‘In the meantime, you can’t make plans?’
‘That’s it. Not only that, the cost of materials keeps rising. While we wait, our scheme becomes more and more costly. Frank could easily raise a loan right now on his expectations. We could begin our planning without waiting for Mrs. Fremlin to pass on if only he would agree, but he’s being bull headed about it. He knows he couldn’t invest his money better than to sink it in this town, but he’s too goddamn drunk these days to talk business. How he manages to run that estate office of his in Frisco beats me. His secretary must be doing all the work.’
‘Quite a problem,’ I said. ‘Have you talked to his wife? Some women can influence their husbands. Can’t she influence him?’
Pinner snorted.
‘None of us has ever met Mrs. Marshall.’ He tugged at his moustache. ‘She keeps very much to herself. She hasn’t ever come into town. I hear she does the shopping on the phone.’
‘Do you mean no one here has ever seen her?’
‘That’s right. According to Frank, he met her in Frisco, married her and brought her to live in that big, lonely house. I’ve talked to him, telling him it isn’t right for her to live alone the way she does. Between you and me, she is as important to Wicksteed as Frank is. If anything happened to him, she would get his money. It would be a hell of a thing if she collected that million and then walked out on this town. That’s what worries us. That’s why we keep urging the ladies here to try to contact her and that’s why we are also keeping an eye on Frank.’
‘What did he say when you talked to him about his wife?’
‘He just laughed.’ Pinner made a gesture of disgust. ‘He said his wife liked being on her own and for the ladies to mind their own business.’
‘Has he been married long?’
‘Three years... before he started to drink.’
‘I suppose there are no children?’
‘No children and no relations. He’s the last of the Marshalls. He did have a sister, but she died a few years back. No, if anything happened to him, his wife would get the lot.’ He stubbed out his cigar in the sand. ‘Since you saved him from that sonofabitch Ross, we have been talking about what’s best to do. We now have arranged to meet the train every evening to make sure Frank is fit to drive home. We’ve made up a roster. There’s Tom Mason, Harry Jacks, Fred Selby and me. We are going to take it in turns to be at the station. We reckon Frank will appreciate being taken care of and he could reciprocate by listening to reason.’
‘It’ll be a bit rough on whoever it is to have to walk back eight miles,’ I said, ‘but maybe you think it’s all in a good cause.’
‘No one’s walking back,’ Pinner said. ‘We’ve got this organized. Whoever takes him back will telephone and one of us will go out and pick him up.’
‘Is it that important?’ I asked, staring out to sea.
‘Yeah. It wouldn’t help if Olson tries to raise a loan on Frank’s expectations for the bank to find out Frank is a drunk. Apart from that, he might kill himself in his car.’
‘Yes.’ I paused, then went on, ‘I haven’t anything to do in the evenings. Suppose I help out? I could meet him at the station any night that would fit in with your roster.’
He clapped a heavy hand on my knee.
‘That’s what I call real neighbourly. How about Tuesday nights? Tom is doing the Monday stint. If you get stuck out there, you call Tom and he’ll pick you up. If he gets stuck, he’ll call you. How’s about it?’
‘That’s fine with me.’
As I walked back to Mrs. Hansen’s house, I decided Wicksteed’s planning committee was just as anxious to get its greedy hands on Marshall’s money as I was, but I preferred my chances to theirs.
Chapter Three
Joe Pinner’s scheme to protect Marshall from a drink-drive charge exploded as I walked into the hall of Mrs. Hansen’s house.
She came fluttering out of the living room, obviously in distress.
‘Oh, Mr. Devery, I’m so glad you’re back!’ she exclaimed. ‘Mr. McQueen is trying to contact my brother. There is no telephone in the church. Could I ask you to help?’
‘Why, sure. What is it?’
‘It’s Mr. Marshall. He has had a car accident.’
Here it is, I thought. The drunk has dropped into the grave he has been digging for himself.
‘Is he hurt?’
‘No... I don’t think so, but he is under arrest. Mr. McQueen said it will be a drink-drive and assault charge and my brother should be there. Isn’t it terrible?’
‘Where is the church, Mrs. Hansen?’
‘It’s on Pinewood Avenue. The first turning on the left at the end of this road.’
‘I’ll get your brother.’
I ran up the stairs, threw on a sweatshirt and slacks and then pounded down to my car.
I found Olson coming from the church, surrounded by kids.
When he saw me, he waved the kids away and joined me as I got out of the car.
‘Sheriff McQueen is asking for you, Mr. Olson,’ I said. ‘Marshall is in trouble... a drink-drive and assault charge. He’s now at the station house.’
For a brief moment, Olson lost his cool. His eyes popped wide open, then he recovered himself and became all lawyer.
‘Thank you, Mr. Devery. How unfortunate.’
This, I thought, was the understatement of the week.
‘It sure is,’ I said.
‘I’ll go at once.’
I watched him drive away, then seeing a call booth by the church, I went in, found Joe Pinner’s number in the book and called him.
‘This is Devery,’ I said when he came on the line. ‘Marshall is in trouble. He’s facing a drink-drive and assault charge. He’s at the station house right now and Olson is on his way.’
‘Sweet suffering Pete!’ Pinner moaned. ‘I’ll get over there. Thanks, Devery,’ and he hung up.
It occurred to me that it wouldn’t do me any harm to spread the news further. So I looked up Tom Mason’s home number and broke the news to him.
He reacted the same way as Pinner had done.
‘Good grief!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’ll get down there right away. Will you join me, Keith?’
I played it modest.
‘Why, sure, if you think I can be of use.’
‘All Frank’s friends should be there,’ Mason said. ‘This is serious.’
Yet another great understatement.
I said I would be there.
When I arrived outside the station house, a big crowd was milling around. Three newsmen and four photographers were on the scene like vultures waiting for a meal.
Joe Pinner, a cigar stuck in his face, was standing by his black Caddy. I walked over to him.
‘What goes on, Mr. Pinner?’ I asked.
He pushed his Stetson to the back of his head.
‘Olson is handling it.’ He dragged at his Mark Twain moustache. ‘What a goddamn mess just when we thought we had it organized! Tom is in there, talking to McQueen.’ He paused, rolled his cigar around in his mouth, then added, ‘Tom is McQueen’s cousin. He has a pull.’
We stood around as the crowd built up.
‘This is a hell of a thing,’ Pinner said after a while. ‘The press will give it a spread and the publicity could sink our loan.’
Never mind Marshall, all he was worrying about was the loan.
Tom Mason came through the crowd and joined us. The newsmen surged forward and flashlights popped. There was a yell for a statement. Obviously enjoying his moment of importance, Tom waved them away.
‘You guys talk to the Sheriff. I’ve got no comment.’ He caught hold of Pinner’s arm and pulled him towards Pinner’s car. I drifted along with them.
‘That was real good of you, Keith, to have called me,’ Tom said. ‘Let’s get in and I’ll give you the set-up.’