A Gambling Man (Archer #2)(81)
Dash said, “At least two main doors that I can see leading out to the top terrace, but I’m sure there are more. Service entrances in particular are not always visible, and they like it that way. Tradesman’s entrance is on the left side.”
They walked over to a thin, reedy man with short white hair and a mottled complexion. He wore dark pants and a white collared shirt, and he was wiping down the furniture.
Dash flashed his license and said, “Besides the main doors up there, how else could someone who works here get out without being noticed?”
The man pointed to a paved path to the right of the upper terrace that curved past a row of green hedges.
“Up there is where we come and go. Boss don’t like the hired help taking the main doors ’cept for the hostesses and the waiters and waitresses. Us riffraff got to hide if we can manage it. We ain’t good enough to be seen apparently by the ‘patrons’ here.” He plucked a cigarette from behind his ear and lit up before he grinned a gap-toothed grin. He smelled of smoke and garlic and sweat. “You’re here about that gal, Ruby. Got her throat slit, somebody said.”
“Did you know her?”
The man shook his head and puffed on his cigarette. “Look at me. Gal like that wouldn’t give a guy like me the time of day.”
“So you knew who she was?”
“Sure. Seen her around.”
“And did the fact that she wouldn’t give you the time of day make you mad?” said Dash.
The man’s grin faded and his skin turned a soupy gray. “Hey, fella, I had nothing to do with what happened to her. I don’t even work evenings. I was home with the missus.”
“Name?”
“Tom, Tom Boswell.”
“Address?”
“Fourteen Ocean Way.”
“You on the water?” asked Archer as he wrote this down and then ran his eye over the man’s plain clothes.
Dash said, “The street names in Bay Town are funny, Archer, and not in the way you might think. Ocean Way is close to the ocean the way the earth is close to the sun.”
“That’s a fact,” said Boswell. “And the town dump is at the end of a road called Tuxedo Boulevard.”
“You know anybody who might have had a beef with Ruby?” asked Dash.
Boswell shook his head. “No. I don’t know nobody that knows her. I work out here for the most part, not inside.”
“So you wouldn’t know if she had any enemies or boyfriends?”
“No sir.”
“Ever see anybody talking to her?”
“No sir.”
A boy in a cap and buttons ran up to them waving a piece of paper. “Mr. Dash?”
Dash nodded. “That’s me, kid.”
The boy handed him a note. “This is for you.” Then he turned and hustled away.
Dash opened the note and read it. “Well, Archer, we’ve been summoned by the king.”
“The king? I thought we were a democracy, not a monarchy.”
“In a few years you’ll change your mind. You just need more seasoning.”
As they walked off Archer said, “So is it Sawyer Armstrong?”
“Who else? Now, if his goons come after you again, don’t lose your temper. This meeting might turn out to be very informative for purposes of our investigation.”
“And how exactly am I supposed to handle it if they do come after me?”
“Hell, I know Tony and Hank. You’re younger and in a lot better shape than they are, Archer. Just outrun the sons of bitches.”
THE DRIVE UP WOULD HAVE GIVEN LIBERTY CALLAHAN a heart attack, thought Archer, as he piloted the Delahaye around the twists and turns and switchbacks and rising elevations, all while following Dash’s directions. They were running on a road parallel to the one the Kemper estate was on, but Sawyer Armstrong had built his home on even higher ground.
When the land finally plateaued and they went around a curve, Archer glimpsed a house. “Is that it?”
“That’s Armstrong’s place, all right.”
“After seeing the home he built for his daughter, I thought his residence would look like the Taj Mahal.”
“Nope. It’s a farm. He grows olives here. Don’t know if he makes much money off it, not that he needs to, but apparently the man has a passion for it.”
The home was about half the size of his daughter’s, which made it very large indeed, and was constructed of red cedar siding and stone. The yard in front was a sculpted landscape of flower beds, large native trees and bushes, and a pea gravel path up to the front porch, which had a hundred-foot-long tin metal overhang and comfortable chairs, upholstered and wicker, spread along its length. Striped awnings hung over most of the windows on the western side of the house, and Archer could see how they might come in handy when the sun started to set. It would be quite hot and powerful at this elevation and angle.
As impressive as the casual house was in size, Archer could see about a dozen large outbuildings behind it, all constructed of red cedar with either shake shingles or tin metal roofs. Farm machinery was neatly parked across this stretch of land. There were horses in corrals and cows in other pens. He watched as men carried various tools, or else drove pieces of equipment designed to help grow or harvest things in the dirt. Stretching out behind all of this was a sea of what Archer surmised were the olive trees. The land seemed to go on and on right up to the foothills of the Santa Ynez Mountains. He could see lots of people with straw baskets and ladders swarming over the olive orchards.