Women Crime Writers

by Sarah Weinman

  “He heard everything Karen had to say?”

  “Yeah, I couldn’t get rid of him.” Skip was feeling his way cautiously, wary for any sign of violence from Big Tom, any indication Big Tom needed to prove who was boss again. “He’s just a sap, he doesn’t know what it’s all about. He’s busy thinking all the time about his mother being sick and his old man steamed up on vino.”

  Big Tom seemed to believe Skip. He walked over and sat down on one of the battered straight chairs, a discard from Mr. Chilworth’s place up front, reversing the chair and folding his big arms across the back. “I want to know about the place. The house, inside. The money. Where it is and how much.”

  “Well . . . as for the house . . .” Skip sat down on his bed. “The way Karen describes it, there’s a hall from the kitchen. Several doors in it. Stolz’s room is to the right. He keeps the money in a wardrobe, a kind of thing Karen says is half drawers and half a kind of cupboard for clothes.”

  “I know about wardrobes.”

  “Well, the money is in the big half under a coat, just piled there. She hasn’t counted it. Looks like a lot.”

  “The room’s never locked?”

  “Nah, it’s never locked.” Skip forced himself to meet Big Tom’s gaze with an air of frankness. It’ll be locked when you get there, you bastard. There won’t be anything inside, though.

  “That’s what I don’t like. The carelessness.” Big Tom was frowning. Uncle Willy picked up a flower-seed catalogue off the cot and riffled its pages nervously. “If it was anyone but Stolz . . . If it was the old woman, for instance. I could believe she’d stuff the money in there and be stupid enough to think no one would find it. Hell, they do it all the time, little old ladies keeping a wad in a teapot or a tomato can.”

  Skip shook his head. “The money belongs to Stolz. Karen’s sure of it.”

  He had a flash of hope that Big Tom would worry himself right out of the job, but the hope faded. Big Tom got up and picked up his coat, shrugged into it. “Well, there’s a reason, God knows what. I don’t expect to move, though, until I hear from Benny in Las Vegas. That should be tomorrow. I’ll get in touch with you, Willy. You and Skip can be figuring out where you’ll be. I happened to think—— Skip being in class, that would be good enough. You need to be where people will see you, Willy; I don’t believe I’d do the jail routine.”

  “You can’t argue with a jail record,” Uncle Willy repeated.

  “It makes you look bad,” Big Tom said firmly. “Do something else.”

  “All right.”

  “I’ll see that Snope is notified; he’ll be standing by in case we need him.” Big Tom went to the door, paused there to give Skip a studying glance. “I don’t think we’ll have any trouble. Getting it shouldn’t amount to much. Keeping out of Stolz’s way afterwards might take a little work. Or it could be he can’t afford a squawk and there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  And I handed it over to you by blabbing to Uncle Willy, Skip thought, his expressionless eyes on Big Tom’s face.

  Big Tom went out quietly, closing the door. His steps went down softly on the stairs to the yard. A minute later they heard his Ford start up in the alley. Uncle Willy said, “It’s going to work out fine, Skip. You’ll see, we’ll have a fat cut, no work or effort, nothing pinned on us by the bulls.”

  “Just as you say.” Skip stood up and began to undress. In his shorts he went into the bathroom, washed his teeth, scrubbed his face and hands and arms with soap. He looked at his face in the mirror above the basin. There was no doubt but that he and Uncle Willy bore a strong resemblance to each other. To Skip, however, Willy was hideous with the wasting of time, of frustration, poverty, and denial. It was the way Skip would look after years of small jobs and petty thefts and jail. Damned if I will, Skip told himself. There’s this one big chance and it’s got to be for me.

  Tomorrow night Big Tom and his friends would move in on old lady Havermann. He and Eddie had to be there first. There was this one break; he didn’t have to account for himself to Tom; he was supposed to be in class. Tom had been a sap to trust him, but everybody makes mistakes. Tom must have made plenty or he wouldn’t have that old burned-out look of a con.

  He went back into the other room. Uncle Willy was in bed, the covers pulled up around his skinny shoulders, facing the wall.

  “Turn out the light. Good night, Skip.”

  “Night.”

  Skip clipped off the light and lay down. Just before dropping off to sleep he thought briefly of Karen as he had seen her last, standing in the faint glow from the little window high in the old woman’s house. She’d looked scared to death. Eager, too, eager to be sure that Skip wasn’t really mad at her, that lashing out at her had been the impulse of a moment. Skip thought drowsily, I can do anything I want to with her. I can beat her half to death and she’ll come crawling back, wearing that same sappy look, wanting to be sure I’m not really mad at her. Why are dames like that? Why don’t they, for Chrissakes, have any guts?

  Skip smiled to himself in superior humor and then drifted off to sleep.

  Big Tom was awakened by the clamor of the phone in the other room. It was still dark. The dry canyon wind blew in at the open window. A couple of cats on the bed near his feet lifted their heads as he stirred and reached for the rubber sandals.

  He snapped on the little lamp and looked at the clock. A quarter of four. “What the hell . . .” The phone was ringing like a fire alarm in the quiet of the lonely house. Big Tom padded into the front room and lifted the receiver. “Yeah?”

  “Benny Busick here.”

  “Huh. You calling from Vegas?”

  “That’s right. Look . . . uh, this transaction we were discussing. There’s something here I can’t put my finger on. Working at it. You didn’t need that information for a day or so, now, did you?”

  “Today, you crumb. I need it right now. What in hell are you doing over there?”

  “Don’t blow your goddamned stack at me. I’m just telling you. It’s an angle. I’m working on it and I need time.”

  “By noon today or don’t bother.”

  “Okay, I’m still trying. Take my advice. Lay off until you hear from me.” Benny’s gravelly voice was wheedling.

  “It’s noon or nothing.” Big Tom put the telephone back in its cradle and sat there yawning and rubbing the mane of gray hair off his forehead. Three of the cats who had been sleeping on chairs awoke and looked around as if it might be time for breakfast.

  Big Tom scratched and yawned himself fully awake and then took stock of the conversation just concluded. Hell, there had been no reason for him to snap Benny off like that. Just because he’d been irritable from interrupted sleep and Benny hadn’t seemed to have anything definite except a request that Big Tom wait.

  That was it, he decided. Benny’s desire for a delay, a need for time to search and listen—that had roused the sudden anger.

  For a moment Big Tom felt a sense of shock, and then he wanted to laugh at himself. Here he’d been so convinced that there’d never be another job in his life, just this little dump of a house and the plants and the cats—and all the time the hungry impatience had been building in him, the determination to have one more big one.

  He was shaking his head over it as he went back to bed, snapped off the light and lay down. The moment of insight passed quickly from his mind, leaving only the crystallized decision to have Stolz’s money at the first opportunity.

  Chapter Nine

  MRS. HAVERMANN never got out of bed much before nine. She usually came downstairs around nine-thirty, always completely dressed and with her hair combed and pinned high and with a touch of powder on her cheeks. She always paused in the lower hall to look over yesterday’s bouquet on the table there and to make up her mind what she wanted in the vase today. Then, if the mail had come, she inspected that. There was ordinarily very little—ads addressed to Householder, or perhaps a few bills.

  After her husband had died Mrs. Havermann
had dropped almost all of her social contacts and had gradually taken on the habits of a recluse. This came about from choice, though not consciously so. It was a matter of a weathered ship finding haven in a peaceful pond. She had been married for many years to a demanding and autocratic man. He had loved social functions and had had many friends. When he wasn’t hard at work in his contracting business he played with equal gusto at being a host, gourmet, horse bettor, traveler, or yachtsman. The pace had been stormy.

  Though she had never admitted it to herself, her sensations on hearing of her husband’s death in a plane accident had been mostly of relief.

  The withdrawal from social participation had been accompanied by an emotional withering. She no longer wanted to be involved with other people; she wanted peace. She protected herself, unconsciously, by the pleasant air of vagueness, by concentration upon household trivia, and by a mild daydreaming about Stolz. The fact that he was much too young and too sophisticated to return that interest was also, indirectly, another part of her defense. There was no real danger that the daydreams might become reality and burst the emotional vacuum in which she lived.

  Mrs. Havermann had no comprehension of how her futile and barren situation affected Karen. She considered herself as acting properly in the capacity of mother to the girl. There were food, shelter, and clothing, a training at a trade as well. Behind her wish for Karen to become a nurse had been the unrealized idea that if in the future she should become ill or bedridden Karen could care for her properly. The thought of Karen serving her in her helplessness involved nothing more emotionally moving than that Karen would thus be repaying her for the years of keep.

  Karen had refused to go into nursing school. In reproof, Mrs. Havermann had declined to finance a course at business school, had instead made the girl study commercial subjects in adult classes.

  On the morning following Skip’s and Eddie’s abortive attempt to enter Stolz’s room, Mrs. Havermann came downstairs at twenty-five minutes past nine. She picked over the flowers on the hall table and then examined the three letters which Karen had brought in. The first was a dental bill, the second a notice of a sale on some hosiery at a department store where she kept an account. The third letter, also an ad, caught her instant attention. It was the notice of the opening of a new local office by a locksmith.

  The incident of the coat being out of place had focused her thoughts on Stolz’s room, and now the coincidental arrival of this ad had for her an odd, superstitious impact. She turned and stared at the door of Stolz’s room, just visible in the corner where the hall turned. She tucked the locksmith’s ad back into the envelope, and then, wearing a thoughtful look, she went out to the kitchen.

  Karen was at the kitchen table with classwork spread out before her. Mrs. Havermann glanced at her briefly, then looked quickly around the room. Karen’s eyes seemed red and swollen. Mrs. Havermann wondered momentarily if Karen could be coming down with a cold. “Well, it’s a nice bright day,” Mrs. Havermann said, going to the kitchen range. There was coffee hot in the percolator and Mrs. Havermann poured herself a cup of it. “What would you like for breakfast today, Karen?”

  “Whatever you’d like, Aunt Maude.” Karen was gathering up her books and papers. Her manner was dull and depressed. She put the books into a locker and took dishes and silver from another cupboard.

  The exchange was so routine that Mrs. Havermann would have been astonished had Karen actually offered a preference in food. She carried her cup of coffee to a window and stood there to drink it while looking out at the sky. The sun bathed the yard in bright morning light. Frowning, Mrs. Havermann noticed that the lawn between the house and garage had a trampled appearance, and this annoyed and puzzled her. She sipped at the coffee and thought about it. She didn’t speak of her impression to Karen but decided to go out after breakfast and look more closely at the area. Suddenly she thought again of the locksmith’s notice and an odd alarm ran through her.

  When the coffee was gone she set the cup on the table, went to the refrigerator, took out a bowl of leftover cereal, two small eggs, and a package of bacon. At the stove she reheated the oatmeal, boiled the eggs, fried two slices of bacon.

  Karen was abnormally listless and untalkative, and her obvious depression penetrated even Mrs. Havermann’s aloofness. But Mrs. Havermann at once dismissed it from her mind; she wanted to think about the trampled grass and other household matters. Biting into her breakfast toast, she said, “I’m going into town today.”

  Karen showed a trace of curiosity. “Downtown?”

  “Not into downtown L.A. It’s just too far. I have an errand a few blocks from here. The shopping center.”

  Karen nodded indifferently. Her unhappy melancholy was so obvious that for once Mrs. Havermann almost reversed her attitude of cheerful inattention, almost asked Karen what was wrong. But habit was ingrained. Instead she urged on the girl a second cup of coffee.

  She would not have dreamed of explaining to Karen that she was thinking of putting a new lock on Stolz’s door. As it was now, the door was fastened by the primitive apparatus installed when the house was built—fifty years, she thought, if it was a day. She’d had a terrible time locating a key for it. For her own peace of mind, best to reinforce it with something new.

  Her secrecy in regard to Stolz had had its origins in the breakup of his marriage to her daughter Margaret. Margaret, just out of school, had met and been attracted to the older, worldly man, and when the mother had met him she too had been charmed. The marriage had been brief, though ironically friendly. Margaret had met another man and Stolz had amiably stepped aside. Mrs. Havermann’s attitude had been incredulous. Compared to her own difficult, tempestuous marriage, Margaret’s had been ideal. She disliked the new son-in-law. She felt a deep disappointment over what she considered Margaret’s foolishness.

  All this had happened a little over nine years ago, when her husband had brought Karen into their home. It had been the natural thing not to explain the involved situation to a child. Afterward, especially since Havermann’s death, the habit of secrecy had become a part of her withdrawal from normal communication. Stolz remained on friendly terms, visiting frequently, and now he was almost the only person besides Karen and the gardener whom Mrs. Havermann saw much of. Her mildly sentimental daydreams about him she kept entirely to herself.

  The hints she had dropped to Karen, that Stolz might have money here, had been the result of a moment’s desire to brag, to let someone else see how much Stolz trusted her. Perhaps, too, to convince herself he might be as interested in her as she was in him.

  When they had finished breakfast Karen cleared away the table and washed the dishes and the stove. Mrs. Havermann went into the front of the house and looked around. She had not forgotten her idea of giving the back yard a close inspection. She wanted to figure out a way to have Karen away from the rear of the house.

  She could not quite pin down why she didn’t want Karen watching when she went outdoors. Certainly she felt no distrust of the girl.

  Mrs. Havermann thought, Karen might think me a fool if she saw me out there staring at the ground. This summed it up for her, though there was something more she didn’t try to analyze.

  She returned to the kitchen shortly. Karen was sweeping a few crumbs from the floor around the table. Mrs. Havermann said, “That reminds me, dear, I think the front hall could use the dust mop this morning. The wax is there; it just needs a good buffing. Use a little pressure.”

  “Yes, Aunt Maude. What about flowers?”

  “Well, the ones Mr. Dooley picked yesterday still look pretty fresh. Daisies and lupines wear well.” Mrs. Havermann went out into the service porch. “I’ll be sorting laundry while you do the hall.”

  Karen went out of the kitchen, and Mrs. Havermann heard her at the mop and broom closet in the pantry. When the sound of Karen’s steps had quite died out Mrs. Havermann went quickly into the back yard. She walked around inspecting the grass, which somehow upon close view didn’t
show the disorder she had noted from a distance. It was hard to see any definite markings; the old tough growth of Bermuda lawn grew every which way, with patches here and there devastated by moths or by inadequate watering. She made up her mind to speak to Mr. Dooley. He had charged her last week for insecticide and manure, and heaven knew the water bill was big enough. There should be a luxurious green carpet here.

  She went over and glanced in at the small side door of the garage. It was dim inside and smelled musty. Her old-fashioned Packard limousine sat on its blocks. She never used it any more. The car hadn’t even had a license renewal for the past two years. Probably the tires were rotted, she thought, looking at the dust on them.

  She went back into the yard, and some feeling which another person would have identified as a hunch took her over toward the windows in Stolz’s room. Old Mr. Dooley had turned the earth here, wet it deeply, and scattered zinnia seeds. The bed was in an excellent state to retain impressions, and Mrs. Havermann could see quite clearly the twin marks made by the feet of the ladder and a man’s shoeprint. The shoeprint was that of a ribbed rubber sole such as a tennis shoe.

  She felt frozen, locked in panic, hanging there over the marks in the earth while the blood pounded in her throat and temples. Her hands turned cold. Her knees shook. This was nightmare.

  After a moment she hurried back to the garage, went inside, and snapped on the light. The ladder sat in its usual spot. No, not quite. Mr. Dooley had used the hose yesterday, and now one of the feet of the ladder was placed on a stray end of the hose, squeezing it flat. The ladder must have been moved since Mr. Dooley had put the hose in the garage. Had Dooley himself used the ladder? She was certain he had not. Nor would he have left it like this, possibly to damage the plastic hose by its pressure.

  Mrs. Havermann knelt down and rubbed shaking fingers around the bottom of the ladder and some crumbs of earth came off. She rubbed the crumbs to powder between her fingertips, and the earth still held a trace of moisture, as it would if it had come from the wetted bed of zinnia seed.