‘I’ve heard about you, Mr. Devery. You’re teaching my granddaughter to drive... Emma Haines. How’s she doing?’
I remembered Emma. She was the one with the brace and the giggles.
‘She’s making progress, Mr. Haines, but she’ll need a few more lessons.’
‘That’s all the kids think about these days.’ He shook his head. ‘Rushing around in cars.’ He took out an old-fashioned watch. ‘Due in any moment now, Mr. Devery. I’ll get the package for you.’
He went off down the far end of the platform. As I lit a cigarette, I spotted Deputy Sheriff Ross getting out of a police car. He walked with slow strides to the car park, then propped his lean figure against a car fender.
I turned as I heard the train approaching. It slid slowly to a halt and people began to spill out, all moving fast to the parking lot. Mr. Haines approached, carrying a box.
‘Here you are, Mr. Devery. Just sign here.’ As I was signing I saw Frank Marshall getting off the train. He got off like a man descending a dangerous slope on Mount Everest. I could see he was plastered to the eyeballs. A bottle of Scotch was sagging out of his jacket pocket. His face was a fiery red and sweat made black patches on his pale blue suit. He was the last passenger off the train. He came unsteadily towards me as Mr. Haines went into his office.
Marshall squinted at me as he passed, but he didn’t seem to recognize me. Then I remembered that Deputy Sheriff Ross was outside. I put down the box and caught hold of Marshall’s arm.
‘Mr. Marshall...’
‘Huh?’ He turned and stared blearily at me.
‘We met in Joe’s bar. I’m Devery.’
‘So what?’ He pulled away from me. ‘So what’s so important about that?’
‘I thought you’d better know Deputy Sheriff Ross is outside.’
Marshall frowned. I saw he was trying to concentrate.
‘That sonofabitch... who cares about him?’ he said doubtfully.
‘That’s up to you, Mr. Marshall. I thought you might like to know,’ and turning, I picked up the box.
‘Hey! Wait!’
I paused.
‘What’s he doing out there?’ Marshall asked, peering at me.
‘Waiting for you I imagine.’
He thought about this, swaying drunkenly, then slowly nodded.
‘Yeah... he could at that, the bastard.’ He pushed his hat to the back of his head and blotted his face with his handkerchief. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have had that little drink on the train.’ He nodded. ‘Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have.’
Here was an opportunity I wasn’t going to miss.
‘Suppose I drive you home, Mr. Marshall? I have the time.’
He put his head on one side and stared.
‘That’s pretty white of you, friend. Would you do that?’
‘Sure.’
He screwed up his eyes while he tried to think.
‘How will you get back?’ he finally asked.
I was surprised he even considered that, ‘No problem. I’ll walk.’
Marshall bunched his hand into a fist and tapped me on the chest.
‘That’s real neighbourly. Okay, friend, let’s go. Tell you what... have dinner with us. That’s a quid pro quo. You have dinner with us.’
Carrying the box, I walked with him out of the station and towards the parking lot.
As we reached Marshall’s Plymouth, Deputy Sheriff Ross appeared.
‘You driving, Mr. Marshall?’ he demanded, his narrow eyes flickering from Marshall to me.
‘My friend is driving,’ Marshall said with drunken dignity. ‘Why should you care?’
Ross turned to me.
‘You leaving your car here?’
‘Any law against it, Deputy Sheriff?’ I asked, getting into the Plymouth.
Marshall exploded into a haw-haw-haw, then lurched around the car and slumped into the passenger’s seat. I drove away, leaving Ross staring after us the way a tiger would stare, seeing a fat roebuck speeding to safety.
‘That’s screwed the sonofabitch,’ Marshall said and slapped me on my knee. ‘He’s been laying for me for months, but I’m too smart for him.’
‘All the same, Mr. Marshall you should be more careful.’
‘You think so?’ He peered at me. ‘Yeah, maybe you’re right. Now, I’ll tell you something. Before long, I’m going to own this little town. I’m going to be the big shot here and I’ll see Ross gets kicked the hell off the force.’
‘Is that right, Mr. Marshall?’ I was now driving along Main Street.
‘Cut the mister. I’m Frank to my friends. What’s your first name, friend?’
‘Keith.’
‘That’s some name. Where are you from?’
‘New York.’
I turned left and headed towards Mrs. Hansen’s house.
‘You like New York?’
‘Can’t say as I do.’
‘Nor do I. I don’t like Frisco either, but that’s where I have to earn a living, but not for long. I’m going to have so much money Keith, I’ll be able to buy up this little town.’
I pulled up outside Mrs. Hansen’s house.
‘I live here, Frank. I’ve got to drop off this box. I won’t be a minute.’
As I entered the front hall with the box, Mrs. Hansen met me.
‘Here it is, Mrs. Hansen. I’m sorry... I won’t be in for dinner. I have a problem.’
She looked beyond me through the open front door and saw Marshall sitting in the Plymouth.
‘Oh! Are you taking the poor man home, Mr. Devery?’
‘That’s it. He’s invited me to dinner.’
‘But how will you get back without your car?’
‘I’ll walk.’ I smiled at her. ‘I’m used to walking,’ and leaving her, I returned to the Plymouth.
Marshall had fallen asleep, his bulk wedged against the off-side door, his mouth hanging open. He slept all the way to his house. My memory served me well and I had no trouble finding my way.
I pulled up before the front door, then gently shook Marshall’s arm.
‘We’re home, Frank,’ I said.
He didn’t stir.
I gave him a harder shake, but it was like shaking a corpse. After a third try, I got out of the car and walked up the five broad steps to the front door. I thumbed the bell push and waited.
I was feeling tense. Here was my chance to meet Mrs. Marshall and I badly wanted to meet her. I wanted to judge the kind of woman she was and to judge if she could be a danger if and when I began the operation.
It was hot out there on the top step with the evening sun burning down on me. After a wait, I rang again. No one came to the door. I rang a third time: still no one came.
Exasperated, I stepped back and looked up at the row of windows of the upper storey. One of the curtains moved slightly. So she was there, but she wasn’t going to open up. I returned to the car and shook Marshall again. He slid further down in his seat and began to snore.
So... no Mrs. Marshall and no dinner, but only an eight-mile walk back to Wicksteed.
I wasn’t discouraged. I had made good progress this evening. Marshall was now in debt to me. We were on Christian name terms and he had told me he was going to be rich.
I had yet to meet the elusive Mrs. Marshall, but there was time.
Leaving Marshall snoring in his car, I walked down the drive and down the long dirt road towards Wicksteed.
The next morning was Saturday. Bert had told me Saturday was the busiest day of the week. It was on Saturday pupils were tested to see if they were good enough to take the official test.
I had just finished dressing when Mrs. Hansen brought in the breakfast tray.
‘I hope you weren’t too tired after that long walk, Mr. Devery,’ she said setting down the tray. ‘It must be a good eight miles.’
‘I was lucky. I got a lift,’ I told her and I had. A truck driver had picked me up at the bottom of the dirt road and had taken me back to Wicksteed.