She didn’t answer right away. She took a final drag on her smoke, tapped it out, finished her Rebel Yell, and looked squarely at him.
“I just want to be happy, Archer. And every day I’m alive it seems like it’s getting to be too much to hope for.”
Chapter 37
ARCHER WISHED JACKIE LUCK with her father that night and then headed back to downtown Poca, making a stop at the Checkered Past for dinner, then taking another brief detour before he walked on to the Derby carrying a paper bag in one hand. He had gotten his things from Ernestine’s and, using his newfound wealth, rented back his old room at the hotel. He took the stairs up to 610, cast his hat onto the bed, hung up his other clothes, and lifted the bottle of bourbon from the paper bag, along with a fresh pack of Lucky Strikes. Shaw had taken his drinking glasses, so Archer sat in a chair, put the heels of his new shoes up on the windowsill after opening the window, and drank straight from the bottle.
He lit a cigarette and blew smoke out the open window, tapping his ash onto the sill. He smoked down two cigarettes. Around eight o’clock, when the light was dimming, something happened that Archer had never once seen since he’d been here. An unholy storm came in, the sky turning to a mass of ugly, darkened clouds, and the winds fiercely picked up. A few moments later the heavens opened up and the rain poured down, forcing pedestrians on the street to make a run for it. After that the lightning flashed, and the thunder boomed. And it went on and on as Archer sat there and watched this spectacle of Mother Nature unleashed on Poca and its inhabitants. It was like she’d been saving up all her energy for the longest time to unleash it right this minute.
How much he drank, Archer wasn’t sure. And he wasn’t sure when he fell asleep in the chair. He did remember checking his watch at one point, and seeing it was about nine o’clock. He recalled praying that the meeting between father and daughter would go off without a hitch. He thought about going over there, but if Jackie spotted him it would not be good.
He woke much later due to the pounding on his door, not from the storm still raging unabated outside. His eyes popped open, his feet came down to the floor, and he looked around, momentarily disoriented. It was fully dark outside now, but a hint of light was emerging. He looked at his watch as the pounding on the door continued. It was nearly five in the morning.
“Archer?” the voice called out. “I know you’re in there. Open this damn door or I’m going to break it down.”
It was Irving Shaw.
Archer groaned, rubbed at his head and then his eyes, staggered over to the door, and opened it.
“What can I do you for, Mr. Shaw?” said Archer wearily.
Shaw looked as grim as he’d ever seen the man, and that was saying something.
Archer stiffened to attention when he saw this. “What’s up with you?”
He cast a glance over Archer’s shoulder. “You got anybody in here with you?”
Archer turned and waved his hand around the clearly empty room.
“Do you see anybody? Hey, how’d you even know I was here?”
“Because you were nowhere else. We got a problem. Sit down in that chair.”
Shaw slammed the door shut behind him, pulled Archer over to the chair, and pushed him down on it.
“What the hell is going on?” asked a thoroughly rattled Archer.
Shaw eyed the half-empty bottle. “Are you drunk?”
“I might ’a been. I’m sure as hell not now.”
Shaw went over to the window where the drenched drapes were flapping in the breeze and the floor was wet. He slammed the window shut, put his shoe up on the windowsill, placed his left elbow over his raised knee, turned his head, and cast a keen eye on Archer. “Tell me something, and I want the truth. Did you go out to see Lucas Tuttle yesterday?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Why?”
“To get the debt owed to Hank Pittleman paid.”
“And did you?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
“I gave it to Jackie. Me and her were going over later today to give it to Marjorie.”
“And did you get paid?”
“He put in three hundred for me. More than I asked for, but he said he respected what I had done.”
“Why would he pay off the debt if he didn’t get the note back? I understand it’s the same as cash.”
Despite the alcohol he had drank, Archer gathered his wits and formed his lie. “Pittleman gave me the note, so I could give it to Tuttle when he paid off the debt.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
Shaw’s gaze sharpened. “Funny, you never mentioned that before now. And what did Tuttle do with the note?”
“He burned it with a match and threw it in the fireplace. I saw him do it.”
“Did he now?”
“Yeah, he did.”
“The thing is, Miss Tuttle told me earlier that Pittleman did not give you the note. That he would do so only when he’d gotten paid everything due to him. So, I’ll ask you once more, where did you get the note?”
Archer let out an extended breath. “Okay, I took it from Pittleman when I found his body. But I didn’t touch any of his cash.”
Shaw shook his head the whole time.
“What?” asked Archer.
“I thought you and me had reached an understanding.” He tapped his bad arm, which was still in a sling. “Hell, you saved my life. But now you just admitted to lying to me again, so that don’t set too well.”
“I would have liked to tell you the truth, but things kept getting in the way.”
“I can’t tell you how many men I’ve put in prison have said something similar. So you were going to deliver that cash to Marjorie Pittleman later today?”
“Well, yeah. It’s owed to her.”
“When did you get back from Tuttle’s place?”
“Left there around four and got back to town about five o’clock or so.”
“So you had plenty of time to go to Marjorie Pittleman’s yesterday and give her that money back. Why didn’t you?”
“Jackie wanted to have time to get ready to meet with her father last night. So I went and got some dinner, and then came back here, got my old room. I had something to drink, and I guess I just fell asleep. I just woke up now when you were pounding on my door.”
“You been sleeping this whole time?”
“Off and on, yeah. Why? What the hell are you so riled up about?”
“I’ll tell you, Archer. Mr. Lucas Tuttle was found at his home shot dead.”
Archer leaned so far back in the chair, he nearly toppled off it. “The hell you say. He was alive when I left.”
Shaw let out a long sigh. “Please tell me that somebody can verify that.”
“I talked to a man named Bobby Kent before I left.”
“Was Tuttle with you?”
“No.”
“Anybody else?”
“His secretary, Desiree Lankford, let me in the house yesterday.”
“Did she let you out?”
“No.”
“So you got no alibi?”
“Well, when was the man killed?”
“We don’t know exactly. But he’d been dead a while, I can tell you that. Coroner will be working up a more exact time, but it won’t be to the minute, I can tell you that.”
“Hang on, Lucas Tuttle was supposed to meet Jackie at her house at nine o’clock last night. It was all arranged.”
“I doubt he made that meeting, son.”
“When did you find his body?”
“About two o’clock this morning. I just got back from there and came straightway here.”
“Why’d you go out there that late?”
“That fella you mentioned, Bobby Kent, phoned. He saw the front door of the house open last night. He went inside and found Tuttle dead. He called the police.”
“How’d the man die?”
“He was shot dead with a bu
llet from a revolver. Right through the heart. Died instantly.”
“There were two revolvers lying on the table in the man’s office.”
Shaw nodded. “Thirty-eight-caliber Long Colt and a Smith and Wesson .32 hammerless. But neither one of those was used to shoot the man.” He eyed Archer. “What would a shamus make of that, I wonder?”
Archer thought about it and said, “The killing was planned because the murderer brought their own weapon. If it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, they wouldn’t have brought a gun. They’d have snatched the Colt or the .32 to do the deed.”
“Now you’re thinking like a detective. How’d you get out to Tuttle’s place?”
“Jackie let me use her car,” said Archer. “I left it over at the garage on Fulsome.”
Shaw looked at his watch. “Well, we’ll go over and see Jackie Tuttle in a few hours. If her father was supposed to meet with her last night, then maybe she can explain why he was found dead at his house.”
“You want me to go with you?”
“Hell, yes, Archer. In for a dime, in for a dollar.”
“Hang on. Does Jackie even know her father’s dead?”
“No. I told you I just found out myself and then came back here.”
“You want a drink before you go?”
Shaw glanced thirstily at the bottle of bourbon for a long moment, but then decisively shook his head. “No. I will trouble you for a smoke,” he said, eyeing the pack on the dresser.
Archer passed it over, and Shaw shook one out and lit up. “See you here at nine a.m. sharp.”
After Shaw left the room, Archer stood there feeling like Joe Louis had just clocked him with a crushing left hook.
Chapter 38
YOU NERVOUS, ARCHER, about seeing this gal?” asked Shaw as they trudged along later that morning. The rain had passed, leaving a clear sky and crisp temperatures. They had decided to walk rather than drive.
“Not really. I was nervous when me and my company were surrounded by Germans who outnumbered us five to one at Salerno and we were running out of ammo.”
“What’d you do?”
“Only thing we could think of. We charged their position because it was the last thing they’d expect us to do. Overran their right flank and got back to our lines.”
“Your plan?”
“I admit I was the only one stupid enough to come up with it, but my scouting revealed a weakness on that flank and a sliver of a path we could take to escape. And the captain okayed it.”
“It worked, so how stupid could it be?”
“You’d think.”
“I’m not sure how smart it was letting Jackie Tuttle go back to her house,” said Shaw.
“But Dill’s dead and Draper’s still in the hospital unconscious.”
“Yeah, but you’re presuming that they attacked her on their own. My thinking is somebody paid them to try to kill her. Same as what happened to Sid Duckett.”
“I never thought of that,” conceded Archer.
“You really want to be a shamus, son, those are the very things you need to think about.”
“But Ernestine Crabtree was going to be with Jackie when her father came. And I know she knows her way around a gun.”
Shaw looked at him strangely. “Does she now?”
Archer couldn’t figure out the look on the man’s face, and he was afraid to ask.
The two trudged on.
* * *
“What do you two want at this hour of the morning?” asked Jackie at the front door of her house.
She was dressed in the same thick robe as before, and her hair was matted and her eyes were tired.
“I’m afraid we’ve got some bad news, Miss Tuttle,” said Shaw, his hat in his hands. “Can we come in?”
She glanced quickly at Archer, saw his grim look, and stepped back for them to enter.
They sat in the front room. “What bad news?” Jackie asked anxiously.
“I’m afraid it’s your father.”
“Did something happen to him? Is that why he didn’t show up last night?”
“So there was a meeting planned?” said Shaw, glancing at Archer.
Archer could sense what the man was thinking. He’d just gotten corroboration of what Archer had told him.
“Yes. Nine o’clock at my house. Archer arranged it. But he never came. I finally got mad and went to bed and Ernestine went home. So, is he ill? Is that why he never showed up?”
“No, ma’am.” Shaw cleared his throat. “Fact is, someone shot him and he’s dead as a doornail.”
Jackie rose, wavered, and then looked like she might topple over.
Archer leapt up just in time as the woman went into a dead faint. He caught her, lifted her up, and set her on the couch. “See any brandy or anything around here?” he called out.
Shaw gazed frantically around the room. “No, but let me check the bathroom for some smelling salts.”
“Yeah, and while you’re at it, why don’t you check yourself for another way of telling a daughter her daddy’s dead as a doornail, Mr. Shaw? I mean, for Chrissakes.”
Shaw looked suitably chagrined and rushed off in search of the smelling salts.
Archer sat down next to the unconscious Jackie, checked her fluttery pulse, and patted her hands and cheeks. When Shaw came back with the smelling salts, he applied them under her nose.
With a jerk she sat up and slowly looked around.
“I’m very sorry about that, Miss Tuttle,” said Shaw nervously. “I should have found a more, um, delicate way to tell you.” He shot Archer a quick glance.
“Somebody murdered my father?” she said, her eyes welling with tears.
“I’m afraid that’s right. Did he have any enemies that you know of?”
She sniffled and said, “The only one I could think of is dead, too.”
“You mean Hank Pittleman?”
Jackie nodded and gingerly put her feet on the floor. She leaned back against the sofa cushion, took out a hankie from her robe pocket, and wiped her eyes and then her nose, while Archer placed a protective arm around her shoulders.
“When did this happen?” she asked.
“Sometime late last night. We’re not sure of the exact time of death, but he’d been dead a while when he was found.”
“Who found him?”
“Bobby Kent. He called the police. It was around one a.m.” He glanced at Archer. “Archer was out there to see your father yesterday, too.”
“I knew about that. He borrowed my car to go.”
“He said he was going out to try to resolve the debt held by Pittleman.”
“I knew that too, and he did. Got three hundred for himself. He told me yesterday.”
“He showed you the money?”
“Yes. And he gave it to me, too. We were going to take it to Marjorie’s today.”
Shaw looked at Archer once more.
Archer said, “Sounds like corroboration to me.”
Shaw turned back to Jackie and said, “Well, what you might not know is that Archer here pilfered the promissory note from Pittleman’s body.”
“Well, he’d have to give that to my father, or he wouldn’t have paid the debt,” said Jackie defensively.
“I know that. But I don’t like people lying to me, even if they are innocent.” Shaw said this last part directly to Archer, who looked suitably chagrined.
“I can understand that,” said Jackie.
“When did Ernestine go home?” asked Archer.
“Around eleven last night.”
“And your father never showed up here?”
“No.”
Archer looked at Shaw. “He has Bobby Kent drive him around in that big Caddy. He would know if Tuttle drove anywhere last night.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” said Shaw surprisingly.
“What do you mean?”
“I talked to Kent last night. He was waiting at the house when we got there, of course.”
“You think he had so
mething to do with it?” blurted out Archer.
Jackie said, “Bobby wouldn’t hurt a flea.”
Shaw held up his hand. “No, he couldn’t have killed Tuttle or driven him anywhere last night.”
“Why not?” asked Archer.
“Because he was out of town picking up a load of farm supplies. He had to get them last night or they were going to ship them back. He left around seven last night, picked up the supplies, and got back to the farm around one. He found the body and called us from the house phone a minute later. I’ve checked on his story and confirmed all of it. I got there around two, and your father had for sure been dead more than an hour. Coroner confirmed that. Kent’s not the killer.”
“But with Bobby out of town, my father would have had to drive himself here,” said Jackie.
“That’s right. Now, Miss Tuttle, you sure you don’t know anyone other than Hank Pittleman who was at odds with your father? Anyone having a grudge?”
“I’ve been gone from my father’s house for a year, Mr. Shaw. So I can’t speak to what happened after that. Now, my father could be a hard man. Even his friends would say that. But I can’t think of anyone who would want to kill him.”
“Would anyone profit from his death?”
“I guess I would. I’m his only child. But he only had the farm. And when I left he was having money troubles.”
“Not anymore,” said Archer. “The man had a safe full of cash and gold bars and such.”
“What!” cried out Jackie.
“Come again?” said a stunned Shaw.
Archer explained about the contents of the safe and how the wealth had come via the companies finding oil on Tuttle’s land. “They’d paid him an advance and he was expecting a lot more money from it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that yesterday, Archer?” exclaimed Jackie, looking at him with a confused expression.
“Your father asked me not to.”
“Why?” she snapped.
Archer looked deeply uncomfortable. “He…he didn’t want you coming home just because he was rich.”
When Shaw looked puzzled, Jackie said, “Most people didn’t know this, but about a year ago my father was on the verge of bankruptcy. He kept up a strong front and all and probably robbed Peter to pay Paul to keep up appearances, but financially things were not good.”
One Good Deed Page 27
