I didn’t even try to answer that one.
“I swear it was! When I came in he was just lying there. Maybe it didn’t look that way to you, but that’s the way it was.”
I could be wrong. It could have been an accident. “I’d better go. Reba.”
She clung to my arm. “You’ve got to believe me! It might just be the break we’ve been waiting for — if everything works out.”
But things didn’t work out.
First, there was a guy named Chambers. I opened the door when he knocked. He was middle-aged, well-groomed and very polite.
“Mr. Adams?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to talk to you a few minutes.”
I hesitated.
“I’m from police headquarters.”
“Oh.” I stepped aside.
He dropped into my only chair and removed his hat. “Sure hot.”
“Yes, it is.” I perched on the edge of the bed.
“We’ve been trying to see you for a couple of days, Mr. Adams, but you were always out.”
“I’ve been down state. I’m a sales representative for Preston Trucking Company.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Is — anything wrong?”
“Well, no. We’re just trying to clean up some old files.” He smiled blandly.
“I see.” But I didn’t.
He pulled out a notebook and leafed through it casually. “Oh, here it is — the accident on Charles Jaxon.”
My heart nose-dived to my stomach.
“You don’t mind answering a few routine questions, do you?”
“No indeed.”
“All right.” He glanced at the notebook again. “You were the first one to arrive after the accident. I believe.”
“Yes, after Reba—” I almost stopped there, “Mrs. Jaxon called.”
“And she called you because you were a close friend?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you’ve only been in town four days.”
“I don’t believe she had any friends here. I’ve known her for a long time — before she was married.”
“Quite natural,” he nodded. “Now would you describe the scene for me.”
“The scene?”
“Yes, the position of the body and so on.”
“Oh. Well, I went in and he was lying at the foot of the stairs.”
“How?”
“How. Why sort of on his back — face up.”
“Anything else?”
“No. Oh, his cane was beside him.”
“Beside him, Mr. Adams?”
“Now that you mention it, no. It was resting against his legs.” And it shouldn’t have been! It should have been under him or beyond, anyplace but where it was.
“I see. You have a good eye for detail.”
I didn’t say anything. I’d said too much already.
“Can you describe Mrs. Jaxon’s appearance, Mr. Adams?”
“You mean how she was dressed?”
“Well, partly. Was she overwrought?”
“No,” I answered slowly.
“Didn’t that strike you as strange?”
“Well, she was white and sort of tense, but I think she was expecting something like that to happen.”
“Really.”
“Not in that way, of course.” Everything I said seemed to be wrong.
“I see. You mentioned the way she was dressed. Anything odd about it?”
“No. Except she had a large runner in one stocking.”
“Ah. Wonder what caused that?”
“I... I don’t know?”
“Possibly when she ran in to help her husband, she dropped quickly to the floor, and the strain—”
“Possibly.”
“Can you tell me how she was dressed, Mr. Adams?”
“Why she was fully dressed.”
“Yes, of course. Like she’d been out or was going out?”
“Well — I suppose so.”
“Do you remember any details of her clothing?”
I didn’t. I tried, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember what she had been wearing. “No,” I said, realizing numbly that nothing I’d said would help Reba’s case any.
“No? You’re sure?” He closed the notebook. “Funny the things a man will notice at a time like that — the things that stick in his memory.” He rose. “Well, thanks, Mr. Adams. We wouldn’t have bothered you except we like to get the views of an outsider — a disinterested party, like yourself.”
I watched him go down the hall, but he left a gnawing fear behind him as he went.
Reba told me about the second thing that didn’t work out. That was Charles Jaxon’s will.
“You mean he cut you out entirely?”
“He might as well have. I am to receive five hundred dollars to take care of expenses.”
“Then who—?”
“The business was incorporated. I can’t touch it. Everything else he had goes to a cousin in some tank town in Maryland.”
“But you have dower rights.”
“Only in real property.”
“Well?”
“There isn’t any. Even the house was rented.”
“Can’t you contest the will?”
“I’ve seen a lawyer. There isn’t a chance of breaking it — not in this state.”
“How about insurance?”
“Charles didn’t believe in that. He had one small policy, just enough to cover his funeral expenses.”
“So you get nothing.”
“Nothing except the car, that was in my name, and my clothes.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll have to start over — somewhere.”
I swung her around to face me. “Reba, we could get married.”
“Joe!”
“I mean it.”
“Oh, Joe.”
“After this all blows over.”
“What do you mean — blows over?”
I told her about Chambers.
“So?” she said. “There is nothing he can pin on me.”
“No,” I answered, my earlier suspicions fading away. Besides they say love is blind. “I guess not.”
“Anyway, I don’t even have a motive.”
Maybe that’s the reason Chambers never came back to see me — because the way the will read Reba didn’t have a motive.
The third reason that things didn’t work out took longer to show.
We figured that six months would be a decent interval to wait before getting married. In the meantime Reba moved into my hotel. That way it was easier for us to be together when I was in town.
Saturday morning, seven weeks after I started working for Preston Trucking Company, George called me into his office. He congratulated me on doing a good job and he gave me a nice raise. He also invited me to his home for dinner. I asked him if I could bring a friend — which was a mistake.
The dinner was excellent. George was a friendly, charming host and Reba was — well, she was just Reba.
“He’s awfully nice,” she told me on the way home.
“Yeah. George is a good guy. He came right up from the bottom. And he won’t rest on his present laurels either. He’ll keep going up. Someday George Preston will be a millionaire.”
I guess that started her thinking.
Tuesday night I got in from the road a little earlier than usual. By the time I’d showered and changed it was only 11 o’clock. I thought maybe Reba would like to go out for a drink. I called her room, but she didn’t answer.
As long as I was dressed, I decided to pick up a quick one anyway. I headed for the corner tap room and half-way down the street George Preston drove by. I saw him and it didn’t mean a thing. I had a double scotch, then went back to the hotel. For want of something better to do I called Reba’s room again. This time she answered.
“Oh, hello, Joe. Did you call before?”
“Yeah.”
“I was asleep.”
“All right if I come down?”
“Oh, Joe. Not tonight. I’m dead.”
“Okay, honey. How about lunch tomorrow?”