One Good Deed(40)

“Wait a minute, how did Marjorie find out about all this between you and Pittleman? I suppose he told her?”

“No, I did.”

“You!”

“I insisted on it. I’m not going behind another woman’s back like that.”

When Archer still looked confused, she came over to sit next to him. “I know it’s complicated, but it was sort of like a negotiation. I wanted money and a place of my own. Hank wanted a young woman to walk around with and show off. And Marjorie wanted to stay in her big house. In the end, everyone got what they wanted.”

“So, are you happy?” asked Archer.

“Well, I was until I found out Hank was dead.”

“And now?”

“Now, who knows? I’m sort of left out in the cold.”

“Your daddy—” he began.

“—does not figure into the equation of my happiness,” she said firmly. Then her expression changed. “I should go out and see Marjorie later today. We’ll need to let Bart tell her first, of course. You want to come with me?”

Archer looked at her for the longest time until he nodded yes.

“What in the world do you think happened to Hank?” she said. “Who could have killed him? How did he die? Jeb just said it was bloody.”

“Beats me,” replied Archer.





Chapter 15



WHERE’D YOU GET THIS THING?” asked Archer, as, by prearrangement, he was standing in front of the Derby Hotel later that day. His query had been prompted by Jackie’s pulling up in a spanking brand-new four-door Nash Ambassador painted a two-tone blue. It looked like a big-butted bullet about to be launched down the road.

“Hank gave it to me,” she said through the open driver’s window.

“He gave you a house and a car?”

“Well, yes. He wanted me to be able to get around in style after all.”

“I didn’t see the Nash parked at your house.”

“That’s because I don’t keep it at my house. I keep it in a garage not too far from my place. Do you know what the sun beating down here can do to a car’s paint? And don’t get me started on the dust. Get in.”

Archer slid into the passenger seat and no more than a second passed between his hitting the fabric and Jackie hitting the gas. The Nash sprung forward so fast, it snapped Archer’s head back against the seat.

She glanced over at him in her reflector sunglasses, as he looked at her in annoyance. “I like to move fast, Archer. You’ll just have to get used to it.”

Archer rolled his window down and kept ahold of his hat, or he would have lost it to the back seat while they were still in downtown Poca City. He ran his gaze over the woman. She was dressed in a below-the-knee black dress, with a dark pyramid coat on over it, a felt hat with a bow on the side, sheer black stockings, and demure shoes with low, clunky heels. He supposed it was the mourning wear of chattel. It was a good look for her, not that anything wouldn’t be.

They drove for nearly an hour by the sun, and this was confirmed by his watch. When the house came into view, Archer whistled. “Damn, place looks bigger than when I was here the first time. Maybe it keeps growing all on its own like a tree.”

Jackie honked the horn as they pulled up to the gate.

About thirty seconds later, Manuel emerged and opened the gates for them.

“Thank you, Manuel,” said Jackie as she drove on through, while Archer studied the house.

“How big is this thing, really?” he asked.

“I have no idea, but it’s big enough, don’t you think?”

“Whose cars are those?” he asked, pointing to a little park-off where two vehicles sat. “They weren’t there last time I came.”

“That’s Hank’s Buick convertible, and Marjorie’s Cadillac Coupe de Ville.”

“Nice rides, though he won’t be needing his anymore.”

Jackie pulled to the front of the house and they got out. Archer slapped the dust off his hat and then put it back on as he looked around. He lit up a Lucky, then flicked the spent match into the dirt.

He drew down on the Lucky and said, “Actually, I can see why Pittleman would put up a place like this.”

“Why?” she asked.

“He’d want everybody driving by to know that this was his place and only he could build it, that’s why.”

“I like that about you, Archer.”

“What’s that?”

“You see things.”

“Just have to open your eyes.”

She flicked him a knowing look. “Now ain’t that the truth?”

Archer had to step back quickly because he had almost crushed some of the encroaching flowers when he had started to head up the flagstone walk. When he regained his balance, he watched Jackie walk right into the house without knocking; Archer tossed his cigarette and quickly followed.

Inside he said, “You think the law’s been here to tell her?” Though he had been here before, there were so many things to see, he hadn’t glimpsed them all. Now he eyed a vase of silk flowers about as tall as he was. Right next to that was a stuffed fox on a wooden pedestal staring at him, while in a hunting crouch. On the wall above that was a tapestry of a Revolutionary War battle scene hung from an ornately carved piece of what looked to be teak. It depicted gallant men dying gallantly seemingly without a thought as to their personal safety, only elegant, patriotic sacrifice in their dignified countenances. It was something Archer had never once seen in three-plus years of actual combat. For him, it had been a tedious and Spartan existence intersected with chaos, fear, and times of sporadic bravery mingled with anger, panic, hatred, self-pity, and sadness at those who had fallen, followed by a guilty relief at still being alive when the shooting had stopped.