‘I suggest we have coffee on the patio,’ Olson said stiffly, and that ended the argument.
It was while Mrs. Hansen was washing up that Olson said, ‘If you will excuse me saying so, Mr. Devery, I find it a little odd that a young man of your obvious education should be content to waste his time teaching people to drive.’
‘I don’t consider it a waste of time.’ I smiled at him. ‘Someone has to do it... so why not me?’
‘That doesn’t make you very ambitious.’
‘Who said I was?’ I laughed. ‘Even before I was drafted into the Army, I was happy just to get along, and after Vietnam...’
There was a long pause, then he said, ‘There are a number of good openings in this town for an educated man. For instance, I could use an accountant. My man is retiring. Do you know anything about keeping books, Mr. Devery?’
I realized he was trying to be helpful as Bert Ryder had been trying to be helpful, but I wasn’t interested. I was only interested in Marshall’s million.
‘Not a thing,’ I lied. ‘I can scarcely add two and two together. It is kind of you to think of me, Mr. Olson. Frankly, I’m happy as I am.’
He lifted his shoulders in a disappointed shrug.
‘Well, don’t leave it too late. Take the advice of an older man. Remember that wise saying: a rolling stone...’
Mrs. Hansen appeared then, and Olson, looking at his watch, said he had to go to the church. He took the afternoon bible class.
Back in my room, I lay on the bed and considered the information I had acquired. One thing was now certain: Marshall was going to inherit a million dollars, and it also seemed certain that his aunt wasn’t going to last more than a few weeks.
It looked as if I had arrived on the scene at exactly the right time.
I would have liked to know how this million had been invested and what income it yielded. Olson would know, but I couldn’t ask him. Marshall might know, but the chances were he didn’t. Still I might try a gentle probe the next time I met him, but how to meet him unless I met his train? That, I decided, could be dangerously obvious. My mind then switched to Mrs. Marshall.
Before I went to jail, women had shared most of my leisure time. I had been stupid enough to have married a woman eight years older than myself. After a couple of years, I had lost interest in her and had begun to look elsewhere. I discovered lots of willing girls much younger, much more attractive than my wife. After a year of continuous cheating, she finally caught up with me. I couldn’t afford a divorce at that time so, after a lot of talk and eating humble pie, I managed to kid her it would never happen again, made the usual promises and eventually convinced her I was on the level and would remain that way. Then I was drafted to Vietnam. I had a ball out there. The Vietnamese girls were as accommodating as they were gorgeous. Back home again, I found life with my wife deadly dull after the nightlife in Saigon. Once more I began to cheat, then the merger thing blew up and I went to jail. By then, my wife had had enough of me and had found someone else. She got a divorce. At least, I didn’t have to pay alimony.
Apart from a few whores to relieve the pressure, I had kept away from women simply because I couldn’t afford to take them around, feed them, take them to movies before I could get into their beds. Now for the first time I wondered if my sex technique might win me something.
From what I had heard, Mrs. Marshall lived like a hermit. Unless she was a nutter, she surely would welcome male attention. It was just possible, if I handled her right, I could get more information from her than from her husband. The problem, of course, was how to contact her.
I had nothing to do on Monday, the following day. Marshall was certain to be in Frisco. Suppose, I told myself, I drove up to his house to inquire how he was... introducing myself as the good Samaritan who had driven him safely back home from the railroad station? Just a neighbourly call. What was the matter with that for an idea?
I thought about it, then decided again it was too obvious. I had to be patient. There was still plenty of time. Until his aunt died and Marshall got the money, I must wait.
Getting off the bed, I put on swim trunks, collected a towel and went down to the beach.
It seemed everyone in Wicksteed had the same idea. I had to pick my way over bodies to get into the sea. I swam amongst screaming, laughing youngsters, fat middle-aged women, scraggy middle-aged men and a number of real oldies.
This was not my idea of fun.
As I was walking across the sand towards Mrs. Hansen’s house, I heard my name called. Looking around, I saw Joe Pinner seated in a deck chair under the shade of a palm tree. He waved to me.
As I walked up to him, he said, ‘Howdy, friend,’ and pointed to an empty deck chair by his side. ‘Rest your legs if you haven’t anything better to do.’
I sat down beside him.
‘The wife’s just gone home,’ he said as if to explain why he was here on his own. ‘She can’t take too much sun. I hear you got fixed up with Bert. How are you liking it?’
‘I like it fine, and thanks, Mr. Pinner.’
He stroked his Mark Twain moustache, a twinkle in his eyes.
‘I told you... this is a nice little town: the best on the Pacific coast.’ He dug into a plastic bag and produced a cigar.
‘Want one of these?’
‘Thanks, no.’ I had brought along my cigarettes. We lit up and stared at the crowd on the beach.
‘Sam McQueen, our Sheriff, called on me, asking about you,’ Pinner said, easing his bulk in the deck chair. ‘That’s his job. He’s a fine man. I gave you a good reference. I hear he talked to you.’
‘Yes, he seems a nice guy.’
‘You can say that again.’ He blew smoke. ‘Tom Mason tells me you’ve been neighbourly. You helped Frank Marshall out of a fix.’ He eyed me. ‘Frank needs a lot of help right now. His friends are all rallying around.’
I flicked ash off my cigarette.
‘Why is he so special, Mr. Pinner?’
‘Before very long, he is going to be the most important citizen in this town whether he likes it or not.’ Pinner frowned at his cigar. ‘The fact is our Town planning committee — I’m a member — has been hatching an important scheme for some time. Before Mrs. Fremlin got really bad, we put this scheme up to her, but she wasn’t interested. I guess when you are as ill as she is, you don’t get interested in future schemes, but she told us, when she passed on, she was leaving all her money to her nephew, Frank, and it would be up to him to do what he thought best.’
‘May I ask what the scheme is, Mr. Pinner?’ I asked cautiously.
‘Why sure. It’s no secret. The one thing we lack in this town is an amusement park, plus a hotel. We reckon if we could raise a half a million, we could build an amusement park that would attract a whale of a lot of tourists. This town needs tourists. We already have three hotels here, but they aren’t much. We need a hotel that caters for the medium rich. I’ve guaranteed the committee a hundred thousand. Ten more public spirited citizens will put up fifty thousand each. That takes care of the load, but we want Marshall to put up at least three hundred thousand. Once he agrees, we can really put Wicksteed on the tourist map.’
‘Sounds a great idea,’ I said. ‘How does Frank react?’
Pinner pulled at his cigar, frowning.
‘That’s our problem. I don’t have to tell you Frank’s a drunk. He gives damn-all about anything except the bottle, but we are working on him. I think we can talk sense into him, given time, but we have to be careful he doesn’t do anything foolish. He would be the chairman of our committee once we became operative. He would have to be chairman with his big stake, and knowing Frank, he would insist on being chairman. I and the rest of us keep telling him it’s a fine investment, but his argument is he hasn’t got the money yet and he’ll only begin to think about it when he does get it.’