She rested her chin on his chest and stared at him. “Why not?”
“Couldn’t get any leave to go home. My division was in hard fighting with the Germans. The battle for Bologna was, well, it was tough. Good thing the war ended a couple weeks after that because we were beat up bad. So even if I could’ve gotten leave, there was no way for me to get out. Not that I’d have wanted to.”
“Why wouldn’t you have wanted to?”
“My parents were dead, Jackie. Nothing was bringing them back. But the Thirty-Fourth needed every soldier it could muster. If we all started taking leave, a lot more men would have died who didn’t need to.”
“That was very heroic of you.”
“No, it wasn’t. Heroes are special people who do things they’re not expected to do. I was just a grunt doing my job like millions of other grunts. Only I got to come home for no good reason other than I was lucky enough not to die.”
“Still, that must have been awful, not even seeing them buried.”
“It happened to lots of boys during the war. Why should I be any different?”
“That’s extraordinarily magnanimous of you.”
“Those are big college words for such a little thing.”
“I’m an only child, too. I don’t have anyone, either.”
“Well, you have your father, like it or not.”
Her fingers stopped stroking his belly for a moment before resuming.
“You sure know how to press my buttons, Archer,” she said. “And not in a good way.”
There were a few moments of silence until Archer said, “Hey, did that detective fellow Shaw come and see you too?”
She sat up and looked down at him, covering her nakedness with the sheet.
“Yes. I didn’t like him. He asked a lot of questions.”
“What did you tell him?” he asked.
“Well, what did you tell him?”
“The truth. Mostly.”
“I told him the whole truth. Nothing for it.”
“Meaning?”
“He asked where we met, and I told him.”
“At the bar?”
“Well, that’s the truth, Archer.”
Well, there goes my parole. My butt’s heading back to Carderock regardless.
“And what did he say?”
“Nothing, but he wrote it all down.”
“I’m sure he did. He’s a man who likes his pencil and paper. What else?”
“That Hank had hired you to collect a debt from my father. But he already knew that.”
“What else?”
“That you had to carry Hank to his room and then we went back to your place for a nightcap.”
“Did you tell him what else we did?”
“Not in so many words. Did you tell him we slept together?”
“What else was I supposed to say?”
“A gentleman would not have betrayed a lady’s secret. I do have a reputation to preserve, Archer.”
“Is that right? Well, he called you Hank Pittleman’s mistress.”
“I corrected him on that. Not that he cared. Just looked at me funny.”
“Man’s a bulldog. He’s not going to let this go.”
“We have nothing to hide, Archer.”
“You and I know that. But what about him?”
“I’m sure it will be fine.”
“What about Marjorie?”
“What about her?”
“She may sell out everything.”
“She may. It’s her right. I told you that.”
“So you really think she’s going to turn on you then, even after being nice to you today?”
“We’re not friends, Archer. We needed each other, that’s what I’ve been telling you, only apparently you weren’t listening. With Hank dead, Marjorie Pittleman would love to see me in the street with not a dime to my name. I went over there today trying to buy some time, make her see me in a supportive light.” She sighed heavily. “But Marjorie’s no dummy. With Hank dead my goose is cooked.” She grabbed her pack of cigarettes and lighter off the nightstand and ignited a Chesterfield. Archer declined her offer of one.
She took a puff, blew smoke sideways from her mouth, and said in a funereal tone, “Well, it was fun while it lasted.” She pulled the sheet tighter around her with her free hand as she smoked her cigarette. “It’s a man’s world, Archer. Your kind has all the money and all the power.”
“Hold on, now. Don’t lump me in with the likes of Hank Pittleman. My pockets are just about empty, and as for power, that’s a laugh. I’m an ex-con with about as few prospects as a man can have, even after helping to win a big war.”
She tousled his hair. “Well, I can see your point. But it still makes me so mad. It wasn’t that long ago where we couldn’t even vote. Women have to scrounge around the edges for our share, and let the men think they’re so far above us, we’re just happy to be along for the ride. It won’t always be that way, but it’s the way it is now.”
“Is that your psychology education talking?”
“That and my common sense and living in this world.” She snuffed out her smoke in a tall glass of melted ice. “So now I’m up a creek without a paddle or a damn canoe.”
“What will you do now?”
“I’m not going back to my father, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” She lit another cigarette. “What about you?”
“I’m not sure how I collect the debt now and get paid.”
“Way I see it, you have options. Hank’s dead. My father can pay the money back in good conscience since I’m no longer with Hank. Then you can collect the money Hank promised you from Marjorie. I’ll vouch for the deal that Hank made with you. I was there after all. I think she’ll listen to reason. I mean, five thousand dollars is a lot of money. And if she wants it back, you have to get paid.”
“I could go out and see your father. You think he knows about what happened?”
“Of course he does. But I wouldn’t go out there just yet.”
“Why not?”
“Hank was murdered, Archer. You rushing around trying to cash in on his death will not be missed by Mr. Shaw.”
Archer looked at her statement from several angles and pronounced her words starkly plausible. “So maybe I should just lie low for a bit. Shaw already thinks I might’ve killed Pittleman.”
“And you’re sure you didn’t?”
“You’re thinking I’m a killer and yet you just let me in your bed?”
“Well, it was as pleasurable for me as it was for you. And you didn’t murder me. So let some time pass and then you can take my car while the Nash is still my car and go see my father.”
“You okay with me seeing your old man?”
“So long as I don’t have to go back to the son of a bitch, I’m okay with just about anything, Archer.”
Chapter 18
That night Archer was sitting alone at a table in the Checkered Past restaurant looking over his menu. The place was packed, and he had grabbed the last available table. He glanced up from his menu when she walked in. Ernestine Crabtree had reverted to her office look, meaning an exceedingly modest dress in a drab range of charcoal with a coat sporting big flap pockets that widened her hips. Her hair was once more wound in a fiercely tight bun, the shell specs fronted her face, and she had on not a stitch of powder or lipstick. Her tall heels had shrunk by several inches, and her nylons were thick and scratchy looking. She was holding a wide-brimmed cartwheel hat the color of a robin’s egg, which served to brighten her appearance a bit. Still, Archer had to almost look twice to make sure it was the same woman.
As there were no empty tables, she looked ready to leave when Archer raised his hand.
“Miss Crabtree,” he called out.