One Good Deed

Chapter 24

He hurried up to Ernestine’s office after checking the time. She was still there, waiting for him. When he opened the door she rose from her chair.

“You look exhausted,” she said, eyeing his stained clothes and haggard features.

“Yeah, well, it’s pretty hard work.”

“Was it very awful?”

He started to tell her about the fight with Dill, but then decided not to. It would just give the woman something else to worry about. And his well-being really should not be her burden.

“Wasn’t too bad. And I appreciate the job.”

She held out his bag, and his suit clothes and shirt on a hanger. “Here’re your things. I... I took them home at lunchtime and pressed them for you.”

“You didn’t have to do that, Miss Crabtree, but I thank you for that,” he replied, taking the things from her.

“So where will you stay?” she asked.

“That’s a good question. They don’t pay till the end of the week, so...”

They stood there looking awkwardly at each other.

She dipped her head and said, “This is out of the norm, but... but you’re welcome to sleep at my place for a bit. I’ve got a wall bed in the living room.”

“Well, that’s really nice of you. But I couldn’t put you out like that. It wouldn’t be right. And I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“You not only paid for my dinner, but you fixed my bedroom door without charge. This will actually settle that debt and make things right.”

“Are you... are you sure?”

She looked up at him and attempted a smile. “Yes, Mr. Archer, I am.”

“Well, okay.” He tacked on a relieved smile.

“I will ask that you wait until dark to come over. I... I don’t want my neighbors...”

“I can come in through the back door, say around nine?”

“That would be fine. Thank you.”

He left her there and headed down to the street. Once his feet hit the pavement he looked around. His stomach was about as empty as it had ever been. The other fellows at the slaughterhouse had brought their lunches in little tins and were allowed exactly fifteen minutes to eat them. And not a one of them, Dill included, had seen fit to offer any to Archer.

He managed to earn fifty cents by helping an elderly man carry some crates up the stairs of his little shop and then swept the room and caulked a window and cleaned and reinstalled the spark plugs on the straight-6 engine of the man’s Ford delivery truck. This was another Army-inspired skill that had come in handy off the battlefield.

He used the money to buy a hunk of cheese and a couple rolls that barely dented his hunger. He gulped down two large glasses of water to rid him of the foul taste from the slaughterhouse.

He was walking down the street toward a bench he figured he would sit on until the time came for him to head to Ernestine’s. That was when he noticed the four-door, long-hooded burgundy Cadillac rolling slowly by. He had seen the vehicle before, in Tuttle’s barn. The driver was a man in his forties wearing a cap and buttoned black vest and pigskin gloves. In the back seat was Lucas Tuttle.

Tuttle must’ve seen him sitting there because the car came to a stop, the window rolled down, and Tuttle leaned out and waved him over.

Archer left his things on the bench and walked over to the car.

“Mr. Tuttle,” he said, eyeing the driver, who was watching him in the side mirror.

“Climb on in here, Archer, want to talk to you.”

Archer went around to the other side and got in.

“Damn, son, what have you been doing with yourself?” said Tuttle, holding his nose.

“Earning a living, the hard way.”

Tuttle nodded and then sat back against the seat. “Bobby?” he said to the driver. “Go get yourself a Coke. I have business with Archer here.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Tuttle.” The man got out and walked off, revealing black breeches covering his legs with dark gaiters below that. A formal chauffeur’s getup if ever there was one, thought Archer. It was like you saw at the pictures, where everybody was rich except the servants.

Tuttle was dressed in a worsted wool dark brown suit with a red bow tie and a matching pocket square, and polished brown-and-white shoes.

“You look like you’ve been to church, though it’s not the Sabbath,” said Archer.

Tuttle laughed. “Not much of a churchgoer, Archer. Like to rely on myself, not some deity that folks wrote about in a book. I had some business meetings out of town. And business is looking good.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“So, what’s the status of your business? You said you were working on it. Are you going to disappoint me, Archer? I will tell you right now I do not like to be disappointed.”

Archer scanned the Cadillac’s interior looking for the shotgun, but didn’t see it.

“Well, I hope not to disappoint you or me, sir.”

“So, then?”

“With Pittleman dead, it’s gotten a little complicated, so to speak.”

“Or perhaps it’s gotten easier.”

“I don’t know about that. I do know that you torched the Caddy.”

Tuttle didn’t seem fazed by this. “An unfortunate accident. They happen a lot on farms.”

“Is that right?” Archer wanted to ask him about Isabel’s accident, but decided now was not the right time.

“I want my daughter back home.”

“I’m trying, but it might be because her mother died there. She left about the same time. I wonder why.”

Tuttle’s face darkened. “Do you know how my wife died?”

Now that the man had brought up the subject himself, Archer said, “Just that it was an accident, but nobody told me the details.”

Tuttle glanced out the window. “Yes, they say it was an accident.”

“You saying it wasn’t?”

Tuttle stared back at him. “I... I don’t know, Archer. All I want is my daughter home. And if you can persuade her to do that, you will have earned your money.”

“Okay, but Jackie loved her mother and her mother loved her right back.”

“And who told you that?” asked Tuttle sharply.

“Your secretary, that Desiree woman.”

“Ah, yes. Right. I suppose she would see it that way.”

“It’s not true?”

“Mr. Archer, there is no more complex relationship in the world than that of a mother and her daughter.”

“I think you might be right about that. But are you saying they didn’t get along?”

“Jackie is supremely headstrong, smart, opinionated, unlike any other woman I know — other than her mother, that is, for my daughter took after Isabel in a fierce way. And women from South America, Archer, are hot-blooded, full of fire and fight. It was what attracted me to her in the first place. She was the only woman of my acquaintance who could hold her own with me. Actually, more than hold her own.”

“But if she didn’t die in an accident, what happened then?”

Tuttle looked out the window again. “Sometimes it’s better not knowing the truth. Do you believe that, Archer?”

“Well, I think the truth is important. But I guess the truth can hurt too.”

“You’ve laid out the dilemma precisely. The truth not only can hurt, but also can have the capacity to destroy. Do you understand that?”

“What sort of truth are you talking about?”

“My wife was a beautiful creature, Archer. Beautiful beyond comparison. I could hardly believe it when she agreed to become my wife, for I was a young man just making his way. But tropical beauty such as she possessed sometimes affects the mind in ways that can be dangerous.”

“You mean...?” prompted Archer.

“I mean that sometimes I became frightened of my own wife. You see me with my shotgun, and you think I’m a little touched in the head and prone to violence. But with me it’s just bluster, Archer. With Isabel, it was something more.” He paused. “And beauty was not the only thing that Jackie inherited from her mother.”

“Hold on, now, Jackie is a good person.”

“Keep in mind that you’ve known her a short time. I’ve known Jackie her entire life.”

It was not lost on Archer that Jackie had pretty much said the same thing to him, only in the context of Archer’s knowing her father for such a short time. “What exactly are you trying to say, Mr. Tuttle? I’d like the straight dope without all the gobbledygook.”

Tuttle poked him in the chest. “Bring my daughter back to me, Archer. And collect your money, which I’ve just upped to two hundred dollars.”

Archer looked stunned. “Why the increase?”

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

He motioned to the door, and Archer slowly climbed out. The chauffeur, who had gotten his Coke and was sipping it while perched on a fire hydrant, observed this, jumped up, and got back into the car, and the Cadillac drove off.

“Archer?”

Archer turned around to see Jackie Tuttle staring at him from across the way.

Jackie Tuttle wasn’t really looking at Archer, though. He could see that now. She was looking over his shoulder, at the Cadillac rolling down the street.

She pulled her gaze away and walked over to him. Then she took a whiff and drew back, holding a hand to her nose. “You stink, do you know that?”

He looked down at himself. “Well, butchering hogs doesn’t exactly make you smell pretty.”

“Is that what you’re doing now?”

“Got my butt kicked out of the hotel.”

“Where are you staying then?”

“Working on it.”

“Look, you can stay with me, Archer.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?” She smiled. “It would give us certain advantages of privacy.”

“How’d you think that would look, especially to Mr. Shaw with the way things are?”

Her smile faded. “Right, I see your point.” She looked down the street. “Was that my father?”

“I think you know it was.”

“Did you speak with him?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“And he’s increased the offer to two hundred dollars if you come back home.”

“What else did he say?” she blurted out.

He drew a step back. “What? Nothing.”

She lurched forward and grabbed his jacket. “Are you lying to me?”

“No.”

She let go of him and her hostile look faded. “Well, good. How about I feed you then? I can see your belly pushing inward from here.”

However, he was still reacting to her dizzying emotional swing and didn’t answer.

Apparently his unsettled features showed his dilemma, because she smiled disarmingly and said, “My father drives me a little crazy, Archer.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Maybe more than a little.”

“So, let’s go eat.”

“I don’t have the cash, and I’m not letting you buy me a meal again.”

“Then how about I cook for you?”

He looked askance at her.

She said, “You doubt I can?”

“No. I just... Well, what would you be thinking of making?”

“I like my food fried, Archer. So chicken and okra and green tomatoes, for certain. And I have a bottle of wine. You ever have that spirit?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“My mother introduced me to it. Wine from Argentina was her favorite. I don’t have that. But I have a bottle of red wine from France.”

“France! How the hell did you manage that?”

“I didn’t. Hank did. He gave it to me.”

“You okay with us drinking it?”

“We can toast him, if you want. But I mean to drink it sooner rather than later. He said some people wait years, even decades, to uncork a bottle.”

“Never heard of such a thing. Couldn’t be any good after all that time.”

“They say it is, but I’m not that patient. Why don’t you meet me in an hour’s time at my house? Then dinner will be ready.”

He thought of his arrangement with Ernestine and said, “I’ll come up to your back door. And I can’t stay all that long. I have to go to work in the morning.”

“Right. Killing hogs.”

“Well, in my case, just butchering ’em.”

“That’s a hairsplitter if ever I’ve heard one, Archer.”