by Ben Benson
“Okay then.” His drink came and he tasted it, savoring it. “And little Ellen Levesque, the cute kid next door? What happened there? I heard you two broke up.”
“That was my fault, Carl,” I said. “I kept getting transferred. I had no right tying her down, waiting for me.”
“Too bad,” Podre said. “That’s the way the dice roll sometimes.” He looked at me closely, sensing, I suppose, that the subject wasn’t agreeable to me. He said, “How was it in Korea, kid? Paul never wrote much. But maybe he wasn’t to blame. I was on the move a lot then and hard to reach. But I’ll tell you this. I wish it was me who got it instead of him.”
You’re such a glib liar, I thought. In the first place you never worked hard in your life. You were always one of those angle boys. And in the second place, you skipped the draft in World War II by faking a nervous stomach and getting a crooked doctor to give you a false medical history. Two years later that doctor went to prison for illegal abortions. So don’t try to kid me, Carl.
“It’s a damn shame about the Fedder girl,” Podre was saying. “I liked her, Ralphie. One of those real good kids.”
“I didn’t know you knew her.”
“I didn’t, except off hand. Oh, I’d say hello to her if I’d see her in Sam Freeman’s drugstore or in the grocery. The only time I really talked with her was when she came in here a month ago for a church donation. I paid off, Ralphie.”
“Why not? You do business in this town, Carl.”
“Sure, but I don’t get ten bucks a week out of the towns-folks. The hundred I gave the Fedder girl was from the heart, Ralphie.”
“Carl,” I said. “Remember me? I happen to know you from ’way back, from your old poolroom days. So don’t try to con me. These folks might not be your customers but they sure as hell control your licenses and taxes.”
He smiled. “Ralphie, I shouldn’t have tried it on you. But it sounded good, didn’t it?”
“Very touching,” I said. “Did you ever sell phony gold-mining stock? You’d have been good at it.”
“To me, that’s a compliment,” he said. “I was once in on an uranium deal. It didn’t work out.” He took a long draught from his drink. “How do you like Amy?” he asked suddenly.
“Great. I could listen to her forever. You’re lucky to have her here, Carl.”
“Yes, she draws the crowd. Lots of talent in her. She got off to a late start in this business but now she’s going places. I don’t want to hog the credit. But this is straight. She can thank me for it.”
“She gives you the credit, Carl.”
“She does, huh? Well, what do you know? This is a business where people use you and drop you.” He seemed pleased, rolling the now empty glass in his fingers. “So she does give me the credit. Maybe it’s because Amy and I were so friendly when she first came here. Very friendly, if you get what I mean.”
“Oh,” I said. I took out a cigarette and lit it. It didn’t taste very good. “And how is it now?”
“Well, pretty good. Of course, she’s a year older and a lot more sophisticated and I guess her stakes are higher. But things aren’t bad.”
“I wish you luck with her,” I said.
I didn’t fool him one bit because he chuckled and said, “What’s the matter, Ralphie? You think you had the field all to yourself? With a girl like that you’re bound to run into competition.”
“I’m not even in the running,” I said. “I was scratched at the start.”
He waited for a moment before he spoke. “I’m not so sure of that,” he said thoughtfully. Then he flashed me a brief smile, patted my shoulder and went off.
Amy finished at two in the morning. I was waiting for her in the foyer. There were some diners left in the main dining room, and, as she made her way through them, some spoke to her. She inclined her head and smiled graciously each time. At the edge of the foyer, she stopped to chat with Carl Podre. Podre turned, looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. Then Amy came over to me.
“Do you want to take me home?” she asked.
“That’s why I was waiting,” I said.
We went by the taproom where Harry was cleaning up. He said good night and we went outside The Red Wheel into the cool darkness. The big red-neon sign was off.
“I live only two blocks from here,” Amy said, “and I don’t have my car. Since I’m walking, and since we’ve had a murder, I need police protection.”
I grinned. “If that’s all you want, you can borrow my car.”
“No, I want to walk the dark streets with you,” she said. “It’s a gorgeous night.”
We went down the road, under the overhanging elms. There was a fragrant smell of flowers and freshly cut lawns. She began telling me about the place where she was staying. It belonged to a widow named Mrs. Danziger who rented out a few rooms.
“I stayed there last year, too,” she said. “It’s a charming, quaint old colonial. In my room I have an enormous four-poster bed that can sleep four people easily. And the food. Mrs. Danziger is just marvelous in the kitchen. I’m afraid I’ll get fat before I finish my engagement here.”
“When are you finishing?”
“In about ten days. I’m going to Salisbury Beach. Is that your territory, too?”
“Not this time of year. We have a summer substation there.”
“There’s no reason why you can’t come to see me on your time off.”
“Don’t worry. I will.”
Her high heels clicked along the pavement. “What was Carl saying to you tonight?”
“Nothing important.”
“Anything about me?”
I hesitated a moment. “No,” I lied.
We passed the corner of Montague Street. She peered down it but said nothing. Then we came to a large gray colonial house with a white portico. There was a light burning in front. A small, black wrought-iron sign said Danziger. In the driveway along the house I saw Amy’s red convertible.
We turned in through a gate in a high, white slat fence. Up three steps to the portico. She rummaged in her handbag for her key, then said, “Thank you, Ralph, and good night.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. I was facing her. Now my arms went around her, circling her waist, pulling her in. I bent my head, my mouth seeking hers. She averted her face with smooth expertness and laughed.
“You have the impetuousness of youth, dear,” she said. “Don’t hurry things so much.”
“It’s a short life,” I said. “A lot shorter than you think.”
“Poof. For you? At your age? What’s the matter? Your job scare you?”
“No. Not my job.”
“Disillusionment,” she said. “You had a disappointing love affair and now you’re on the rebound. Is that the score?”
“That’s a fast shot in the dark,” I said.
“My womanly intuition. You seem to think you have to make up for lost time. Who was she, dear?”
“The usual girl next door.”
“You were going to be married?”
“We set the date twice. Each time something happened. Now she’s afraid we’re jinxed. She won’t set another date, that’s for sure.”
“You could elope.”
“I asked her. She doesn’t consider it proper. She’s a very proper girl.”
“Good for her,” Amy said. “Marriage is the biggest thing in a girl’s life. All of us want the orange blossoms and the white gown and the church. I wouldn’t settle for less, either.”
“I’m glad you’re the sentimental type,” I said, drawing her in again.
She kept her face averted, but rubbed my cheek with her scented fingers. “Don’t rush it, dear. I like you a lot, I really do. But I have to be led up to it in stages. I don’t like to be pawed on a front porch.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She smiled and pulled my head down. Her soft mouth covered mine, clung a moment, then let go. “There,” she said softly. “That’s just for walking me home.”
“When do I see you again?”
“You tell me, dear.”
“I don’t go back on duty until five in the afternoon. Will you take a ride with me before then?”
“You have yourself a date,” she said. “Phone me here.” Her key went into the lock. “Good night, dear.”
I watched her go inside. The door closed. I stood there feeling a sense of buoyancy in me. Then I floated down the stairs as though I weighed only five pounds. The walk back to my car took only three minutes. I got into the Ford, started it and drove back to Cambridge.
10
I CALLED HER FROM CAMBRIDGE ABOUT ELEVEN IN THE MORNING. Mrs. Danziger told me she was still asleep. I called her again at one and this time I spoke to her. She told me she would be tied up until three. I said I would drop around at that time.
I came back to Dorset, passing The Red Wheel. A shiny beach wagon was parked at the side door with the words THE RED WHEEL inscribed in bright red letters on the door panel. Harry, the bartender, was unloading supplies from the back of it. I tooted my horn and he looked around, smiled broadly and waved at me.
Promptly on the hour of three I was at the Danziger house. It was a warm, gentle day with a slight, cooling sea breeze blowing in from the Atlantic.
When she had spoken to me on the phone, she had seemed very gay and zestful. Now as she came down the stairs her face was solemn and thoughtful. She said quietly, “Let’s use my car, dear. It’s such a beautiful day and we can ride with the top down.”
We went into the driveway and put down the top of her convertible. I drove, heading the car out toward Pond Road.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I know a spot,” I said. “It’s quiet and peaceful and there’s a good view.”
“Do you have an especially well conceived plan of operation today?”
“About what?”
“I’m beginning to question your motives, young man.” She took a cigarette from her bag and used the dash lighter to fire it. “You’re taking me riding. I was thinking why should you? I’m older than you are.”
“What has age got to do with it? I happen to like you, Amy. And why this sudden seriousness?”
“I’ve been giving it a lot of thought,” she said. “I don’t want to get sucked into a whirlpool.” She drew deeply on her cigarette. “Every man has little wheels turning in his mind,” she continued bitterly. “He wants something. And I’m beginning to get an idea what you want, Daddy-o. A quiet spot where we can be away from prying eyes.”
“That’s a rough way of saying it, Amy.”
“Under this smooth pancake make-up I’m a rough girl.”
“I don’t think you are, Amy.”
“Next comes the profound observation that my defense mechanism is working.”
“I had an idea like that, yes.”
“So you’re all set for an afternoon of hot romance. Is that it?”
“Dammit,” I said. “All right. Yes. And if you knew it why did you come along?”
“Because I get a kick out of you,” she said soberly. “You’re an eager kid. And, I think, a good kid. Direct and honest, with no fakery. It’s been a refreshing experience.”
“Sure. I can see you’re all thrilled about it.”
She reached out and patted my hand on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry. I’m not at my best today and I’m taking it out on you. The truth is I’m a very lonely person. I like company, honestly. And I’d rather be with you than with any man I’ve met in my life. The ones I know consist of middle-aged, married wolves, with panting breaths and fumbling hands. They make me feel like a second-rate call girl. I don’t feel that way with you, dear.”
“Thanks,” I said. “It’s a small consolation.”
“You don’t understand,” she said carefully. “I have to watch myself. I can’t afford to go overboard for a young trooper in a crew haircut. I’ve a long rocky road ahead of me and I’m not getting tangled up in any sweet, sticky, gooey love. If you want to have a little company and a few laughs, fine. Otherwise, turn around and we’ll go back.”
I didn’t know what was bothering her, but I didn’t turn around. I kept driving. We passed the Derechy cottage and made the turn along the pond. After we came over the rise in the hill, I slowed the car, swung it around and parked it at the edge of the bluff.
“This is the spot,” I said. “Ever been here?”
“No,” she said. “And, frankly, I don’t see anything special about the view.”
“I didn’t promise any Grand Canyon.”
“How many girls have you had here before?”
“You’re making me sound like a big operator. I’ve had nobody here before. Yesterday was the first time I saw this place. You’re the first, Amy.”
“I’m honored,” she said, her body relaxing in the seat. “What do you feel like doing?”
I grinned. “I’m surprised you’d lead with such a loaded question.”
“Besides that,” she said, two tiny color spots appearing in her cheeks. “What’s the next best thing you’d like to do?”
“I’ve got a crazy idea I’d like to walk down to the pond, take off my shoes and stockings and wade in the water.”
“That’s your youth speaking again. I’ll walk down with you, but I won’t join in the hilarious, mad festivities.”
There was a steep narrow path that led down to the water. I helped Amy out of the car and we followed the path. She looked quickly at the nearest cottage two hundred yards away, half-hidden by the trees. It was the one where the windows were covered by boiler plating.
“Your reputation is safe,” I said, watching her. “All these cottages are shuttered and nobody’s around. Terrific spot, isn’t it?”
“Rave on,” she said. “I’ve been taken in by a sales talk.” She was walking behind me now. I was pushing bushes from her path so the brambles wouldn’t catch on her wind-billowing skirt. Near the shore the dual dirt tracks wound down from the bluff and continued into the woods. At the edge of the tracks I saw a small black object on the ground. I bent down and picked it up. It was a woman’s brooch shaped like a spider web.
“Hey,” I said, turning. “Treasure.”
“It’s mine,” she said instantly. Then her hand came up and covered her mouth.
“Yours?” I asked.
She laughed shortly. “That’s the greed in me. I mean we found it together. You wouldn’t have any use for it.”
“Sure,” I said, holding it out. “Take it.”
She made no move toward it. “I’ve changed my mind. It’s old and dirty and worthless. Why would I want the ugly thing?”
I rubbed it with my fingers. The blacking started to come off. “It’s sterling silver and it’s been laying around for a few months. We have some stuff at the barracks. I bet if I polish it for you—”
“I said I don’t want it,” she said, her breath hissing out between her teeth. “Furthermore, I have a headache. Let’s go back.”
We climbed up the hill to the car. “I want to go home,” she said. “I’ll drive.”
“Suppose you tell me what’s wrong,” I said, opening the car door for her.
“Nothing’s wrong. I have a splitting headache. And sometimes I get very fed up with rustic beauty. This is one of those days I long for the tall, cool spires of skyscrapers.”
I got in beside her. “The headache,” I said, “is the most convenient excuse yet devised by modern woman.”
She didn’t answer. She turned the car around and started it down the hill. I began rubbing the brooch with my handkerchief, at the same time straightening out the bent strands of the cobweb. On the back of the brooch, just below the clasp, I saw the initials A.B.
I turned and stared at her. “So it is really yours.”
“What is?”
“The brooch. It has your initials on the back. A.B.”
“Now isn’t that a coincidence.”
“Is it?”
“Let’s not get silly
about it,” she said. “It’s not mine. I never saw it before in my life. A.B. can be Annette Banks or Amantha Bilgewater or Aggie Blimp or a thousand other names. Don’t belabor the point.”
“I wouldn’t. Only you’re a bit touchy about it.”
“Because I don’t like the way you play detective with me. I never particularly cared for cops anyway.”
“If that’s the case—” I started to say stiffly.
“I know,” she said wearily. “Why did I go out with you. Because you’re not an ordinary cop. And also because I didn’t expect you to play policeman twenty-four hours a day.” Then, impulsively, she reached out and squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I’ve been a little jumpy today and I’m taking it out on you. Forgive me, dear.”
“It’s all right,” I said. “I hope I—”
“Of course. It’s one of my off days. Come see me again on your next free time. I promise I’ll be sweeter.”
She let me off at Mrs. Danziger’s. We made no specific date. She made no effort to kiss me good-bye this time, nor, from her hurried attitude, did I expect it. I said I would phone her, then drove off in my Ford.
She hadn’t deceived me about the silver cobweb pin, though. It was hers. And although it was my first time on the bluff with another person, it wasn’t her first time. Whatever had happened there brought back no pleasurable memories to her. The condition of the brooch could have meant it had lain there since last summer. And last summer was the time Carl Podre had mentioned about being so very friendly with her.
11
I RETURNED TO THE BARRACKS AT FOUR. I PARKED MY CAR IN the rear lot and went up the garage stairs to the guardroom. Trooper Tony Pellegrini was at the desk in the duty office when I checked in there.
Upstairs in my room, Keith Ludwell was in uniform. He sat near the bureau putting a polish on his black leather holster.
“How’s the Fedder case going?” I asked, starting to strip down.
“Not bad,” he said. “There’s a new development. A Boston detective saw Whitey Swenke at a ball game five weeks ago. That was two weeks before the Newburyport bank job. Swenke was with George Hozak.”
