look gave her inner feeling away.

“I’m…meeting someone.”

“Where would that be, I wonder?” said Archer as he made a show of eyeing the Cat’s Meow, which was the only place down this way worth going to, and that still had its lights on and its door unlocked.

“Where that would be is none of your business. What are you doing here?”

“Just stretching my legs and getting some fresh air.”

“You wouldn’t possibly be thinking of going into that bar?”

“What bar would that be?”

“The Cat’s Meow, right there.”

“Oh, is that what that is, a bar?”

“Of course, it’s a—” She paled a bit and looked down at her peep toe shoes.

Archer said, “I guess you’ve been in to see for yourself. I wouldn’t know.”

She squeezed her black envelope handbag and continued to study the toes of her high heels with evident concern. “There is no law against me enjoying a drink, every now and again.”

“No law at all, ma’am. I would join you if I could, but it would violate Rule Number 14, and possibly 15 and 16, depending on how things turned out. There might be others, but those will surely do.”

She eyed his clothes. “Your new suit fits you…very well.”

“And that dress is very pretty. And your hair down that way gives your face a nice framing.”

She touched her hair and tried, but could not manage, to suffocate the smile that appeared on her face.

“Thank you,” she said with a level of shyness that he had a hard time reconciling with the unyielding parole officer. “Are you working on your pickle of a problem?”

“I am indeed. It’s why I’m here at this particular spot.”

She glanced at the bar. “You think he might show up here? Mr. Pittleman, I mean?”

“Well, the man told me he’s here every day except Saturday and the Sabbath, when he’s with his wife. And I know that for a fact since I was at his house on Saturday.”

“Why did you go there?”

“He’s paying me, so I thought it right to explain things to him.”

“But from what you told me this morning, he wasn’t very understanding.”