One Good Deed

by David Baldacci

  “It’s not the reason I came.”

  “What then?”

  “Your daddy thinks Pittleman has defiled you.”

  This did nothing to quell her anger at him. “He has defiled me. And it felt good. Why don’t you go back there and tell him that, you bastard?”

  Archer, getting worked up himself, shook his head disapprovingly. “Look, what do you have against your father?”

  “What I have or don’t have against him is my business. And only mine.”

  “Do you love Hank Pittleman or what?”

  “Why, do you want to propose?” she snapped.

  When he looked stunned by her response, she suddenly laughed and clutched his arm. “Don’t go running off, Archer, I was just teasing. And I know you didn’t mean to upset me, but sometimes questions like that do.”

  She sat back down and had another sip of coffee while Archer contemplated the mercurial nature of the so-called gentler sex.

  “The fact is, I’m not ready to settle down. And no, I do not love Hank. Chattel does not typically love its patron. We just endure until something better comes along, if it ever does.”

  “Well, that’s something I didn’t know till I met you.”

  “Then I’m good for more than sex in a hotel room.”

  “You left your flask behind.”

  “I thought I might come back and get it some time. You mind that?”

  Before finding a dead man, the answer would have been easy enough for Archer.

  She looked at him peculiarly. “What is up with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

  “Nice house you got here. But the furniture doesn’t seem to fit you.”

  “All this was already here. I just brought my clothes.”

  “You said Pittleman got you this place? So, who does this all belong to? The folks who lived here before?”

  “That’s right, you don’t know. Hank and Marjorie used to live here. Until he built his place outside of town.”

  “You mean his hotel of a house?”

  She was about to reply when a knock came at the front door.

  She got up. “Who the hell could that be at this hour?” She added crossly, “Hope you didn’t bring any friends.”

  “Except for you, I don’t have any.”

  She cinched her robe tight and padded to the front door, while Archer rushed to the window and looked out.

  Chapter 14

  THE PATROL CAR WAS PARKED in the gravel drive of the house. It was a wonder to Archer that they didn’t hear it drive up. It was a four door, big-grilled Hudson Hornet with a chrome engine spoiler, a single red light on top, and a chrome-plated searchlight mounted on the driver’s-side door. It was an intimidating vehicle that was, unfortunately, painted a dull yellow with a brown stripe down the side. It might qualify, Archer thought, for the ugliest damn car in the whole country.

  Archer retook his seat when he heard the squeak of the front door opening, and the mumbling of words exchanged.

  Then he heard Jackie say in a louder voice, “What?”

  Footsteps came down the short hall, and two uniformed men dressed all in brown except for black stripes down the sides of the pant legs appeared behind Jackie. One was short and pudgy and about fifty. His eyes were planted on the woman’s backside, accentuated as it was by the tightness of the robe and revealing that she had not a drop of anything on underneath. The other deputy was Archer’s height and age. Their faces were both weathered and their hair, when they took off their wide-brimmed tan Stetsons, was smooshed flat.

  When they saw Archer, both lawmen’s faces creased to frowns.

  “Who might this be?” the older one asked.

  Archer slowly rose. His manner of dealing with men who wore badges and carried guns was to appear forthright and cooperative, without making sudden moves or giving away anything of importance in the way of information.

  “Name’s Archer. I was just over visiting my friend.”

  “Mighty early for a visit,” said the younger man.

  “I was thinking the same thing, Jeb,” said his partner.

  Archer looked at Jackie. She looked like she might be sick. “What is it?”

  “They just…they just told me that Hank was found dead.”

  “Dead? How? Where?”

  The pudgy deputy said, “So how do you two know each other again?”

  “What the hell does that matter, Bart?” snapped a distraught Jackie.

  “Now, look, Miss Tuttle, we’re just trying to get some information,” he said soothingly, now staring at her chest, where, in her distress, the robe had opened, revealing enough cleavage to apparently captivate the lawman.

  “How about you find out who killed Hank, how about that?” she snapped.

  “Killed?” said Archer. “Somebody killed him?”

  “Hell, yes they did!” proclaimed Jeb excitedly. “Bloody as all get out. Never had one like that in Poca before.”

  “How do you know Hank Pittleman?” Bart wanted to know.

  “He hired me to do a job for him.”

  “What sorta job?” asked Bart.

  Archer hesitated, wondering how best to describe what he was doing for Pittleman without getting himself involved in the man’s murder.

  “Hey, fella,” barked Jeb. “You better give us the straight dope or we’re taking your butt in for some questions. And we don’t ask nice in Poca City.”

  Before Archer could say anything Jackie blurted out, “Oh, hell, Hank just…he just hired him to collect a debt from my daddy.” Jackie now had a good deal more twang to her voice than Archer had previously noted.

  “Collect money from your daddy?” said Bart.

  Through teary eyes, Jackie said, sharply, “Yes, okay? What the hell does that matter? Hank’s dead. You have to find out who did it!” She drilled a finger into Bart’s broad chest.

  “Okay, okay, we will. Now, this debt? Do you know where the paperwork for it is?”

  Archer involuntarily ran his hand along his jacket pocket where these very papers were.

  Jackie stifled her sobs, covered her mouth for a moment looking like she might be sick, and said slowly, “He kept them in his coat pocket. Last time I saw them, they were there.”

  “We didn’t find nothing like that in his pockets.”

  Jackie glared at him. “Then do your job and look somewhere else! How’s that for a plan, Bart!”

  An angry Bart turned his attention to Archer. “Where you from, son?”

  “East of here. Took a bus in.”

  “From where?” the lawman asked again, his features flexing raw and determined.

  No way around it. Archer said, “Tartupa.”

  Bart and Jeb exchanged glances.

  “One thing in Tartupa that I know of,” said Bart. “And the bus does come here, sure enough it does.”

  “What are you going on about?” said Jackie, more tears starting to collect in her eyes.

  “Carderock Prison’s in Tartupa,” volunteered Jeb. “Ex-cons come here for parole.”

  “Archer isn’t an ex-con,” she said, turning to him. “Are you?”

  Now this was a predicament, Archer had to concede. But it wasn’t like he could lie about where he had come from. All they had to do was check his name or go to Ernestine Crabtree and ask her. And you lie to the law, they never seemed to forget. They seemed to take it personally, in fact.

  “I did my time,” said Archer.

  “What?” exclaimed Jackie. “Then you are an ex-con?”

  Bart looked triumphant, even as his partner’s hand stole to the .45 long-barreled pistol riding in his holster. It was a movement not lost on Archer.

  “What did they have you busting rocks for?” Bart asked.

  “Breaking the law.”

  Bart’s triumphant expression vanished and his hand, too, went to his gun, as Jackie, looking confused, took a step back.

  “I’ll ask you one more time and one more time only,” Bart said.


  “The law said I stole something.”

  “What was that?”

  “A car.”

  Bart snapped, “Shit, they don’t send a man to no Carderock Prison for stealing a damn car. You lying to me, boy. I won’t have it.”

  “This was a special car.”

  “What kind of special car?”

  “It was the car belonging to the mayor of the town I was passing through.”

  “Okay, but still.”

  “And his daughter was in the car with me.”

  Jeb guffawed, but Bart didn’t look pleased.

  “You kidnapped the mayor’s daughter?”

  “No, she was there voluntarily.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Well, she had her suitcase with her, with all her worldly possessions in it. Fact was, she didn’t want to spend her life in some Podunk town, and I was her ticket out. But we didn’t have a ride, so we borrowed—”

  “You said you stole it,” interjected Bart.

  “No, I said the law said I stole it. The daughter was the one who took the car. And since it belonged to her father, I don’t see how that could be stealing. We were going to drop it off in the next town over and take the train. Things didn’t work out that way.”

  “What happened then?”

  “They caught up to us before we could get on the train, and the mayor got his daughter to say things about me and what happened that weren’t true. And that got me sent to Carderock for a spell.”

  Bart rubbed his cheek while Archer glanced at Jackie to see her staring at him with hurt eyes.

  Bart said, “Well, that ain’t why we’re here. The fact is, Mr. Hank Pittleman was killed and we’re here to tell Miss Tuttle.”

  “Why her?” asked Archer.

  “Because they were friends.” Something glinted in Bart’s eyes. “Hey now, where you staying?”

  Archer had wondered when the lawman would get around to that.

  Jackie answered for him. “He’s staying at the Derby, same as Hank.”

  Bart wheeled around on Archer. “Oh, you are, are you?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Bart,” said Jackie, who had finally settled down and dried her eyes. “He didn’t kill Hank any more than I did. Hank hired the man. With him gone, so is Archer’s job. How does that make sense?”

  Bart’s gleeful look faded. “Is that a fact?”

  “That’s a fact,” confirmed Archer.

  “Have you told Marjorie yet?” asked Jackie sharply.

  When Archer looked at her, he could tell the woman’s mind was going a hundred miles an hour.

  “We just found the body,” said Bart. “Maid walked in on him and almost lost her damn breakfast in the process. You know it’s a hike out to their place, but we’ll get there. Wanted to come by and tell you since you’re closer.”

  Jackie nodded and managed a brief smile. “Well, I appreciate that, I truly do.”

  Archer was having a hard time following all this but waited until the lawmen, who each gave him a stern, suspicious look, had departed.

  Jackie sat down and looked vacantly across the room, while Archer went to the window to confirm the law was actually leaving him alone. For now.

  He sat down opposite the woman and said, “Can you explain something to me?”

  “What’s that, Archer?” she said wearily.

  “The law knows about you and Pittleman?”

  “Yes. So?”

  “Just strikes me as a little odd. And the fact that they’d come here first and tell you before even letting his widow know.”

  “Well, like Bart said, I’m a lot closer. It’s nearly an hour out to Marjorie’s.”

  “Is this not a God-fearing place?”

  “Come again?”

  “I mean that people just accept the fact that you and Pittleman have this…arrangement and they’re all good with it? Having met his missus, I know that she knows about you, which strikes me as even odder.”

  “Oh, that,” said Jackie. “Well, I saved their marriage, in a way. I guess folks appreciate that. Maybe even Marjorie.”

  Archer could tell by the way that she said this last part, the woman didn’t fully believe it.

  “In what way would that be?” he said, looking at her funny.

  “Hank would have left her for sure if it weren’t for me. Everybody knows that.”

  “I’m not following any of this. So just slow it down and let me have it. Take your time. I want to understand this.”

  “I don’t have time to take my time, Archer,” she said curtly. “But I’ll tell you this. Hank doesn’t—didn’t—love Marjorie anymore and would have thrown her over in a minute. I mean, divorced her and married someone else. And there were several eligible ladies waiting in the wings, I can tell you that. But then I came along, and I fed Hank’s need. Not just in the bedroom—at his age he wasn’t really interested very much—but in having a pretty young thing on his arm to show off to folks in town. You saw that in the bar, certainly?” Archer nodded. “Well, it made him feel, well, more virile. You know that word?”

  “I’ve heard it, yeah.”

  “Hank spends time with me in town and then he goes home to Marjorie for a couple of days and comes back to town on Mondays. Marjorie knew I had no interest in marrying the man.”

  “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 be
low-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.