The Thursday Turkey Murders

by Craig Rice

  “Why,” Terrier said, “we just opened the door and walked.”

  Handsome said, “Oh. I wondered. I had a second cousin busted out of Elmira Reformatory once, but it wasn’t that easy. Besides, we heard you shot one of the guards.”

  “Think of that,” the tall, thin man said to the others. “We’re famous.”

  “Start frying those eggs,” Terrier said.

  “You’ll have to wait a minute,” Handsome said. “I’ve got to finish these prints first. We’ve got to deliver them in the morning.”

  “Now look here,” Bingo said, trying to sound firm. “We’ll be glad to give you a meal, but obviously you can’t stay here. My partner and I are not in the habit of harboring escaped convicts.”

  “Oh, no?” Terrier said. He lifted the sawed-off shotgun so that it leveled at Bingo’s waistline.

  “There isn’t room,” Bingo said, hoping he hadn’t turned pale.

  “Think of that,” the tall man said. “He said there isn’t room.”

  That seemed to be a tremendous joke. Loogan giggled again. Even Monk smiled.

  “Compared to the feed bin in that horse barn,” the Professor said, “this is a mansion.”

  “Besides,” Terrier said, “you boys will be sleeping outside.”

  Handsome finished with the prints, stacked them neatly away, and lighted the stove. “If we sleep outside,” he said calmly, “we’ll have to have the blankets.”

  “How about it, Crip?” Terrier said to the tall, thin man. “Shall we let ’em have the blankets?”

  “Oh, sure,” Crip said. “Pillows, too. We ought to make our hosts comfortable.”

  Bingo swallowed hard. “Listen,” he said. “If you’re sleeping in here, and we’re sleeping outside, wouldn’t it make sense that we’d beat in into town the minute you weren’t watching, and tell the cops you’re here?”

  “Oh, no,” Terrier said. “You wouldn’t do that.”

  “I can’t think of any good reason why we wouldn’t,” Bingo said.

  “Why,” Terrier told him, “you wouldn’t want anything to happen to that lovely little girl you’re so crazy about, would you?”

  It struck Bingo like a cannon ball landing in his stomach. Henny. She must be the girl they meant. Beautiful, gorgeous Henny, who’d proved to be a good kid after all, who’d sent back or brought back the hundred and seventy-two bucks. He looked at the intruders. Terrier, Monk, the Professor, Loogan, Crip. There were five of them. Five or six men had escaped from the penitentiary. A sixth man might be guarding Henny, right this minute. He gulped.

  “You wouldn’t do anything to her,” Bingo said.

  Terrier grinned nastily and quoted, “I can’t think of any good reason why we wouldn’t.”

  There was a dead silence in the room until Handsome said, “How do you like your eggs?”

  “Over easy,” Crip said.

  “Wide-eyed,” Terrier said.

  “How about you, Bingo?” Handsome said calmly.

  “I—” Bingo wondered if he was going to strangle, or go crazy, or both at once.

  “Surely you’re going to join us in our little snack,” the Professor said.

  Bingo realized that he was hungry. Handsome had sliced onion into the frying eggs, and the result was a tantalizing smell. Especially mixed with the smell of boiling coffee.

  “I’ll be delighted to join you,” he said with dignity, “if you’ll stop pointing that shotgun at my stomach. It takes away my appetite.”

  Terrier sat down by the table, rested his gun across his knees, and said, “I can see we’re going to get along fine.”

  Handsome served up the eggs, poured coffee, set a plate of bread and the coffeepot on the table. The eggs and the bread disappeared so fast that Bingo blinked.

  “You must have been hungry,” he said.

  “Hungry,” the Professor said. “Have you ever tried living for twenty-four hours on water and raw oats?”

  Bingo glanced at the five men. They talked jokingly. Prison humor. They talked lightly. There was desperation in their eyes. The sawed-off shotguns were resting idly in Terrier’s and Loogan’s laps. But they could be in action on a split second’s notice.

  He finished his fried eggs without much appetite, and drank the rest of his coffee. There was—there had to be—a way to get out of this, without putting Henny in danger.

  Terrier yawned. Crip stretched, and said mincingly, “Will you ask the butler to show us to our rooms.” The Professor rose and said, “Shall we pick out a comfortable place for our hosts to sleep?”

  “There’s only two bunks,” Bingo said. “Three of you will have to sleep on the floor. There’s room for more than three on the floor, so why don’t my partner and I sleep in here, too?”

  “Oh, no,” Crip said, as though shocked. “Somebody has to be outside to watch the road, in case John Law comes to pay a formal call.”

  “And suppose we tell John Law where you are, and then duck,” Bingo said crossly.

  Terrier gave a mock sigh and said, “She was such a lovely girl and he was crazy about her.”

  “We’ll sleep outside,” Handsome said.

  The five convicts made what seemed to Bingo a great to-do about making themselves comfortable for the night. Monk carried out blankets, Terrier and Crip insisted on picking the exact place where they should be placed. They finally settled on a grassy patch under one of the trees back of the shanty.

  “And if anyone calls for us,” Crip said, meaningfully and with great formality, “tell them we are not at home.”

  Bingo waited until the shanty door was closed, and then stretched out on the blanket. His teeth began to chatter.

  “I was scared, too,” Handsome whispered, reassuringly.

  “Handsome. They were looking for Henry Siller. They didn’t know he’d been murdered. Or for Clancy. Or Gus. They—”

  “You’d better get some sleep,” Handsome whispered. “Tomorrow’s gonna be awful busy.”

  Bingo was silent for a moment. “It seems to me they’re taking a chance, letting us stay out here, by ourselves.”

  “No they ain’t, Bingo.”

  “You mean—because of Henny. But how do they know if we really care what happens to her? How do they know we really believe they’ve got her?”

  “Don’t talk so loud.”

  “How do they know,” Bingo said, under his breath, “we won’t sneak around the house, get in the car, drive into town, and call out the sheriff, and the hell with Henny?”

  “They know,” Handsome murmured. He nudged Bingo and breathed, “I thought so when they picked this tree. Don’t move your head but look at the house.”

  Bingo turned his eyes toward the shanty. There was enough light on the wall that he could see a face at one window. Loogan. Loogan was watching him with a fixed and resolute stare.

  “They know we’re going to stay put all right,” Handsome whispered. “So we might’s well settle down and go to sleep.”

  Resting on the window sill, and pointing toward the blankets under the trees, was one of the sawed-off shotguns.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sunlight on his face wakened Bingo. He blinked at it, wondered vaguely why there was a treetop over him instead of a roof, and turned over to shield his eyes from the light.

  He tried to go back to sleep, but something, in addition to the morning sun, persisted in keeping him awake. A vague memory of something unpleasant. Bingo yawned, brushed a dead leaf from his face, and sat up.

  Handsome was sprawled on the blanket beside him. He too was awake. His eyes were open and watchful, but his face was expressionless.

  Handsome whispered, almost without moving his mouth, “Watch yourself, Bingo. The window.”

  Bingo remembered, in a rush. He glanced toward the shanty window. There was a shadowy face looking out. When he’d gone to sleep, dead to the world and not caring about anything, the face had been Loogan’s. Now it was Terrier’s. But the muzzle of the sawed-off shotgun was the sa
me.

  He lay back and closed his eyes again. These men hadn’t shot Henry Siller. They used sawed-off shotguns, and Henry Siller had been killed with a rifle. And Uncle Fred was in jail, for the murder of Henry Siller. The escaped convicts didn’t know anything about that. Newspaper delivery couldn’t be so good, in horse barns.

  How were he and Handsome going to get out of this? How were they going to get Henny out of this?

  He tried to figure things out in his mind. These men had been in jail. The same jail where Chuck Engan had died, carrying with him to his grave—according to the newspapers—the secret of where more than a quarter of a million dollars in gold was buried. Someone had helped them break out of jail, and provided them with clothes and weapons. They’d kidnaped Henry Siller’s daughter. They’d come straight to the spot where Henry Siller had been murdered. But they hadn’t killed him. Someone else had—but who? Who, and why?

  There were too many questions. Just how did Uncle Fred fit into the picture? Who searched Chris Halvorsen’s house? Looking for what? Why had Henny sent them on a wild-goose chase, ending up in the Thursday Cemetery, and then left their hundred and seventy-two bucks in the shanty? What about Clancy, and Gus? What were they up to?

  None of those questions were important. The real problem was: what were they going to do about the five escaped convicts who’d picked the shanty for a hideout?

  A car was turning in from the highway. Bingo felt the back of his neck grow stiff and scratchy. He looked toward the window. Terrier had heard the car, too. The shotgun wasn’t resting on the window sill now. It was being held, ready to fire. And it wasn’t pointed at the car. It was pointed at Bingo.

  Not a car, but a farm truck, a vaguely familiar one, pulled up beside the shanty. There were two men and a girl in the driver’s seat. Chris Halvorsen, Christine, and Earl. Earl looked bored, but he had one hand in easy reach of his police revolver.

  Bingo jumped to his feet, uncomfortably conscious of the fact that his hair was mussed and his clothes were rumpled. The brown-and-tan cords, too. And there probably wasn’t a good pants-pressing establishment in Thursday County.

  “Why, Mr. Riggs,” Christine gasped. “What on earth are you doing out here?”

  Chris Halvorsen and Earl didn’t ask the same question, but they looked it.

  “Sleeping outdoors,” Bingo said. “Fresh air. Best thing in the world for you. We sleep outdoors all the time.”

  For just a moment he forgot the troubles that surrounded him, and even the imminent danger, looking at her. This was really the Farmer’s Daughter, and no doubt about it. She had on a pink cotton dress and a cute ruffled apron. Her golden blond hair was in pigtails, with little pink bows at the ends. She carried a basket on her arm.

  She realized that he was staring at her, and blushed prettily. “Oh, don’t look at me, Mr. Riggs, please! Papa was driving over here, so I just jumped in the truck and rode along, just the way I was, old clothes and all!”

  Bingo started to say, “Just the way you are is beautiful,” and then remembered Earl was listening in. Earl would undoubtedly tell Herb. He remembered too, with a sense of shock, that a sawed-off shotgun was aimed at them from inside the window.

  “I brought some mash over for the birds,” Chris Halvorsen said. “They been giving you any trouble?”

  “No trouble at all,” Bingo said.

  “Mind if I leave ’em here?” Chris Halvorsen said. “I’ll come over every day and feed ’em and see if they’re O.K.”

  Bingo said, “We’re glad to have them here. They’re good company.”

  The farmer turned to Earl. “Give me a hand with the feed, Earl. And stick right by me, now.”

  The mash had to be unloaded from the truck. Handsome stepped up and said, “I’ll help you with that too, Mr. Halvorsen.”

  Good old Handsome, Bingo thought. Anything to get Chris Halvorsen, his truck, his police protection, and even his beautiful daughter away from here before any shooting started.

  Christine waited until the three men were around the corner of the house and then posed herself prettily, leaning against a tree.

  “Oh, Mr. Riggs,” she said, in a sweet, almost childlike voice. “You can’t imagine what a thrill it is to an ordinary little country girl like me to meet a man like you!” She laid one delicate hand against the tree trunk, leaned her smooth young cheek against it, and said, “Mr. Riggs—I’ve a tremendous favor to ask you.”

  “Anything,” Bingo said, gallantly and a little dazed.

  “I want to talk to you—alone.”

  “Alone?” He blinked at her. They were alone now. Chris Halvorsen and Earl and Handsome were on the other side of the shanty. Then he remembered. Five escaped convicts were watching through the shanty windows.

  That reminded him of something else. What he’d said to Terrier, the night before, about—“the girl.” He’d said—“I’m crazy about her.” And Terrier and his gang might allow him, and Handsome, a reasonable amount of freedom because they held “the girl” as a hostage. He couldn’t let them, watching and listening, get the idea that he was showing any interest in another girl.

  He said, brusquely, “My dear Miss Halvorsen—”

  “Oh, dear—” She blushed prettily and gazed at the toe of her shoe. “I can imagine what you must be thinking of me! But—please—you see—” She lifted her lovely blue eyes to his. “The truth is—I do need your advice. I—must talk to you—alone.”

  “Well—” Bingo said.

  A voice called, “Tell her yes.” It came from the shanty. He recognized it as Crip’s.

  Christine gave a pretty little scream and jumped.

  “Just my partner, Mr. Kusak,” Bingo said. “He’s always giving me advice.” He wished with all his heart that Handsome would come back from the other side of the shanty.

  She giggled. A musical, silvery little giggle. “Oh! But—really—I—” Her voice fell to a whisper. She stepped close to him, confidingly. “It’s you I want to talk to. I know you can advise me. Please—don’t think I’m—terribly bold or anything like that, but—would you meet me?”

  There was an odor of wood violets, old-fashioned gardens, and hayfields about her. Her blond head was almost on his shoulder.

  Bingo took a step back. He was trying to behave, for the benefit of the watchers in the shanty, as though he weren’t interested. At the same time he was trying to behave, for her benefit, as though he were.

  “Where?” he whispered.

  He glanced toward the shanty. Heaven be praised, Handsome was coming back.

  “Just this side of Joe Hibbs’ icehouse,” she whispered. She saw Handsome too, and she talked fast. “A big red barn.”

  “When?”

  “This afternoon. Two o’clock.”

  Then Handsome joined them. Christine smiled brightly at him and said, “I was just telling Mr. Riggs mother sent over some fresh doughnuts for you.” She uncovered the little basket she’d had over her arm. “And while I’m here, you must let me come in and get breakfast for you.” She started toward the shanty.

  “Oh, no, no, no,” Bingo said. “Come back here!”

  “Why I’d love to get breakfast for you!”

  “No!” Bingo said, in a sudden panic.

  “Don’t be silly,” she said pertly. “You poor bachelors, all alone here! It won’t be any trouble at all, really. I can just whip you up some biscuits, or an omelet.” She smiled winsomely up at him. “I’m just a very ordinary little housewife, you know.”

  “We never eat breakfast,” Handsome said hastily, as she turned toward the shanty again.

  “Honestly! Oh, of course, you Hollywood people! Orange juice and coffee, I’ve read about you! But I make perfectly wonderful coffee. Now don’t stop me—I insist!”

  “Come back here!” Bingo snapped at her.

  “Why, Mr. Riggs!”

  He’d been praying for an inspiration. He got one. “Look, my dear,” he said, being very gentle and fatherly. “You just don’
t understand about such things, Nice young girls never go into rooms—apartments—well, houses—where unmarried men live, because—well, even just to make coffee for them. You see—other people—public opinion—might not realize that—it was for such a—well, perfectly innocent reason.”

  She stared up at him, her eyes wide. She blushed, a good old-fashioned blush, and said, “Oh!” Then suddenly she said, beaming, “But you forget. My father’s here. That makes it perfectly all right. And maybe he’d like a cup of coffee too, if you can spare one.”

  Chris Halvorsen and Earl were coming back from the turkey yard. Earl had one hand resting idly on his holstered revolver. A glint of light showed for an instant in the shanty window; it had been reflected, Bingo knew, from the sawed-off shotgun. And Christine was headed for the door. Something had to be done fast.

  “Don’t touch that door!”

  Bingo jumped. Then he realized it had been Handsome’s voice.

  Christine had stopped halfway across the yard, staring at Handsome.

  “I’m sorry,” Handsome said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Only”—he seemed to be fumbling for something to say—“the door—the shanty—I take pictures—”

  Bingo got Handsome’s idea, and took over. “It’s like this,” he said. “My partner is a photographer—it’s a kind of hobby with him. And he fixed up the building, there, for a sort of darkroom. And he made a lot of pictures yesterday. They’re in there. And they’re—well, sort of—I mean, if you opened that door and let the light in, it would ruin all of them.”

  “Yeah,” Handsome said, breathing hard. “If you opened that door, it would do a great deal of harm.”

  Her blue eyes looked like a pair of shiny saucers as she looked from one to the other of them. She gasped. She said, “How wonderful!” Then she fairly flung herself at Chris Halvorsen, who’d just come around the corner, and said, “Papa! Listen! They take photographs!”

  Chris Halvorsen patted her shoulder and said, in a dull voice, “That’s nice.”

  “Maybe when they come to dinner Sunday—that’s tomorrow—they’d—” She blushed again, glanced shyly at Bingo, said, “Oh, dear, you must think I’m perfectly awful!” and ran for the truck.