“A Betts is a Betts. I told Miss Amy she could buy a new pickup truck, a few tons lighter than that antique, but she wouldn’t listen. She said it was Jim’s truck, and she wouldn’t part with it. You know how Miss Amy is about old things.”
I knew. All those antiques in the Betts home would bring a fortune if she would sell.
The fat waitress said the shock of Jim’s death had driven Miss Amy over the ragged edge. She had always dressed funny, but she had always been real feminine. And now look. Why, Miss Amy must have lost her mind.
Tod told her to get back to work. Judge Miller came in and joined our group at the window. The fat waitress appealed to him. “Don’t you think Miss Amy’s marbles have scattered?”
Judge Miller reserved comment. Down the street, the driver’s license examiner helped Amy into the truck. It started with a series of small explosions.
“Miss Amy is scared to death,” the waitress persisted.
“Scared, but game,” Tod defended her. “She’s scared, of course. That’s why the crash helmet. She had Cunningham add seat belts, shoulder belts, and extensions to the pedals so she can reach them with her little short legs. She had him strengthen the front bumper and grill of that truck, making it mighty like a tank. Even if she runs into a tree, she’s safe as a bird in a nest.”
“You can stop her from driving,” I appealed to Judge Miller. “First thing that happens, she’ll go up a wall.”
Scoggins came up behind me and placed a cold hand on my shoulder. “Let it be, Gaines. Miss Betts has a phobia concerning normal automotive traffic, but let it be. I feel sorry for the poor woman.”
Tod and the waitress backed away, as if Scoggins had leprosy. Judge Miller stood firm. “I go by the law. By the law, understand. Until we have definite proof that her mind is affected, she drives if she passes her test.”
She passed the test. Then she left town, still driving, headed toward home.
Scoggins could hardly wait until he whipped his little car onto the road. When we topped Dimple Hill, the truck was ahead of us. He deliberately gunned the motor and cut loose with his horn. Amy went into the ditch. He cut sharp in front of her, laughing.
“You bastard!” I exclaimed.
“Just testing her nerves, Mr. Gaines.”
“Word of this gets around the county, nobody will do business with us.”
“First things first, Mr. Gaines. Psychologically Miss Betts is where I want her. She’s about to break. She hates me, but she likes you. I’ll keep her upset, while you pretend to be her friend.”
“Not me.”
“Ethics, Mr. Gaines? Do you remember a land deal in Ruidoso, New Mexico? And what about the name you used when you sold silver stock in Arizona for a mine that didn’t exist?”
“You—”
“Exactly, Mr. Gaines. The corporation — or certain people who helped form the corporation — have known about you for years. You will cooperate, Mr. Gaines.”
“You can go to hell!”
“No. But we will return to Caton, and you will get in your car and visit Miss Betts. You will offer tender loving care and you will do everything possible for her. She doesn’t need to haul eggs in that truck because you will offer to haul them in your car. Psychologically, Miss Betts is very depressed and irrational. This is the perfect time for you to offer comfort. And romance, if there is any romance left at your age.”
He turned around at the first intersection. The hired man, driving the truck now, shook his fist as we met.
When I called on Amy, I apologized for what Scoggins had done. Her face was puffy from crying about Jim, but she was composed. She was in no hurry to gather eggs or do any of the myriad things she had told the neighbors she would do. We sat on the west verandah, away from the morning sun. She objected slightly when I put my arm around her, but she didn’t move away.
I looked at the book lying on the floor. A drawing of Joan of Arc on its open pages made me chuckle.
“Bob?”
“Laughing at you. This morning, dressed in boots and crash helmet and all that gunk, you were Joan of Arc riding into battle.”
Picking up a flower vase, she swung at me. I ducked. “I like you better when you play Ramona or some other little girl in love.”
“Oh, Bob, this is no time for such.” Then she giggled.
At noon, she conned me into washing the leftover breakfast dishes. Even at sixty-seven, she was still spoiled, still the little girl used to having her own way.
“How long will you work for this fake Professor Scoggins, Bob?” she asked seriously after a while.
“I don’t know.” The idea that he knew all about me, that he would probably kill me. someday if I stayed with the corporation, had been constantly in the back of my mind. He’d try to blackmail me into staying, but I couldn’t do that.
“Did he send you here to make love to me?”
I hesitated I couldn’t lie to her. “He’s at String Town now, probably getting drunk,” I evaded. “Look, Amy, that man is ruthless. There’s no limit to what he might do. Why not sign that option before he resorts to pressure?”
“Like he did with Jim?”
“The judge called that an accident.”
“What did you call it, Bob?” She stood near me, looking up, her eyes still soft behind those old fashioned spectacles, her appearance deceptively gentle. I rubbed the scar on my forehead and remembered she could be rough at times.
“Now he wants you to romance me into signing that option.” She seemed to be deliberately picking a quarrel. “Good day, Bob. It was a nice try, wasn’t it?”
Her voice changed from soft music to almost shrill. “Maybe I’ll sign and maybe I won’t. But if I do, you won’t be in on it. Much as I hate him, I’ll do business with him instead of you.”
Her last words were, “Don’t come back here. I mean it.”
The townspeople should have seen her then. Gentle, shy Miss Amy screaming like a fishwife.
All the way to String Town, I envisioned myself hitting Scoggins on his long, high-arched patrician nose. I knew I wouldn’t, though. If I tried it, he might hit back.
He was half drunk when I entered the beer joint. He might as well drink for a few days. Nobody in Caton County would do business with him until they forgot about Jim Betts.
He made matters worse when he saw me. He leaned across his table, leered at a blonde woman who had seen too many beers, then focused on me. “Hey, Gaines, you do any good with that old biddy?”
I ordered a beer and sat on the other side of the room.
“Gaines does not unnerstan’ psychology,” he told the blonde in his grand manner. “He’s a failure all his life. All his life. Does not unnerstan’ psychology of women.”
Giggling, she said something. They both laughed.
The phone rang just as I started to leave. Somebody called Scoggins. Drawing himself slowly erect, he lurched up and stood weaving while he talked into the phone. Wobbly but erect, he beckoned for me to meet him outside.
“Your old sweetheart, Gaines. You mis’h boat, but ol’ professor scores again.”
“The hell you say!”
“She wantsh to sign papersh. Said absolutely not bring you. Said she leaves onna bus to visit cousin in Dallas. Abs’lutely not let you come with me, but she leaves in few minutes. I gotta hurry.”
He staggered to his car, fumbled for his keys. When I yelled at him to wait for me, he gunned the motor and sprayed me with gravel as the car skidded onto the dirt road.
I followed in my own car. When he slowed down, I honked and blinked my lights and waved for him to stop. He outran me, of course.
I slowed to a speed compatible with the road. All around me this dusty green country had a curiously quiet and peaceful appearance. Aside from the distant roar of Scoggins’ car, there were only sounds of peace and love. Mourning doves called from nearby pastures. Calves bleated to other calves. A cow made a soft moo, reminding her frisky offspring it was time for supper.