One Good Deed

by David Baldacci

  Archer jogged back over to the garage on Fulsome, beating another furious bout of rain by about a minute, and then drove the car out onto the street. He had two places he could go and chose one by taking a quarter from his pocket and performing a coin flip. He punched the gas and the Nash leapt forward, its windshield wipers busily swishing the rain off the glass.

  He hoped the clarity of his vision would be able to match that of the cleared glass. But right now that seemed like a stretch.

  Chapter 42

  NEARLY AN HOUR LATER, Archer pulled to a stop in front of the gates to Marjorie Pittleman’s home. This time Manuel didn’t come to open the gates, so Archer climbed out and did the honors himself. He pulled the Nash through and stopped in front of the enormous house.

  He made it to the door with three long strides, knocked the rain off his hat, then rapped on the door. He stepped back when he heard footsteps approaching. The door was opened by Agnes, the same elderly woman in a maid’s uniform who had been there before. And her look of disinterest had accompanied the woman yet again.

  “Yes?”

  “You remember me? I was here with Miss Jackie?”

  “Yes,” said Agnes dully.

  “Is Mrs. Pittleman in?”

  “Yes.”

  Well, at least she hadn’t vanished.

  “Could I see her?”

  “I will have to ask, please wait there,” she said stiffly before walking rigidly off.

  Ignoring her instruction, he stepped through and looked around.

  Archer took a long whiff of the air to see if he could detect either Jackie’s or Ernestine’s perfumes. He couldn’t. He paced in the front hall, shooting glances here and there. Through the broad, tall windows facing the rear grounds of the house, he saw a man working under the hood of a pickup.

  He opened a door, stepped out, and hurried over to him. The rain had now weakened to a drizzle.

  “Hey there,” said Archer, walking over to him as the man looked up. “Just here to see Mrs. Pittleman.”

  The man nodded. “Okay.”

  “Bet you’re glad to see this rain. Good for the crops.”

  “We’ll take it when we can get it.”

  “Got a question.”

  The man finished turning a wrench on a bolt, wiped his hands off on a rag, and said, “What’s that?”

  “I was talking to another farmer hereabouts, and he said the last six years of drought just about wiped him out.”

  “It did a lot of folks around here, mister, that’s no lie.”

  Archer eyed the lush fields of crops that stretched as far as the eye could see. “So how did you all buck those odds?”

  “We got a large spring-fed pond on the property. We pipe water in from there. And if that wasn’t enough, Mr. Pittleman had water trucked in for irrigation.”

  “Must have cost a pretty penny.”

  “Wasn’t cheap. But we grew our crops and outlasted a lot of others round here.”

  “Probably didn’t make him all that popular with his fellow farmers.”

  “You want the truth? I doubt the man cared. Just the way he was.”

  “Mister?”

  Archer turned to see Agnes at the door calling out to him.

  “Mrs. Pittleman will see you now.”

  Archer retraced his steps, and the maid led him slowly down the hall to a small sitting room that was cozily furnished and had fine views through a pair of large French doors opening to the rear of the house. Marjorie Pittleman was ensconced like an aged portly queen on a chaise lounge, wrapped in a blanket even though the room was not cool. He wondered if the woman had poor blood or some other such ailment. Or maybe she thought the blanket could keep all her troubles at bay.

  “Mr. Archer?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you for seeing me.”

  “Please sit down. Would you like a drink? Some lemonade or coffee?”

  “Coffee would be fine, thanks.”

  She pressed a little buzzer on the wall behind her.

  Archer thought it must be swell to have only to push a button to get what you wanted.

  A few moments later Amy opened the door. She graced Archer with a coquettish smile before saying, “Yes, Mrs. Pittleman?”

  “A coffee for Mr. Archer.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Right away. Do you take anything with your coffee, Mr. Archer?”

  “Just a cup,” he quipped.

  Amy giggled, caught herself under the stern eye of Marjorie, and quickly retreated.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Archer?” she said impatiently.

  “I was wondering if you’d seen Jackie lately?”

  “Not since she was last here with you I haven’t.”

  So that meant she hadn’t been by to pay the woman the money owed to her.

  “Okay. I suppose you heard about her father?”

  “I did indeed. First Hank and now Lucas Tuttle. I don’t know what Poca City is coming to. It’s like a crime wave one associates with the likes of Al Capone and his ilk.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Do you happen to know a woman by the name of Ernestine Crabtree?”

  Marjorie creased her brow. “Ernestine, what again?”

  “Crabtree.”

  “I knew a Wanda Crabtree ages ago. But that was when I was a little girl, and that was nowhere near here.”

  “By the way, what brought you to Poca City?”

  “Hank did.” She let out a sigh. “I hated it when we first got here. There was nothing to this place. But I have to admit, Hank was right. He kept working at it, and people came. After the war things really picked up. He made a fortune. One that he will no longer enjoy, unfortunately.”

  He decided to throw out a remark and see what her response would be. “Well, even though I know things are complicated between you two, you still have Jackie as a friend.”

  She looked at him in a way that was both appraising and revealing, by degrees. “How well do you know Jackie Tuttle?”

  “Not all that well, actually.”

  The door opened, and Amy brought in Archer’s coffee and set it down on the table next to him.

  “In a cup, just like you asked for, Mr. Archer,” she said with an impish grin.

  “Now all my wishes have come true,” said Archer, grinning back.

  “Thank you, Amy, that will be all,” said Marjorie firmly.

  Amy gave her employer a little curtsy and beat a hasty retreat, shutting the door behind her, but not before giving Archer a flirty look.

  Marjorie said, “Now, back to Jackie. She is very cunning; did you know that?”

  Archer took a sip of his coffee. “I know she’s very smart.”

  “Her mother died in a horrific accident. I knew Isabel fairly well.”

  “What was she like?” Archer asked.

  “She did not like living on a farm, for one. She and Lucas did not have a happy marriage. When Jackie came along, it didn’t help matters. It seemed to actually hurt them.”

  “How so?”

  “Isabel was fiercely protective of her marriage, and it seemed, at least sometimes, that she perceived Jackie as an interloper.”

  “I thought they loved each other,” said Archer.

  “Sometimes love can, well, warp someone.”

  “Warp them how?”

  “Now someone has killed Lucas Tuttle.”

  “Hold on, what are you suggesting?” exclaimed Archer.

  “I am suggesting that you don’t let your head be turned by every pretty face that happens by. Young men like yourself so often do.”

  “Like Jackie’s, you mean?”

  Marjorie said firmly, “Every pretty face. Now, why are you really here?”

  “I can’t seem to find Jackie. And Ernestine Crabtree seems to have left town.”

  “That is curious. Do you think it has anything to do with Lucas’s death?”

  Archer thought for a moment about what Shaw had said when Jackie had viewed her father’s body.

  Not a single tear
shed.

  “Jackie has her father’s property to take care of. I’m assuming she’s his sole heir.”

  Marjorie shrugged. “I have no idea, but possibly. He had no one else.”

  “So, it’s not like she can just up and leave.”

  “She might have just gone for a drive. Perhaps on a visit to another town to clear her mind.”

  “She couldn’t have. I drove Jackie’s Nash over here.”

  This statement seemed to pique Marjorie’s interest. “Did you now? Hank let her ‘borrow’ that car, you know, so I would appreciate if you would leave it here.”

  Archer’s face went slack. “Then how will I get back to town?”

  “I can have someone run you in, Mr. Archer,” she said, smiling triumphantly. “Now finish your coffee. I have matters of importance to attend to.”

  He drank down his coffee and rose. “What are your plans now, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “To make sure I keep my house and my dignity, or what’s left of it.” She paused. “Lucas Tuttle owed my late husband money. Five thousand plus interest. I expect to receive payment from his estate. If and when you see Jackie, you tell her that. I’ll take it to court if I have to.”

  It seemed to Archer that the placid, refined lady was now firmly down in the dirt with the rest of them.

  After Archer took his leave, he ran into Amy in the hall.

  “How was your coffee, Mr. Archer?” she said anxiously.

  “You make a nice cup of joe. You’ll do a husband proud.”

  She smiled. “Is there anything else I can do for you? I’d be happy to.”

  “Well, seeing as how Mrs. Pittleman has sort of confiscated the automobile I drove here in, she said somebody could run me back to town.”

  “Oh, I can ask Manuel to take you in one of the trucks.”

  “That’d be great. Thanks.”

  He gave her a warm smile and she rushed off to accomplish this.

  He once more watched her go and thought to himself, Women are gonna be the death of you, Archer. Fighting a war was a damn sight safer.

  She came back a minute later and told him that Manuel would bring the truck around shortly.

  “Thank you, Amy. Hey, I wonder if you could help me with something else.”

  “I’ll sure try, Mr. Archer.”

  “You know Jackie Tuttle?”

  “Yes sir, I mean, I know who she is.”

  “When was the last time she was here?”

  “I think it was when she came to tell the missus about poor Mr. Pittleman. I think you were with her. I didn’t see you, but I heard about the visit from Agnes.”

  “You sure she wasn’t here more recently than that?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “How about an Ernestine Crabtree? You know her?”

  “No, sir, I don’t know nobody by that name.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  The truck pulled up to the front with Manuel driving. He honked the horn, and Archer went out and climbed into the cab with him. They set off back to town.

  “You worked for the Pittlemans for long?” Archer asked him.

  Manuel nodded and said, “Seven years.”

  “Pretty sad what happened to him.”

  Manuel shrugged. “Mrs. Pittleman will keep things going.”

  “I left the Nash back there. Jackie Tuttle had borrowed it. Now Mrs. Pittleman wanted it back.”

  Manuel smiled at this.

  “Something funny, friend?”

  “Many things have changed since Mr. Pittleman died.”

  “You mean with respect to Jackie and Mrs. Pittleman?”

  “Many things.”

  “You opened the gate for us when we came in the other day.”

  Manuel nodded. “And I opened the gate for her the night before last. It was very late.”

  Archer jerked his head so hard he almost hit it on the side of the truck door.

  “You opened the gate for Jackie? Two nights ago? You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was she here to see Mrs. Pittleman?”

  “No. They could not see her that night.”

  “Wait a minute. They?”

  “Miss Tuttle and the other woman.”

  “Describe her.”

  Manuel did so, outlining, unmistakably, Ernestine Crabtree.

  “But if they didn’t come to see Mrs. Pittleman, what then?”

  Manuel shrugged. “It was not my place to ask.”

  “So they went into the house, then?”

  “I don’t know. I opened the gate, and then I went back to my little house. They must have opened the gate themselves when they left.”

  “You said it was late. When exactly did they get here?”

  “It was nearly eleven.”

  “Did they say anything to you?”

  “Miss Tuttle thanked me for opening the gate, as she always does.”

  Archer sat back. “Were they carrying anything with them? Did they take anything from the car?”

  “Not that I saw. But, again, I did not stay out there. It was raining very hard. A very bad storm. I went back to my bed and fell asleep.”

  “I guess it must’ve been something important to bring them out in weather like that.”

  Manuel shrugged.

  When Archer got back to Poca City, he went straight to the police station to see Shaw.

  Chapter 43

  ONLY SHAW WASN’T THERE and apparently no one had seen the man at all that day.

  Archer ran into Deputy Bart Coleman in the hallway of the station and asked him about the detective.

  Bart said, “Last I saw of him was yesterday.” He suddenly put his hand on the butt of his revolver. “Hey, Archer, didn’t you get arrested and charged with murdering Mr. Tuttle?”

  “I did.”

  “What are you doing out then?”

  “Made bail. You can check. Not like I escaped, right? And if I had, I sure as hell wouldn’t have come back to the police station.”

  Bart reluctantly removed his hand from his gun. “No, I guess not.”

  “Look, if you see Shaw, can you tell him to come see me over at the Derby? It’s important.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  * * *

  Archer sat down on the bed in his hotel room and contemplated things. He’d been rushing around so much, he hadn’t had time to put together all that he had recently learned. He had wanted to tell Shaw and see the man write it all down in his notebook and maybe help him make sense of it. But that was not to be right now, apparently, so Archer instead went over it in his head.

  It seemed likely that Jackie and Ernestine had some sort of understanding, and a plan. They had visited Marjorie Pittleman’s home during the storm. That would account for the mud on the car and its tires. He didn’t know if they had gone into the house or not, but Marjorie had said she hadn’t seen Jackie since the time he had been there with her. And from what Marjorie had told him, it was clear that Jackie had not given her the money to repay her father’s debt.

  One thing Archer had concluded was that Jackie had cleared out her father’s safe and loaded it into the large trunk of the Nash. And she had done so in the time between Archer’s seeing all the wealth in there, and Jackie and Shaw going out to Tuttle’s home. But now with Manuel telling him what he had, Archer could narrow that time frame down some.

  She had arranged to meet her father at her house, probably using that ruse to make sure he wouldn’t be home to stop her and Ernestine from ransacking the man’s safe. But something had gone terribly wrong on that score because Tuttle had not been at Jackie’s; he’d been at his house. But for the life of him, Archer couldn’t fathom why the man hadn’t kept the meeting with his daughter.

  Jackie’s emptying the safe and piling it into the Nash’s trunk, at some point, was the only way the imprint of the gold bars and the transfer of the gold dust could have occurred. Then, Jackie and Ernestine had driven over to Marjorie’s that same night
. Why had they done that? To hide the loot? But why there? And what was even more confusing, why bother taking the things from the safe in the first place? As her father’s only heir, they would have come to Jackie anyway after his death. And all that oil money on top of it. It just didn’t make any sense.

  And in addition to the emptied safe, someone had taken Lucas Tuttle’s life. If Jackie had been the one to steal the items from the safe, she had to have been there that night. So had Jackie killed her father? If so, why?

  His thoughts next turned to that last night with Jackie at Ernestine’s house. She had been the one to bring the conversation around to the repayment of the debt, something Archer had admitted to her that he had forgotten about. And she had been the one to suggest the meeting with her father.

  She used me. Set me up like the sucker I am.

  He rose and was looking out the window when an idea occurred to him. At the same moment, he saw the dull, mustard-colored Hudson Hornet with the brown stripe and chrome side light parked at the curb. He put on his hat, pocketed his knife and flashlight, and rushed out.

  He reached the street and ran over to the car, peering in the open window.

  Bart Coleman, doughnut in hand, looked back at him, while Deputy Jeb was drinking his coffee and devouring a large, messy pastry.

  “What do you want, Archer?” said Bart sharply. “I ain’t seen Shaw to tell him you want to talk to him.”

  “That’s why I’m here. He left me a note at the hotel and said to meet him out at Tuttle’s place. Can you give me a ride?”

  “We’re working here, Archer,” said an irritated Bart as he wiped a bit of doughnut powder off his mouth. “Hell, can’t you see that?”

  “Yeah, I can. Look, um.” He pulled out a five-dollar bill. “How about this for gas? And maybe some more pastries?” he tacked on, eyeing Jeb eating away.

  Bart looked at the fiver for a moment before snatching it. “All right, get in.”

  Archer climbed into the back seat and Bart pulled away from the curb. He drove fast, and in just under an hour they were at Tuttle’s.

  “Don’t see Shaw’s car here,” noted Bart. “He drives a big Buick. Can’t miss it.”

  “Yeah, I know. He might not have got here yet. He was coming from somewhere else, he said in the note. I’ll ride back into town with him.”