True to habit, Jim Betts had started toward home and supper. He turned in the dim shade, a string of perch in one hand, his cane pole in the other. His head jerked, startled, then he moved fast. Stretching his long legs, he jumped for the south side of the road.
Scoggins tromped the accelerator, aimed the car directly at the old man. The motor roared and the wheels kicked dust. The car caught Jim at the south edge of the road as he jumped a second time. There was a whop! of metal against lean flesh and bone. The fishing pole rose high in the air. Fish smashed against the windshield.
Jim bent over the hood, fingers spread wide on both hands, reaching. His false teeth popped against the windshield, shattering as his tongue stuck out and his mouth gaped wider and wider.
We pulled out of the south ditch and lurched to a stop. Jim’s body straightened from the hood, revolving slowly. Then he crashed down, scattering yellow dust as he bounced in the blackberry vines.
I got out of the car and vomited all over my side of the road.
Scoggins made sure he was dead. Then he came back to me. His long fingers gripped my arm, cutting off the circulation. “Unavoidable accident, Mr. Gaines.”
“You killed him.”
“You have no will power, Mr. Gaines.”
I made myself glance at Jim, saw his blood pool in the grass at the bottom of the blackberry vines. I vomited again.
“You are part of this.” Scoggins grabbed my hair and pulled my face upright so that I had to look into his eyes. “You have just guzzled five beers, and I am cold sober. What will the court do if I say you were driving?”
That explained the Coca-cola. Sure, somebody back at the beer joint might swear Scoggins was driving when we left that place. But maybe nobody had noticed. There had been no witnesses when we hit Jim.
Clearly, Professor Scoggins had planned this to the minute.
A car approached, loaded with natives.
“An accident, Mr. Gaines,” Scoggins emphasized. He released his hold on my hair. “Unavoidable. Continue to be sick, while I do the talking.”
I staggered through the small gate onto Betts property. As soon as I cleared that clump of trees, I saw Amy in the yard. Probably it was the first time in years Jim had been late for supper.
I must have looked like a ghost as I ran toward her. Her peaches-and-cream complexion drained to a pasty white. She stood quietly, her body rigid, waiting while I gulped great breaths of air.
“It’s Jim, isn’t it, Bob?”
My hair flopped as I nodded.
“Take me to him.”
“Amy, you can’t—” But she did. She helped load him in the ambulance. Even though he was dead, she bent over him, petted him, on that useless ride to the hospital. She was not play-acting now. She was still small and chubby, but she was very much a Betts, very much in control of herself.
At the inquest, Judge Miller blamed the county road commissioner for letting trees grow unchecked around that blind comer. The commissioner wasn’t called to testify. His defense would have been that the Betts family hadn’t wanted the trees cut, years ago. Everybody local always went cautiously, usually honking a horn and often turning on lights before making that turn.
Judge Miller lambasted Scoggins for careless driving. He admitted there was legally no violation on speed. Sheriff Hulen nodded and whispered something to a deputy. The deputy’s hard cheeks creased with a pleased grin. I wondered if the sheriff had read the signs left in the dust, if he had figured out that Scoggins actually gunned his car as he chased Jim.
“I tried to keep from hitting the poor man,” J. C. R. Scoggins lied. Taking his white handkerchief from a hip pocket, he blew his nose and wiped his eyes. “He was in front of me before I knew it. Homo sapiens is an inferior specimen, your Honor. Human vision does not adjust rapidly. Going from bright sunlight to shade, I must have blinked, and there Mr. Betts was, right in the middle of the road. I swerved to miss him. Just as I swerved, he jumped in front of my car. I—”
Here Scoggins pretended to break down completely. It took. a couple of minutes and a lot of loud nose-blowing before he pretended to regain control. Finally he went on. “Ah, tragedy! Tragedy most foul! I must have missed the brakes and hit that gas pedal. I must have! I was trying so hard to stop, and the car seemed to roar and jump instead of stopping. I must have hit the gas by mistake. I almost turned over, trying to stop. It happened so fast, and I was so excited—”
Sheriff Hulen’s mouth twisted in a sarcastic grimace. The deputy said something under his breath. Scoggins mopped his eyes again, peered at them over his handkerchief. His admission had just blown any evidence the sheriff had against him.
Judge Miller decreed that Jim’s death was an unavoidable accident.
Back in our hotel room, Scoggins celebrated with scotch and soda.
I drank carefully. Every time I looked at his long face, I could feel icy prickles up and down my spine. I wondered if he would kill me. After all, I had been the only witness to Jim’s death. I’d be safe for a while, of course. He wouldn’t dare put two “accidental” deaths back to back.
Scoggins stared at me, his ash-gray eyes unblinking. “There is a right way to do things, and a wrong way. Stay within the appearance of the law, and you always come out clean. Right, Mr. Gaines?”
I tried to ignore him.
“Trouble with you, Mr. Gaines, is that you do things halfway. No nerve. You’ve chased the Almighty Dollar for years, but what do you have?”
“I’ve never killed.”
“You are a sentimentalist, Mr. Gaines. A soft-hearted, sentimental slob. But if we get all the options, the organization will pay us ten thousand dollars. Right? So tomorrow, Mr. Gaines, you will call on Miss Betts.”
“She is in no mood for business.”
“You will console her. You will talk softly of youthful days. Judging from her clothes and hairdo, I assume Miss Betts has a psychological hangup about youthful days.”
“If I go, I refuse to talk business.”
“Of course, Mr. Gaines. However, as soon as the estate is settled and Miss Betts declared to be the only living heir, you will get her signature on that option.”
She wasn’t home the next day. On the day after that I found her in the far pasture, driving Jim’s old truck around and around. I didn’t believe it at first, but the hired man told me she was serious.
I lured Quiz Kid Scoggins into the Branding Iron at nine o’clock the next morning. Jim’s old truck jolted past and stopped at the courthouse. The hired man got out from under the steering wheel and opened the door on the passenger side.
What looked like a space kid stepped out. Or a kid playing spaceman. It was Amy, a big crash helmet covering her head, boots protecting her small feet and legs, an incongruous chest protector — an old baseball umpire’s chest protector borrowed from somewhere — shielding her short, plump, female figure.
Scoggins choked on his orange juice. His face purple, he pointed a rigid digit.
I got up and joined Tod Tull at the window. “That’s Amy?” I acted as if I didn’t know for sure.
“Miss Amy,” Tod corrected me. His voice was cold and distant. People in Caton County are clannish. I wasn’t a stranger, but I had brought the professor into this town. He had killed Jim, and nobody wanted to associate with us. Their attitude would wear off, but it would take a few days. “Miss Amy Betts, left all alone now, wants to carry on. With only a hired man to help around that farm, she insists she will get her driver’s license for that truck.”
“She can’t deliver eggs and produce.”
“Can’t, but don’t never underestimate a Betts. Back in 1821, when Captain Betts came from Virginia, a group of wild Indians—”
“That was years ago. Amy is several generations removed and she is spoiled by too many soft years.”