One Good Deed

Chapter 28

“No business papers around here that I know of,” said Sid Duckett.

They’d found him sitting on the front stoop of his small cottage smoking a fat cigar.

“So Mr. Pittleman never gave you anything like that? To hold for him or whatnot?”

“Naw. If something needed doing, he just told me, and it got done. For papers and such, you’d have to ask Mr. Draper that.”

“And where is Mr. Draper now? At the Derby?” Shaw wanted to know.

“Don’t know. Not the man’s keeper.”

“If you see him, will you let him know I want to talk to him?”

“Sure thing, Detective.”

Archer said, “Draper carries a gun. He said it was because of the warehouse.”

“That’s right.”

“But the other guys at the warehouse weren’t carrying guns,” noted Archer as Shaw looked on.

“Don’t know what to tell you about that. Man wants to carry a gun, he can carry a gun.”

“You don’t,” said Archer.

“Never saw a need to.”

“Mr. Pittleman ever mention any money troubles to you?” asked Archer.

Duckett laughed. “Money troubles? Hell, he’s the richest man around here. Maybe the whole state far as I know. I mean, just eyeball that house ’a his. Look to you like the house of a man with money troubles?”

“Well, looks can be deceiving. Your wages ever been late in coming or not come in full?”

“Not one time.”

“Well, rumor has it they might not make full payroll this week at the slaughterhouse,” retorted Archer.

Duckett now showed more animation than he ever had before. “The hell you say. What else do you know about that?”

Archer was about to say something when Shaw interrupted. “You tell Draper if you see him, I want to talk to him, you hear?”

“Yes sir.”

They drove back to Poca City. Along the way Archer said, “The man was spooked about Pittleman maybe not being rich and the wages not being paid.”

“Yeah, he was. But listen, Archer, you can’t go around telling folks stuff they don’t know unless you got a damn good reason to do so.”

Archer shot him a glance. “You think I messed up back there by mentioning the money problems?”

“I don’t know, son, maybe so.”

Archer looked chagrined and said nothing more on the trip back.

Shaw dropped him off near where he had met him.

“What about Draper?” asked Archer.

“I’ll check to see what room he’s in. If he’s there, I’ll talk to him. You go get some rest.”

“You mean that, or you just don’t want me messing things up any more?”

“Maybe a little of both. You sure you got a place to stay the night?”

“I’m good.”

“You gonna go back to butcher hogs tomorrow?”

“Not sure. I don’t like working for free.”

Shaw rolled an unlit stogie around in his mouth before sticking it under his hatband. “How about I pay you the same rate as they do, if you go back there?”

“What, why?”

“I checked on your Army record. You were a brave man, Archer. Lots of medals and all. And you were a scout.”

“So what?”

“So maybe you can be a scout again. My scout. Go back to work at the slaughterhouse tomorrow, and keep your eyes and ears open.”

“Well, okay.”

“But don’t talk unnecessarily,” the lawman admonished. “You never know what people are gonna do with what you tell ’em.” Shaw opened his wallet and held out five dollars. “Here’s an advance. I hear tell you like advances.” He cracked a grin.

Archer took the money. “You sure this is kosher, Detective?”

“My job is to catch a killer, Archer. And I’ll do it any way I see fit.”

Shaw drove off and Archer hoofed it to Ernestine’s. However, she didn’t answer the door. He looked at his watch. She might be out. Maybe over at the Cat’s Meow. Or having a late dinner at the Checkered Past.

He tried the back door, but it was locked. He took the clasp knife from his pocket and worked the bolt back enough to free it from the doorjamb. He walked into the kitchen and saw pots and pans in the sink. He looked in the fridge and saw a plate wrapped over. The truth occurred to him.

She made me dinner and I never showed up.

Archer felt badly about that but couldn’t do anything about it right now.

Despite washing up in the Derby’s hall bath earlier, he still stank.

He decided another bath would not be a bad thing.

He went in search of the bathrobe that Ernestine had provided before and found it in her bedroom closet. As he was about to shut the door, he saw it: The scrapbook that had been under the pillow was now on the shelf in the closet.

He hauled it down and sat on the floor and turned the pages slowly past what he’d already seen, until he came to something interesting.

It was a news story about Jewell Crabtree, the widow of Carson and mother of Ernestine. She had climbed into her Chrysler one night, while it was in the garage, and after stuffing a sheet in the tailpipe, started it up and expired on the front seat, leaving behind a note that was addressed to her daughter. There was another picture of Ernestine along with this story, and she was no longer drab or dour. Several years had passed since her father’s execution, and her height and beauty had been realized, but her features were stoic — perhaps too stoic, thought Archer. This version of the woman he could reconcile with the parole officer as he had first met her.

The last thing in the scrapbook of interest was a letter. Perhaps it was the one mentioned in the news article. It was in a pink envelope with the name Ernestine scrawled in pen on the outside. Archer slipped out the note inside and unfolded it.

He sat back against the bed and contemplated all that he had just read. He had to confess that he couldn’t really make heads or tails of it, but his heart was mightily saddened by the abundance of tragedies in Ernestine Crabtree’s past.

He put the scrapbook back exactly where he had found it.

He went into the kitchen, all thoughts of a bath gone. He washed up the pots and pans and utensils in the sink and put them away. He sat down at the table and thought about last night here. He and Ernestine had been alone in the house. A bottle of bourbon had been at hand. He’d been cleaned up and all, smelling about as good as he was ever likely to. He had done his best to impress upon the woman that he was attracted to her. And she had chosen a book in her bed over him in her bed.

While thinking this, he went to the shelf and found an Agatha Christie novel. He walked back into the kitchen and stood at the sink looking out the little window into the darkness, the book still held unopened in his hand.

“How did you get in here?”

Archer spun around to see Ernestine standing there.

“Back door. It was unlocked.”

“No, I remember locking it.”

“Well, it must be broken, opened easy enough.”

She came forward and glanced at the empty sink. “You... you did the dishes?”

“It was the least I could do, considering that you made me a dinner I wasn’t here to eat. I’m sorry about that. But I did have the morning coffee and the lunch, and it was much appreciated, Ernestine.”

She set her purse down on the table and slipped off her dark blue pillbox hat and took off her black wrist-length gloves.

“Nothing special about feeding a hungry man. As for dinner, I’m sure you had other pressing matters.”

“Mr. Shaw met me at the truck, and we went out to the Pittlemans’ to talk with his widow.”

“Then you haven’t eaten dinner?”

“No, Mr. Shaw was good enough to buy me some before we headed out.”

She sat down at the table. He did likewise, putting the book in front of him.

“Did you find out anything important?” she asked.

“Just that Pittleman was up to his ears in debt. Guess he had a gambling problem, too. Lost more money than I can count over in that Las Vegas place. They got gambling houses there. And brothels! I mean, I just don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“How women can do that.”

“They might not have any choice in the matter.”

“I would expect they had a choice and they just made the wrong one. Look at Jackie Tuttle. She told me she chose to be Pittleman’s chattel, like it was her job or something. I still can’t figure that out.”

“So you believe she made the wrong choice then?”

“Well, don’t you?”

“I have no right to judge her, as I haven’t walked in her shoes.”

Archer thought about this for a bit and once more came away with the depth of the woman’s wisdom. He nodded. “I guess you’re right about that.”

Crabtree said, “And now? With Pittleman gone?”

“That ride might have run out for Jackie. And who knows if Pittleman left his wife a dime when all is said and done.”

“It sounds like a dilemma all right.’”

“But Jackie is one smart gal. If anyone can survive this, she can.”

“You care for her, don’t you?”

Archer was startled by this question. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to her. I think...”

“You think what?”

“I think she got a raw deal in life and deserves to be happy in spite of that.”

Crabtree looked at him with those mile-deep eyes, and for a moment Archer could see himself plunging through their depths to who knew where.

“That speaks well of you, Archer.”

He took out his Lucky Strikes and offered her one, but she declined. He lit up and said, “You got a man in your life, Ernestine?” Before she could say anything, he put up a hand. “I know that’s a personal question, and you can just tell me to shove off. But I was just wondering. I never had a steady gal. I left home, roamed a bit, then went to college. Then I volunteered and spent years of my life fighting a war across the ocean. Then I got into trouble and there went more years of my life. Now?” He picked up the book. “Maybe these will be my friends. Keep me company at night.”

“Books are wonderful, Archer, but they can’t be the only things in your life. Humans are built for companionship, at least they should be.”

“So, you got somebody?”

“I have someone I care for, yes.”

“Does he live in Poca City?”

“Yes.”

“He’s a lucky man, then.” He rose and took the book. “I’m gonna read a bit and then get to bed. Butchering hogs takes it outta you.”

“Yes, of course. I’m sure it does.”

Ernestine rose and disappeared into her bedroom, while Archer put his smoke out in the sink, stripped down to his skivvies, and lay on the pulled-out wall bed. He put the book on his chest but didn’t open it. He just lay there wondering when anything in the world would begin to make sense to him.