Do Me a Favour Drop Dead

Chapter Two

After dinner, I went on to the veranda and thought about what Tom Mason had told me. He could, of course, have been exaggerating, but supposing he hadn’t been and it was a fact that Marshall was going to inherit a million dollars?

For more than five years, I had been waiting for the opportunity to get my hands on real money. Now, suddenly, in this one horse town, the opportunity appeared to present itself.

The average man, learning that a small time estate agent was coming into a million dollars would think: ‘good luck to him’ and then give it no further thought. Certainly the average man wouldn’t even begin to think it might be possible to grab Marshall’s inheritance, but then I am not the average man.

During my stay in jail, I had shared a cell with a slick con man who liked to boast about his past swindles. He had had, according to him, a spectacular career until he had become too greedy.

‘For years, buster,’ he said to me, ‘I have traded on other people’s greed and then, goddamn it, if I didn’t get greedy myself and look where it’s landed me... ten years in a cell!’

He had expanded on the subject of greed.

‘If a guy has two dollars, he will want four. If he has five thousand, he’ll want ten. This is human nature. I knew a guy who was worth five million and he nearly bust a gut turning it into seven. The human race is never satisfied. The more they have, the more they want, and if you can show them how to make a fast buck without working for it, they’ll be all over you.’

From my experience when working with tycoons, I knew this to be true. Marshall’s inheritance wouldn’t be lying around in leather bags for some smart thief to steal. The money would be in stocks and bonds, guarded by bankers and brokers, but bankers and brokers didn’t awe me. I had been a broker myself.

If I were certain that Marshall would inherit a million then with my know-how I was willing to bet I could talk him into an investment that would transfer his million to me. The fact that he was a drunk made it that much easier. I was confident I could talk him into something that would dazzle him: how to turn his million safely into three million.

The human race is never satisfied.

I would use this truth to get his money. It would, of course, have to be a carefully planned operation. I thought of all the files I had kept when working with Barton Sharman and which I had stored in New York. They contained facts, figures, plans and maps from which I could draw on to support any scheme I put before Marshall. That was no problem, but before I could even consider what particular bait to dangle before him, I needed to confirm that he was going to inherit this sum and to have more information about his background. Mason had mentioned that Marshall was married. I would need to know about his wife; if he had children or if he had relations: those tricky people who would help a drunk to safeguard the million when it was his.

I would have to get friendly with Marshall. It was possible, in drink, he might give me this information, although from what I had seen of him, he could be difficult to handle.

After I had finished my day’s work, I told myself, I should make a habit of dropping in for a drink at Joe’s bar. In this way, I could expand my social contacts and maybe meet Marshall again.

I felt for the first time since I had been released from jail animated and excited. Even if it didn’t work out, at least, it gave me something to aim at: my second attempt to make big money!

I got to the Driving school the following morning at ten minutes to nine. Bert was already there, opening the mail.

After we had exchanged greetings, he said, ‘I hear you gave Tom Mason a helping hand last night.’

News certainly travelled fast in Wicksteed! All the more reason why I must be careful in my inquiries.

‘Oh... that.’ I sat on the edge of his desk. ‘Mason seems a nice guy. He tells me he owns the hardware store here.’

‘He took it over from his dad who took it over from his dad. Yes, Tom’s a nice fella.’ Bert slit open an envelope. ‘I wish I could say the same for Frank Marshall. I remember the time when he was all right... he’d do anything for you. But now...’ He shook his head.

‘That house of his is pretty isolated,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t like to live so far out. It must be tough on his wife.’

‘You’re right, Keith.’ Bert sat back in his chair. ‘Marshall’s rich aunt left him the house. She used to live in it before she was moved to the hospital. He could have sold it. She wouldn’t have cared, but he reckons if he hangs on to it the land around there will be developed and then he’ll get a real fancy price for it.’

‘Tom said he was in real estate.’ I noted Bert didn’t rise to the ‘wife bait’ I had thrown out. I decided not to press it.

‘That’s right. He was doing well a couple of years back, but this drinking of his...’ Bert frowned. ‘No one can drink the way he does and expect to run a business.’

Maisie came in to tell me my first pupil was waiting.

‘See you, Bert,’ I said and went out to meet a teenage girl with a brace on her teeth and a non-stop giggle.

The morning and afternoon passed quickly. On three occasions, my pupils drove me along Main Street and we passed Deputy Sheriff Ross. The first time, I lifted my hand in his direction, but he ignored me. The other times I ignored him, but I was aware he was staring at me with those narrow cop’s eyes, a bleak expression on his hatchet face.

I would have to be careful of him, I told myself. If I was going to get Marshall’s money — always providing he got it himself — the operation was going to be even more tricky with Ross looming in the background, but that didn’t faze me. It would be a challenge, and I was in the mood to accept a challenge.

At 18.00, I said good night to Bert and Maisie, then went over to Joe’s bar.

There were only five men in the bar, talking earnestly together. I wondered if Marshall would show.

Joe came down the counter and shook hands.

‘What’ll it be, Mr. Devery?’

‘I think a gin and tonic.’

He served the drink, then propped himself up against the counter and seemed ready to talk.

‘You weren’t too late for your supper last night?’

‘No, and thanks for calling Mrs. Hansen.’

‘That was the least I could do.’ He shook his head. ‘That Marshall... it’s a real shame. I expect Tom told you about him.’

‘He did mention something about an old aunt.’

‘That’s correct. She used to be a Miss Hackett, a nurse at our hospital... a fine lady. One day, there was an accident: a bad car smash and the driver got taken to our hospital. This was some forty years ago. I was a nipper at school at the time, but my dad told me about it. The injured man turned out to be Howard T. Fremlin of Pittsburg. He owned the Fremlin Steel Corporation. He was passing through to Frisco on a business trip when this truck hit him. To cut a long story short, Miss Hackett, after nursing him for quite a time, married him. It was only when he died, some thirty years later, that she returned to Wicksteed and bought that big house where Marshall now lives. Now she’s real bad in hospital where she once worked. Funny the way things work out, isn’t it?’

I said it was. I sipped my drink, then said, ‘Tom said it was cancer.’

‘Correct... Leukemia. It’s a wonder they’ve kept her alive for so long, but now, I hear she could go any moment.’

‘Fremlin?’ I squinted at my drink. ‘Some sort of millionaire, wasn’t he?’

‘Correct. He left her a cool million which Marshall is going to inherit. The rest of Fremlin’s estate went to charities. I heard it was around ten million.’

‘That’s money.’ I now had confirmation that Tom Mason hadn’t been exaggerating and I decided to shift the conversation to Joe’s son, Sammy. As I was saying that Sammy would have to have a few more lessons, a big, bulky man came into the bar. I glanced at him, then stiffened. He was wearing the fawn shirt, the dark brown slacks and the fawn Stetson of a cop.

He paused at my side and shook hands with Joe.

‘Howdy, Sam,’ Joe said. ‘What’ll it be?’

‘A beer.’

The big man half turned and looked at me. He was around fifty-five with alert grey eyes, a droopy moustache, a jutting chin and a nose that looked as if someone had taken a poke at it at one time. On his shirt was a badge which read: Sheriff Sam McQueen.

‘Meet Mr. Devery, Sam,’ Joe said as he poured the beer. ‘Bert’s new driving instructor.’

‘Howdy.’ McQueen offered his hand.

We shook hands. There was a pause, then McQueen said, ‘I’ve been hearing about you, Mr. Devery. Let’s sit down. I’ve been on my feet all day.’ Carrying his beer, he walked over to a far table.

I hesitated, then looked at Joe.

‘A real nice guy,’ Joe whispered. ‘One of the best.’

I picked up my drink and joined McQueen at the table. He offered me a cigar.

‘Thanks, but I don’t smoke them,’ I said and lit a cigarette.

‘Welcome to Wicksteed.’ He paused to drink half his beer, sighed, slapped his paunch and set down his glass. ‘This is a nice little town.’ He lit his cigar, then went on, ‘I’ll tell you something. Our crime rate is the lowest on the Pacific coast.’

‘That’s something to sing about,’ I said.

‘I guess. Apart from some kids stealing from the store, a few drunks, kids borrowing other people’s cars from time to time is all. No serious crime, Mr. Devery. Makes me a little lazy, but I don’t mind being lazy. At my age, it’s nice not to have to race and chase.’

I nodded.

There was a long pause, then McQueen said quietly, ‘I hear you had a run-in with my young deputy.’

Here it comes, I thought and braced myself. Keeping my expression wooden, I said, ‘He thought I was stealing Mr. Ryder’s car.’

McQueen took another drink.

‘He’s a very ambitious boy. A mite too ambitious. I’m hoping to get him transferred to Frisco where the action is. Without my say-so he checked on you and gave me a report.’

I looked through the open doorway at the home going traffic crawling along in the hot sun. I felt a little chill run through me.

‘Having read the report, Mr. Devery, I thought I’d better check for myself.’ McQueen paused to blow smoke. ‘That’s my job. I talked to Ryder, Pinner and Mason. I also talked to Mrs. Hansen. I told them I wanted to know what they thought of you, you being a stranger here and as they know, strangers are my business. They all gave you a remarkably good report. From what they tell me you could become a useful citizen here. I hear you helped Mason get Marshall home. I hear you handled young Hank Sobers well, and I’ve had trouble with him in the past. I know he needs handling.’

I didn’t say anything. I waited.

He finished his beer.

‘I’ve got to move along. The wife’s got roast chicken for supper and I don’t want to be late. You’re welcome here. Pay no attention to Ross. I’ve told him not to bother you.’ He looked straight at me, his eyes twinkling. ‘The fact is, Mr. Devery, I believe in letting sleeping dogs lie. No one in this town is going to make trouble for you if you don’t make trouble for yourself. Fair enough?’

‘Fair enough, Sheriff,’ I said, my mouth a little dry.

He got to his feet, shook hands, waved to Joe and walked out on to the street.

As Joe had said: a real nice guy: one of the best, but I knew enough about cops to be sure, in spite of the welcome speech, he would keep an eye on me. He would be a fool if he didn’t, and one thing I was sure of: Sheriff McQueen was nobody’s fool.

Joe came over to pick up the empty beer glass.

‘The thing I like about Sam is his friendliness,’ he said as he wiped the table with a swab. ‘He’s been Sheriff here for close on twenty years. He makes a point of knowing everyone and getting on with them. Not like Deputy Ross who is looking for trouble all the time. I hear Ross is going to be transferred when there is a vacancy in Frisco... the sooner the better.’

‘Mr. Marshall not in tonight?’ I asked casually.

‘He doesn’t come here much and then only with Tom because he expects Tom to drive him home. No, Marshall does his drinking at home. He’s no fool. The last thing he wants is to lose his driving licence. He’d really be in a fix without a car, living where he does.’

Here was my chance.

‘Doesn’t his wife drive?’

Joe shrugged.

‘I wouldn’t know, Mr. Devery. I’ve never set eyes on her. She never comes into town.’

‘Is that right? Must be lonely for her out there.’

‘It’s a funny thing but some women like being on their own,’ Joe said. ‘You take my wife. She spends all her time either gardening or staring at the tube. She’s not sociable like me.’

Two men came in and Joe hurried to serve them. I finished my drink, then waving to him, I went out into the hot sun and to my car.

That evening, after dinner, I sat on the veranda and mulled over the information I had gained. It did look as if Marshall was to inherit a million dollars. The fact that his aunt had been left a million by her husband gave substance to both Mason’s and Joe’s gossip. But how was I to be absolutely certain that she was going to leave all this money to Marshall? I would have to get more solid information before I began to think seriously about the operation.

I thought too about the Sheriff. He now knew my record. This, I told myself, after thinking about it, was inevitable. Sooner or later, he would have found out and it seemed to me it was better sooner than later. If Marshall’s money suddenly disappeared and McQueen only then discovered there was an ex-jailbird in this town, his suspicions would naturally centre on me, but knowing my record long before I began my operation, his suspicions might not be so concentrated.

I was interested in the scrap of information Joe had given me about Marshall’s wife. So she was a loner. I would need to know more about her before I could make a plan.

I went to bed that night, satisfied I had begun well. As I settled to sleep, I told myself I had to be patient. A million dollars was worth waiting for.

I learned nothing new about Marshall during the next three days. I avoided asking questions when talking to Bert and Joe, Marshall’s name didn’t come up and although I was tempted, I didn’t bring it up myself.

On the fourth morning, when Mrs. Hansen came up with my breakfast, I got a break, although, at the time I didn’t know it.

‘Could I ask you a favour, Mr. Devery?’ she said as she put down the tray.

‘Why, of course.’

‘My sister with her husband lives on a farm and every so often she sends me farm produce. She is sending me two ducks by rail. I don’t trust the rail people to deliver at once. I wouldn’t want the birds to spoil in this hot weather. They’ll be on the six-twenty from Frisco. Could I ask you to be so kind as to collect them for me?’

‘Why sure. No problem.’

‘Just tell Mr. Haines, the stationmaster, you’re collecting them for me and many thanks, Mr. Devery.’

After the day’s work, I drove to the railroad station. Leaving the car in the parking lot, I walked into the station and found Mr. Haines, a bent, white-haired little man on the platform.

I introduced myself, telling him I was to collect a parcel for Mrs. Hansen. He squinted at me, nodded and shook hands.

‘I’ve heard about you, Mr. Devery. You’re teaching my granddaughter to drive... Emma Haines. How’s she doing?’

I remembered Emma. She was the one with the brace and the giggles.

‘She’s making progress, Mr. Haines, but she’ll need a few more lessons.’

‘That’s all the kids think about these days.’ He shook his head. ‘Rushing around in cars.’ He took out an old-fashioned watch. ‘Due in any moment now, Mr. Devery. I’ll get the package for you.’

He went off down the far end of the platform. As I lit a cigarette, I spotted Deputy Sheriff Ross getting out of a police car. He walked with slow strides to the car park, then propped his lean figure against a car fender.

I turned as I heard the train approaching. It slid slowly to a halt and people began to spill out, all moving fast to the parking lot. Mr. Haines approached, carrying a box.

‘Here you are, Mr. Devery. Just sign here.’ As I was signing I saw Frank Marshall getting off the train. He got off like a man descending a dangerous slope on Mount Everest. I could see he was plastered to the eyeballs. A bottle of Scotch was sagging out of his jacket pocket. His face was a fiery red and sweat made black patches on his pale blue suit. He was the last passenger off the train. He came unsteadily towards me as Mr. Haines went into his office.

Marshall squinted at me as he passed, but he didn’t seem to recognize me. Then I remembered that Deputy Sheriff Ross was outside. I put down the box and caught hold of Marshall’s arm.

‘Mr. Marshall...’

‘Huh?’ He turned and stared blearily at me.

‘We met in Joe’s bar. I’m Devery.’

‘So what?’ He pulled away from me. ‘So what’s so important about that?’

‘I thought you’d better know Deputy Sheriff Ross is outside.’

Marshall frowned. I saw he was trying to concentrate.

‘That sonofabitch... who cares about him?’ he said doubtfully.

‘That’s up to you, Mr. Marshall. I thought you might like to know,’ and turning, I picked up the box.

‘Hey! Wait!’

I paused.

‘What’s he doing out there?’ Marshall asked, peering at me.

‘Waiting for you I imagine.’

He thought about this, swaying drunkenly, then slowly nodded.

‘Yeah... he could at that, the bastard.’ He pushed his hat to the back of his head and blotted his face with his handkerchief. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have had that little drink on the train.’ He nodded. ‘Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have.’

Here was an opportunity I wasn’t going to miss.

‘Suppose I drive you home, Mr. Marshall? I have the time.’

He put his head on one side and stared.

‘That’s pretty white of you, friend. Would you do that?’

‘Sure.’

He screwed up his eyes while he tried to think.

‘How will you get back?’ he finally asked.

I was surprised he even considered that, ‘No problem. I’ll walk.’

Marshall bunched his hand into a fist and tapped me on the chest.

‘That’s real neighbourly. Okay, friend, let’s go. Tell you what... have dinner with us. That’s a quid pro quo. You have dinner with us.’

Carrying the box, I walked with him out of the station and towards the parking lot.

As we reached Marshall’s Plymouth, Deputy Sheriff Ross appeared.

‘You driving, Mr. Marshall?’ he demanded, his narrow eyes flickering from Marshall to me.

‘My friend is driving,’ Marshall said with drunken dignity. ‘Why should you care?’

Ross turned to me.

‘You leaving your car here?’

‘Any law against it, Deputy Sheriff?’ I asked, getting into the Plymouth.

Marshall exploded into a haw-haw-haw, then lurched around the car and slumped into the passenger’s seat. I drove away, leaving Ross staring after us the way a tiger would stare, seeing a fat roebuck speeding to safety.

‘That’s screwed the sonofabitch,’ Marshall said and slapped me on my knee. ‘He’s been laying for me for months, but I’m too smart for him.’

‘All the same, Mr. Marshall you should be more careful.’

‘You think so?’ He peered at me. ‘Yeah, maybe you’re right. Now, I’ll tell you something. Before long, I’m going to own this little town. I’m going to be the big shot here and I’ll see Ross gets kicked the hell off the force.’

‘Is that right, Mr. Marshall?’ I was now driving along Main Street.

‘Cut the mister. I’m Frank to my friends. What’s your first name, friend?’

‘Keith.’

‘That’s some name. Where are you from?’

‘New York.’

I turned left and headed towards Mrs. Hansen’s house.

‘You like New York?’

‘Can’t say as I do.’

‘Nor do I. I don’t like Frisco either, but that’s where I have to earn a living, but not for long. I’m going to have so much money Keith, I’ll be able to buy up this little town.’

I pulled up outside Mrs. Hansen’s house.

‘I live here, Frank. I’ve got to drop off this box. I won’t be a minute.’

As I entered the front hall with the box, Mrs. Hansen met me.

‘Here it is, Mrs. Hansen. I’m sorry... I won’t be in for dinner. I have a problem.’

She looked beyond me through the open front door and saw Marshall sitting in the Plymouth.

‘Oh! Are you taking the poor man home, Mr. Devery?’

‘That’s it. He’s invited me to dinner.’

‘But how will you get back without your car?’

‘I’ll walk.’ I smiled at her. ‘I’m used to walking,’ and leaving her, I returned to the Plymouth.

Marshall had fallen asleep, his bulk wedged against the off-side door, his mouth hanging open. He slept all the way to his house. My memory served me well and I had no trouble finding my way.

I pulled up before the front door, then gently shook Marshall’s arm.

‘We’re home, Frank,’ I said.

He didn’t stir.

I gave him a harder shake, but it was like shaking a corpse. After a third try, I got out of the car and walked up the five broad steps to the front door. I thumbed the bell push and waited.

I was feeling tense. Here was my chance to meet Mrs. Marshall and I badly wanted to meet her. I wanted to judge the kind of woman she was and to judge if she could be a danger if and when I began the operation.

It was hot out there on the top step with the evening sun burning down on me. After a wait, I rang again. No one came to the door. I rang a third time: still no one came.

Exasperated, I stepped back and looked up at the row of windows of the upper storey. One of the curtains moved slightly. So she was there, but she wasn’t going to open up. I returned to the car and shook Marshall again. He slid further down in his seat and began to snore.

So... no Mrs. Marshall and no dinner, but only an eight-mile walk back to Wicksteed.

I wasn’t discouraged. I had made good progress this evening. Marshall was now in debt to me. We were on Christian name terms and he had told me he was going to be rich.

I had yet to meet the elusive Mrs. Marshall, but there was time.

Leaving Marshall snoring in his car, I walked down the drive and down the long dirt road towards Wicksteed.

The next morning was Saturday. Bert had told me Saturday was the busiest day of the week. It was on Saturday pupils were tested to see if they were good enough to take the official test.

I had just finished dressing when Mrs. Hansen brought in the breakfast tray.

‘I hope you weren’t too tired after that long walk, Mr. Devery,’ she said setting down the tray. ‘It must be a good eight miles.’

‘I was lucky. I got a lift,’ I told her and I had. A truck driver had picked me up at the bottom of the dirt road and had taken me back to Wicksteed.

‘Then I hope you had a good dinner.’

‘I missed out on the dinner. Mr. Marshall was asleep and Mrs. Marshall wasn’t at home.’

‘Well, I am surprised. From what I hear, Mrs. Marshall stays home.’ She paused, then went on, ‘Would you care to have Sunday lunch with us, Mr. Devery? Only my brother and myself. Would you like that?’

Surprised, I thanked her and said I would be pleased to join them.

I had had no idea she had a brother, and casually, I mentioned to Bert that I was lunching with her and her brother.

‘That’ll be Yule Olson,’ Bert said. ‘He’s our only solicitor. He handles all the family business in this town. You’ll like him. He’s a nice fella.’

I wondered if Olson handled Marshall’s affairs: better still Marshall’s aunt’s affairs.

The day’s work went reasonably well. I had to advise two of my pupils to have more lessons before attempting the test and Bert had to fail three on the code.

At the end of the day, we had a drink together in his office and he paid me the hundred dollars due to me.

‘We don’t work Mondays, Keith,’ he said. ‘I believe in a five-day week. What are you planning to do?’

I shrugged.

‘I have this Sunday lunch with Mrs. Hansen. I guess after I’ll go on the beach.’

He eyed me thoughtfully.

‘Do you think you’re going to find it lonely here?’

I shook my head.

‘I’m used to being on my own.’ Lowering my voice in case Maisie, in the other room, might hear, I went on, ‘When you have been in jail as long as I have, loneliness doesn’t worry you.’

‘You could think about getting married. There are lots of nice girls around here.’

‘I can’t afford to get married.’

He took off his glasses and began to polish them.

‘Yes... two hundred isn’t much, but if you like the work...’ He paused, then put on his glasses to look directly at me. ‘I’m not getting any younger. I’ve taken a liking to you, Keith. I’ve decided to make the same offer to you as I once made my son.’

I shifted in my chair, wondering what was coming.

‘My son had big ideas,’ Bert went on. ‘He wasn’t interested in my offer. I offered him a fifty-fifty partnership. It was, and still is worth five hundred a week. The idea was for me to retire and he take over. I would dabble a little in the business, but he would have the running of it.’ A long pause, then he went on, ‘I’m offering you the same proposition.’

I stared at him.

‘That’s really good of you, Bert, but you’re far too young to retire.’

He smirked.

‘I’m seventy-two and I want to pull out. I want to spend more time in my garden. I could come in twice a week to take care of the code classes, but you would handle the rest of the business. When Tom Lucas gets out of hospital, he could handle the driving lessons, you the office. You think about it. You could do worse.’

‘Are you serious about this, Bert?’

He nodded.

‘Don’t look so surprised. I reckon I’m a good judge of men. You could make a real go of this. If you want it, you can take over at the end of the year.’

Who would want a small time Driving school, I thought, when there was a million to be grabbed?

‘Appreciate this a lot, Bert,’ I said. ‘If you really mean it, I’ll certainly think about it. There’s no immediate rush, is there?’

I saw a flash of disappointment in his eyes. He probably imagined I would jump at his offer.

‘No, there’s no rush. You think about it. If I could have persuaded my son to come in with me, I had ideas about setting up a U-drive service and even a Travel agency. They all go together. With an energetic fella like you, and me supplying the capital, it could work out good. You think about it.’

‘I certainly will.’ I didn’t want to hurt him, so I added, ‘It’s just that I’m used to big cities. I’m not sure if I could settle in such a small town. That’s my problem. I think I might... I just want to convince myself.’

He looked happier then.

But I didn’t think about it. My sights were set much higher than to spend the rest of my days in a one-horse town like Wicksteed. I wanted to get into the big league where the real money was.

By the time I got back to my room I had even forgotten about Bert’s offer... that was how disinterested I was.

I spent the rest of the evening after dinner watching the fights on the tube. They were pretty bad and I only half concentrated. I was impatient for lunchtime tomorrow when I would meet Yule Olson.

When I entered Mrs. Hansen’s living room, I found Yule Olson already there. He was sitting on the patio, sipping a weak whisky and water and reading the Sunday newspaper.

Mrs. Hansen led me out on to the patio and made the introductions.

Olson was around fifty-five: a tall, thin, balding man with clear blue eyes and a kindly smile. He shook hands and asked if I would like a whisky or there was gin. I elected for a gin and tonic.

‘I’ll leave you together,’ Mrs. Hansen said. ‘Lunch will be ready in twenty minutes.’

I found Olson easy to talk to. We chatted about Wicksteed and politics until Mrs. Hansen called us to the table.

The ducks were good and I complimented Mrs. Hansen on her cooking. It was while the apple pie was being served that Mrs. Hansen gave me the opening I was hoping for.

‘Mr. Devery has been so very kind,’ she said as she passed the bowl of thick cream. ‘Twice he has helped poor Frank to get home, and only last Friday, Mr. Devery actually had to walk half the way back.’

Olson frowned.

‘I haven’t seen Frank in weeks. So he’s still drinking?’ He looked at me. ‘Was he bad?’ guess so. Deputy Sheriff Ross was waiting for him so I thought the best thing was to drive him home.’

‘I hope he thanked you.’

‘He was sleeping when I left him, but on the way up, he did tell me he was going to be so rich he was going to buy up Wicksteed and he would reward me then.’ I laughed, making a joke of it.

‘He is certainly going to be very rich,’ Mrs. Hansen said.

‘Now, Martha...’ Olson broke in.

‘Don’t be silly, Yule. I know he is your client, but it’s no secret he is going to inherit the Fremlin millions. Everyone knows that. He has told them enough times.’

‘A million: not millions,’ Olson said. ‘You shouldn’t exaggerate.’

‘He did say something about that,’ I said casually, ‘but I didn’t believe it. I thought he was rambling.’

‘No. His aunt is leaving him her fortune, but he hasn’t got it yet,’ Olson said.

‘It won’t be long now. I visited dear Helen yesterday. She’s dreadfully weak.’ Mrs. Hansen turned to me. ‘Mrs. Fremlin and I worked together at the hospital when we were girls. She married this steel millionaire and I married the local schoolmaster.’ She sounded a shade wistful.

‘You got the better bargain,’ Olson said. ‘Fremlin was a hard man.’

‘So she is really bad?’ I said to keep the conversation moving.

‘The poor dear is dying... leukemia,’ Mrs. Hansen said, her face distressed. ‘Dr. Chandler told me yesterday it can now only be a matter of weeks.’

‘Really, Martha, you shouldn’t gossip like this,’ Olson said sharply. ‘Dr. Chandler has no business to discuss Helen with you.’

‘Nonsense, Yule! You seem to forget I was once a nurse. Naturally, Dr. Chandler confides in me, knowing I am Helen’s closest friend.’

‘Well, then don’t go talking about what Dr. Chandler tells you. It wouldn’t surprise me if Helen lasts another year.’

‘Three or four weeks,’ Mrs. Hansen said firmly. ‘Not a day more, and let me tell you, Yule, Dr. Chandler knows what he is talking about and you don’t!’

‘I suggest we have coffee on the patio,’ Olson said stiffly, and that ended the argument.

It was while Mrs. Hansen was washing up that Olson said, ‘If you will excuse me saying so, Mr. Devery, I find it a little odd that a young man of your obvious education should be content to waste his time teaching people to drive.’

‘I don’t consider it a waste of time.’ I smiled at him. ‘Someone has to do it... so why not me?’

‘That doesn’t make you very ambitious.’

‘Who said I was?’ I laughed. ‘Even before I was drafted into the Army, I was happy just to get along, and after Vietnam...’

There was a long pause, then he said, ‘There are a number of good openings in this town for an educated man. For instance, I could use an accountant. My man is retiring. Do you know anything about keeping books, Mr. Devery?’

I realized he was trying to be helpful as Bert Ryder had been trying to be helpful, but I wasn’t interested. I was only interested in Marshall’s million.

‘Not a thing,’ I lied. ‘I can scarcely add two and two together. It is kind of you to think of me, Mr. Olson. Frankly, I’m happy as I am.’

He lifted his shoulders in a disappointed shrug.

‘Well, don’t leave it too late. Take the advice of an older man. Remember that wise saying: a rolling stone...’

Mrs. Hansen appeared then, and Olson, looking at his watch, said he had to go to the church. He took the afternoon bible class.

Back in my room, I lay on the bed and considered the information I had acquired. One thing was now certain: Marshall was going to inherit a million dollars, and it also seemed certain that his aunt wasn’t going to last more than a few weeks.

It looked as if I had arrived on the scene at exactly the right time.

I would have liked to know how this million had been invested and what income it yielded. Olson would know, but I couldn’t ask him. Marshall might know, but the chances were he didn’t. Still I might try a gentle probe the next time I met him, but how to meet him unless I met his train? That, I decided, could be dangerously obvious. My mind then switched to Mrs. Marshall.

Before I went to jail, women had shared most of my leisure time. I had been stupid enough to have married a woman eight years older than myself. After a couple of years, I had lost interest in her and had begun to look elsewhere. I discovered lots of willing girls much younger, much more attractive than my wife. After a year of continuous cheating, she finally caught up with me. I couldn’t afford a divorce at that time so, after a lot of talk and eating humble pie, I managed to kid her it would never happen again, made the usual promises and eventually convinced her I was on the level and would remain that way. Then I was drafted to Vietnam. I had a ball out there. The Vietnamese girls were as accommodating as they were gorgeous. Back home again, I found life with my wife deadly dull after the nightlife in Saigon. Once more I began to cheat, then the merger thing blew up and I went to jail. By then, my wife had had enough of me and had found someone else. She got a divorce. At least, I didn’t have to pay alimony.

Apart from a few whores to relieve the pressure, I had kept away from women simply because I couldn’t afford to take them around, feed them, take them to movies before I could get into their beds. Now for the first time I wondered if my sex technique might win me something.

From what I had heard, Mrs. Marshall lived like a hermit. Unless she was a nutter, she surely would welcome male attention. It was just possible, if I handled her right, I could get more information from her than from her husband. The problem, of course, was how to contact her.

I had nothing to do on Monday, the following day. Marshall was certain to be in Frisco. Suppose, I told myself, I drove up to his house to inquire how he was... introducing myself as the good Samaritan who had driven him safely back home from the railroad station? Just a neighbourly call. What was the matter with that for an idea?

I thought about it, then decided again it was too obvious. I had to be patient. There was still plenty of time. Until his aunt died and Marshall got the money, I must wait.

Getting off the bed, I put on swim trunks, collected a towel and went down to the beach.

It seemed everyone in Wicksteed had the same idea. I had to pick my way over bodies to get into the sea. I swam amongst screaming, laughing youngsters, fat middle-aged women, scraggy middle-aged men and a number of real oldies.

This was not my idea of fun.

As I was walking across the sand towards Mrs. Hansen’s house, I heard my name called. Looking around, I saw Joe Pinner seated in a deck chair under the shade of a palm tree. He waved to me.

As I walked up to him, he said, ‘Howdy, friend,’ and pointed to an empty deck chair by his side. ‘Rest your legs if you haven’t anything better to do.’

I sat down beside him.

‘The wife’s just gone home,’ he said as if to explain why he was here on his own. ‘She can’t take too much sun. I hear you got fixed up with Bert. How are you liking it?’

‘I like it fine, and thanks, Mr. Pinner.’

He stroked his Mark Twain moustache, a twinkle in his eyes.

‘I told you... this is a nice little town: the best on the Pacific coast.’ He dug into a plastic bag and produced a cigar.

‘Want one of these?’

‘Thanks, no.’ I had brought along my cigarettes. We lit up and stared at the crowd on the beach.

‘Sam McQueen, our Sheriff, called on me, asking about you,’ Pinner said, easing his bulk in the deck chair. ‘That’s his job. He’s a fine man. I gave you a good reference. I hear he talked to you.’

‘Yes, he seems a nice guy.’

‘You can say that again.’ He blew smoke. ‘Tom Mason tells me you’ve been neighbourly. You helped Frank Marshall out of a fix.’ He eyed me. ‘Frank needs a lot of help right now. His friends are all rallying around.’

I flicked ash off my cigarette.

‘Why is he so special, Mr. Pinner?’

‘Before very long, he is going to be the most important citizen in this town whether he likes it or not.’ Pinner frowned at his cigar. ‘The fact is our Town planning committee — I’m a member — has been hatching an important scheme for some time. Before Mrs. Fremlin got really bad, we put this scheme up to her, but she wasn’t interested. I guess when you are as ill as she is, you don’t get interested in future schemes, but she told us, when she passed on, she was leaving all her money to her nephew, Frank, and it would be up to him to do what he thought best.’

‘May I ask what the scheme is, Mr. Pinner?’ I asked cautiously.

‘Why sure. It’s no secret. The one thing we lack in this town is an amusement park, plus a hotel. We reckon if we could raise a half a million, we could build an amusement park that would attract a whale of a lot of tourists. This town needs tourists. We already have three hotels here, but they aren’t much. We need a hotel that caters for the medium rich. I’ve guaranteed the committee a hundred thousand. Ten more public spirited citizens will put up fifty thousand each. That takes care of the load, but we want Marshall to put up at least three hundred thousand. Once he agrees, we can really put Wicksteed on the tourist map.’

‘Sounds a great idea,’ I said. ‘How does Frank react?’

Pinner pulled at his cigar, frowning.

‘That’s our problem. I don’t have to tell you Frank’s a drunk. He gives damn-all about anything except the bottle, but we are working on him. I think we can talk sense into him, given time, but we have to be careful he doesn’t do anything foolish. He would be the chairman of our committee once we became operative. He would have to be chairman with his big stake, and knowing Frank, he would insist on being chairman. I and the rest of us keep telling him it’s a fine investment, but his argument is he hasn’t got the money yet and he’ll only begin to think about it when he does get it.’

‘In the meantime, you can’t make plans?’

‘That’s it. Not only that, the cost of materials keeps rising. While we wait, our scheme becomes more and more costly. Frank could easily raise a loan right now on his expectations. We could begin our planning without waiting for Mrs. Fremlin to pass on if only he would agree, but he’s being bull headed about it. He knows he couldn’t invest his money better than to sink it in this town, but he’s too goddamn drunk these days to talk business. How he manages to run that estate office of his in Frisco beats me. His secretary must be doing all the work.’

‘Quite a problem,’ I said. ‘Have you talked to his wife? Some women can influence their husbands. Can’t she influence him?’

Pinner snorted.

‘None of us has ever met Mrs. Marshall.’ He tugged at his moustache. ‘She keeps very much to herself. She hasn’t ever come into town. I hear she does the shopping on the phone.’

‘Do you mean no one here has ever seen her?’

‘That’s right. According to Frank, he met her in Frisco, married her and brought her to live in that big, lonely house. I’ve talked to him, telling him it isn’t right for her to live alone the way she does. Between you and me, she is as important to Wicksteed as Frank is. If anything happened to him, she would get his money. It would be a hell of a thing if she collected that million and then walked out on this town. That’s what worries us. That’s why we keep urging the ladies here to try to contact her and that’s why we are also keeping an eye on Frank.’

‘What did he say when you talked to him about his wife?’

‘He just laughed.’ Pinner made a gesture of disgust. ‘He said his wife liked being on her own and for the ladies to mind their own business.’

‘Has he been married long?’

‘Three years... before he started to drink.’

‘I suppose there are no children?’

‘No children and no relations. He’s the last of the Marshalls. He did have a sister, but she died a few years back. No, if anything happened to him, his wife would get the lot.’ He stubbed out his cigar in the sand. ‘Since you saved him from that sonofabitch Ross, we have been talking about what’s best to do. We now have arranged to meet the train every evening to make sure Frank is fit to drive home. We’ve made up a roster. There’s Tom Mason, Harry Jacks, Fred Selby and me. We are going to take it in turns to be at the station. We reckon Frank will appreciate being taken care of and he could reciprocate by listening to reason.’

‘It’ll be a bit rough on whoever it is to have to walk back eight miles,’ I said, ‘but maybe you think it’s all in a good cause.’

‘No one’s walking back,’ Pinner said. ‘We’ve got this organized. Whoever takes him back will telephone and one of us will go out and pick him up.’

‘Is it that important?’ I asked, staring out to sea.

‘Yeah. It wouldn’t help if Olson tries to raise a loan on Frank’s expectations for the bank to find out Frank is a drunk. Apart from that, he might kill himself in his car.’

‘Yes.’ I paused, then went on, ‘I haven’t anything to do in the evenings. Suppose I help out? I could meet him at the station any night that would fit in with your roster.’

He clapped a heavy hand on my knee.

‘That’s what I call real neighbourly. How about Tuesday nights? Tom is doing the Monday stint. If you get stuck out there, you call Tom and he’ll pick you up. If he gets stuck, he’ll call you. How’s about it?’

‘That’s fine with me.’

As I walked back to Mrs. Hansen’s house, I decided Wicksteed’s planning committee was just as anxious to get its greedy hands on Marshall’s money as I was, but I preferred my chances to theirs.