On the fourth morning, when Mrs. Hansen came up with my breakfast, I got a break, although, at the time I didn’t know it.
‘Could I ask you a favour, Mr. Devery?’ she said as she put down the tray.
‘Why, of course.’
‘My sister with her husband lives on a farm and every so often she sends me farm produce. She is sending me two ducks by rail. I don’t trust the rail people to deliver at once. I wouldn’t want the birds to spoil in this hot weather. They’ll be on the six-twenty from Frisco. Could I ask you to be so kind as to collect them for me?’
‘Why sure. No problem.’
‘Just tell Mr. Haines, the stationmaster, you’re collecting them for me and many thanks, Mr. Devery.’
After the day’s work, I drove to the railroad station. Leaving the car in the parking lot, I walked into the station and found Mr. Haines, a bent, white-haired little man on the platform.
I introduced myself, telling him I was to collect a parcel for Mrs. Hansen. He squinted at me, nodded and shook hands.
‘I’ve heard about you, Mr. Devery. You’re teaching my granddaughter to drive. . . Emma Haines. How’s she doing?’
I remembered Emma. She was the one with the brace and the giggles.
‘She’s making progress, Mr. Haines, but she’ll need a few more lessons.’
‘That’s all the kids think about these days.’ He shook his head. ‘Rushing around in cars.’ He took out an old-fashioned watch. ‘Due in any moment now, Mr. Devery. I’ll get the package for you.’
He went off down the far end of the platform. As I lit a cigarette, I spotted Deputy Sheriff Ross getting out of a police car. He walked with slow strides to the car park, then propped his lean figure against a car fender.
I turned as I heard the train approaching. It slid slowly to a halt and people began to spill out, all moving fast to the parking lot. Mr. Haines approached, carrying a box.
‘Here you are, Mr. Devery. Just sign here.’ As I was signing I saw Frank Marshall getting off the train. He got off like a man descending a dangerous slope on Mount Everest. I could see he was plastered to the eyeballs. A bottle of Scotch was sagging out of his jacket pocket. His face was a fiery red and sweat made black patches on his pale blue suit. He was the last passenger off the train. He came unsteadily towards me as Mr. Haines went into his office.
Marshall squinted at me as he passed, but he didn’t seem to recognize me. Then I remembered that Deputy Sheriff Ross was outside. I put down the box and caught hold of Marshall’s arm.
‘Mr. Marshall. . .’
‘Huh?’ He turned and stared blearily at me.
‘We met in Joe’s bar. I’m Devery.’
‘So what?’ He pulled away from me. ‘So what’s so important about that?’
‘I thought you’d better know Deputy Sheriff Ross is outside.’
Marshall frowned. I saw he was trying to concentrate.
‘That sonofabitch . . . who cares about him?’ he said doubtfully.
‘That’s up to you, Mr. Marshall. I thought you might like to know,’ and turning, I picked up the box.
‘Hey! Wait!’
I paused.
‘What’s he doing out there?’ Marshall asked, peering at me.
‘Waiting for you I imagine.’
He thought about this, swaying drunkenly, then slowly nodded.
‘Yeah . . . he could at that, the bastard.’ He pushed his hat to the back of his head and blotted his face with his handkerchief.
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have had that little drink on the train.’ He nodded. ‘Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have.’
Here was an opportunity I wasn’t going to miss.
‘Suppose I drive you home, Mr. Marshall? I have the time.’
He put his head on one side and stared.
‘That’s pretty white of you, friend. Would you do that?’
‘Sure.’
He screwed up his eyes while he tried to think.
‘How will you get back?’ he finally asked.
I was surprised he even considered that, ‘No problem. I’ll walk.’
Marshall bunched his hand into a fist and tapped me on the chest.
‘That’s real neighbourly. Okay, friend, let’s go. Tell you what . . . have dinner with us. That’s a quid pro quo. You have dinner with us.’
Carrying the box, I walked with him out of the station and towards the parking lot.
As we reached Marshall’s Plymouth, Deputy Sheriff Ross appeared.
‘You driving, Mr. Marshall?’ he demanded, his narrow eyes flickering from Marshall to me.
‘My friend is driving,’ Marshall said with drunken dignity. ‘Why should you care?’
Ross turned to me.
‘You leaving your car here?’
‘Any law against it, Deputy Sheriff?’ I asked, getting into the Plymouth.
Marshall exploded into a haw-haw-haw, then lurched around the car and slumped into the passenger’s seat. I drove away, leaving Ross staring after us the way a tiger would stare, seeing a fat roebuck speeding to safety.
‘That’s screwed the sonofabitch,’ Marshall said and slapped me on my knee. ‘He’s been laying for me for months, but I’m too smart for him.’
‘All the same, Mr. Marshall you should be more careful.’
‘You think so?’ He peered at me. ‘Yeah, maybe you’re right. Now, I’ll tell you something. Before long, I’m going to own this little town. I’m going to be the big shot here and I’ll see Ross gets kicked the hell off the force.’
‘Is that right, Mr. Marshall?’ I was now driving along Main Street.
‘Cut the mister. I’m Frank to my friends. What’s your first name, friend?’
‘Keith.’
‘That’s some name. Where are you from?’
‘New York.’
I turned left and headed towards Mrs. Hansen’s house.
‘You like New York?’
‘Can’t say as I do.’
‘Nor do I. I don’t like Frisco either, but that’s where I have to earn a living, but not for long. I’m going to have so much money Keith, I’ll be able to buy up this little town.’
I pulled up outside Mrs. Hansen’s house.
‘I live here, Frank. I’ve got to drop off this box. I won’t be a minute.’
As I entered the front hall with the box, Mrs. Hansen met me.
‘Here it is, Mrs. Hansen. I’m sorry. . . I won’t be in for dinner. I have a problem.’
She looked beyond me through the open front door and saw Marshall sitting in the Plymouth.
‘Oh! Are you taking the poor man home, Mr. Devery?’
‘That’s it. He’s invited me to dinner.’
‘But how will you get back without your car?’
‘I’ll walk.’ I smiled at her. ‘I’m used to walking,’ and leaving her, I returned to the Plymouth.
Marshall had fallen asleep, his bulk wedged against the off-side door, his mouth hanging open. He slept all the way to his house. My memory served me well and I had no trouble finding my way.
I pulled up before the front door, then gently shook Marshall’s arm.
‘We’re home, Frank,’ I said.
He didn’t stir.
I gave him a harder shake, but it was like shaking a corpse.
After a third try, I got out of the car and walked up the five broad steps to the front door. I thumbed the bell push and waited.
I was feeling tense. Here was my chance to meet Mrs. Marshall and I badly wanted to meet her. I wanted to judge the kind of woman she was and to judge if she could be a danger if and when I began the operation.
It was hot out there on the top step with the evening sun burning down on me. After a wait, I rang again. No one came to the door. I rang a third time: still no one came.
Exasperated, I stepped back and looked up at the row of windows of the upper storey. One of the curtains moved slightly. So she was there, but she wasn’t going to open up. I returned to the car and shook
Marshall again. He slid further down in his seat and began to snore.
So no Mrs. Marshall and no dinner, but only an eight-mile walk back to Wicksteed.
I wasn’t discouraged. I had made good progress this evening.
Marshall was now in debt to me. We were on Christian name terms and he had told me he was going to be rich.
I had yet to meet the elusive Mrs. Marshall, but there was time.
Leaving Marshall snoring in his car, I walked down the drive and down the long dirt road towards Wicksteed.
The next morning was Saturday. Bert had told me Saturday was the busiest day of the week. It was on Saturday pupils were tested to see if they were good enough to take the official test.
I had just finished dressing when Mrs. Hansen brought in the breakfast tray.
‘I hope you weren’t too tired after that long walk, Mr. Devery,’ she said setting down the tray. ‘It must be a good eight miles.’
‘I was lucky. I got a lift,’ I told her and I had. A truck driver had picked me up at the bottom of the dirt road and had taken me back to Wicksteed.
‘Then I hope you had a good dinner.’
‘I missed out on the dinner. Mr. Marshall was asleep and Mrs. Marshall wasn’t at home.’
‘Well, I am surprised. From what I hear, Mrs. Marshall stays home.’ She paused, then went on, ‘Would you care to have Sunday lunch with us, Mr. Devery? Only my brother and myself. Would you like that?’
Surprised, I thanked her and said I would be pleased to join them.
I had had no idea she had a brother, and casually, I mentioned to Bert that I was lunching with her and her brother.
‘That’ll be Yule Olson,’ Bert said. ‘He’s our only solicitor. He handles all the family business in this town. You’ll like him. He’s a nice fella.’
I wondered if Olson handled Marshall’s affairs: better still Marshall’s aunt’s affairs.
The day’s work went reasonably well. I had to advise two of my pupils to have more lessons before attempting the test and Bert had to fail three on the code.
At the end of the day, we had a drink together in his office and he paid me the hundred dollars due to me.
‘We don’t work Mondays, Keith,’ he said. ‘I believe in a five-day week. What are you planning to do?’
I shrugged.
‘I have this Sunday lunch with Mrs. Hansen. I guess after I’ll go on the beach.’
He eyed me thoughtfully.
‘Do you think you’re going to find it lonely here?’
I shook my head.
‘I’m used to being on my own.’ Lowering my voice in case Maisie, in the other room, might hear, I went on, ‘When you have been in jail as long as I have, loneliness doesn’t worry you.’
‘You could think about getting married. There are lots of nice girls around here.’
‘I can’t afford to get married.’
He took off his glasses and began to polish them.
‘Yes. . . two hundred isn’t much, but if you like the work. . .’ He paused, then put on his glasses to look directly at me. ‘I’m not getting any younger. I’ve taken a liking to you, Keith. I’ve decided to make the same offer to you as I once made my son.’
I shifted in my chair, wondering what was coming.
‘My son had big ideas,’ Bert went on. ‘He wasn’t interested in my offer. I offered him a fifty-fifty partnership. It was, and still is worth five hundred a week. The idea was for me to retire and he take over. I would dabble a little in the business, but he would have the running of it.’ A long pause, then he went on, ‘I’m offering you the same proposition.’
I stared at him.
‘That’s really good of you, Bert, but you’re far too young to retire.’
He smirked.
‘I’m seventy-two and I want to pull out. I want to spend more time in my garden. I could come in twice a week to take care of the code classes, but you would handle the rest of the business. When Tom Lucas gets out of hospital, he could handle the driving lessons, you the office. You think about it. You could do worse.’
‘Are you serious about this, Bert?’
He nodded.
‘Don’t look so surprised. I reckon I’m a good judge of men. You could make a real go of this. If you want it, you can take over at the end of the year.’
Who would want a small time Driving school, I thought, when there was a million to be grabbed?
‘Appreciate this a lot, Bert,’ I said. ‘If you really mean it, I’ll certainly think about it. There’s no immediate rush, is there?’
I saw a flash of disappointment in his eyes. He probably imagined I would jump at his offer.
‘No, there’s no rush. You think about it. If I could have persuaded my son to come in with me, I had ideas about setting up a U-drive service and even a Travel agency. They all go together. With an energetic fella like you, and me supplying the capital, it could work out good. You think about it.’
‘I certainly will.’ I didn’t want to hurt him, so I added, ‘It’s just that I’m used to big cities. I’m not sure if I could settle in such a small town. That’s my problem. I think I might. . . I just want to convince myself.’
He looked happier then.
But I didn’t think about it. My sights were set much higher than to spend the rest of my days in a one-horse town like Wicksteed. I wanted to get into the big league where the real money was.
By the time I got back to my room I had even forgotten about Bert’s offer. . . that was how disinterested I was.
I spent the rest of the evening after dinner watching the fights on the tube. They were pretty bad and I only half concentrated. I was impatient for lunchtime tomorrow when I would meet Yule Olson.
When I entered Mrs. Hansen’s living room, I found Yule Olson already there. He was sitting on the patio, sipping a weak whisky and water and reading the Sunday newspaper.
Mrs. Hansen led me out on to the patio and made the introductions.
Olson was around fifty-five: a tall, thin, balding man with clear blue eyes and a kindly smile. He shook hands and asked if I would like a whisky or there was gin. I elected for a gin and tonic.
‘I’ll leave you together,’ Mrs. Hansen said. ‘Lunch will be ready in twenty minutes.’
I found Olson easy to talk to. We chatted about Wicksteed and politics until Mrs. Hansen called us to the table.
The ducks were good and I complimented Mrs. Hansen on her cooking. It was while the apple pie was being served that Mrs. Hansen gave me the opening I was hoping for.
‘Mr. Devery has been so very kind,’ she said as she passed the bowl of thick cream. ‘Twice he has helped poor Frank to get home, and only last Friday, Mr. Devery actually had to walk half the way back.’
Olson frowned.
‘I haven’t seen Frank in weeks. So he’s still drinking?’ He looked at me. ‘Was he bad?’ guess so. Deputy Sheriff Ross was waiting for him so I thought the best thing was to drive him home.’
‘I hope he thanked you.’
‘He was sleeping when I left him, but on the way up, he did tell me he was going to be so rich he was going to buy up Wicksteed and he would reward me then.’ I laughed, making a joke of it.
‘He is certainly going to be very rich,’ Mrs. Hansen said.
‘Now, Martha . . .’ Olson broke in.
‘Don’t be silly, Yule. I know he is your client, but it’s no secret he is going to inherit the Fremlin millions. Everyone knows that. He has told them enough times.’
‘A million: not millions,’ Olson said. ‘You shouldn’t exaggerate.’
‘He did say something about that,’ I said casually, ‘but I didn’t believe it. I thought he was rambling.’
‘No. His aunt is leaving him her fortune, but he hasn’t got it yet,’ Olson said,
‘It won’t be long now. I visited dear Helen yesterday. She’s dreadfully weak.’ Mrs. Hansen turned to me. ‘Mrs. Fremlin and I worked together at the hospital when we were girls. She marri
ed this steel millionaire and I married the local schoolmaster.’ She sounded a shade wistful.
‘You got the better bargain,’ Olson said. ‘Fremlin was a hard man.’
‘So she is really bad?’ I said to keep the conversation moving.
‘The poor dear is dying . . . leukemia,’ Mrs. Hansen said, her face distressed. ‘Dr. Chandler told me yesterday it can now only be a matter of weeks.’
‘Really, Martha, you shouldn’t gossip like this,’ Olson said sharply. ‘Dr. Chandler has no business to discuss Helen with you.’
‘Nonsense, Yule! You seem to forget I was once a nurse. Naturally, Dr. Chandler confides in me, knowing I am Helen’s closest friend.’
‘Well, then don’t go talking about what Dr. Chandler tells you. It wouldn’t surprise me if Helen lasts another year.’
‘Three or four weeks,’ Mrs. Hansen said firmly. ‘Not a day more, and let me tell you, Yule, Dr. Chandler knows what he is talking about and you don’t!’
‘I suggest we have coffee on the patio,’ Olson said stiffly, and that ended the argument.
It was while Mrs. Hansen was washing up that Olson said, ‘If you will excuse me saying so, Mr. Devery, I find it a little odd that a young man of your obvious education should be content to waste his time teaching people to drive.’
‘I don’t consider it a waste of time.’ I smiled at him. ‘Someone has to do it . . . so why not me?’
‘That doesn’t make you very ambitious.’
‘Who said I was?’ I laughed. ‘Even before I was drafted into the Army, I was happy just to get along, and after Vietnam . . .’
There was a long pause, then he said, ‘There are a number of good openings in this town for an educated man. For instance, I could use an accountant. My man is retiring. Do you know anything about keeping books, Mr. Devery?’
I realized he was trying to be helpful as Bert Ryder had been trying to be helpful, but I wasn’t interested. I was only interested in Marshall’s million.
‘Not a thing,’ I lied. ‘I can scarcely add two and two together. It is kind of you to think of me, Mr. Olson. Frankly, I’m happy as I am.’
He lifted his shoulders in a disappointed shrug.
‘Well, don’t leave it too late. Take the advice of an older man. Remember that wise saying: a rolling stone . . .’
Mrs. Hansen appeared then, and Olson, looking at his watch, said he had to go to the church. He took the afternoon bible class.
1976 - Do Me a Favour Drop Dead Page 4
