“Well, I hope not to disappoint you or me, sir.”
“So, then?”
“With Pittleman dead, it’s gotten a little complicated, so to speak.”
“Or perhaps it’s gotten easier.”
“I don’t know about that. I do know that you torched the Caddy.”
Tuttle didn’t seem fazed by this. “An unfortunate accident. They happen a lot on farms.”
“Is that right?” Archer wanted to ask him about Isabel’s accident, but decided now was not the right time.
“I want my daughter back home.”
“I’m trying, but it might be because her mother died there. She left about the same time. I wonder why.”
Tuttle’s face darkened. “Do you know how my wife died?”
Now that the man had brought up the subject himself, Archer said, “Just that it was an accident, but nobody told me the details.”
Tuttle glanced out the window. “Yes, they say it was an accident.”
“You saying it wasn’t?”
Tuttle stared back at him. “I... I don’t know, Archer. All I want is my daughter home. And if you can persuade her to do that, you will have earned your money.”
“Okay, but Jackie loved her mother and her mother loved her right back.”
“And who told you that?” asked Tuttle sharply.
“Your secretary, that Desiree woman.”
“Ah, yes. Right. I suppose she would see it that way.”
“It’s not true?”
“Mr. Archer, there is no more complex relationship in the world than that of a mother and her daughter.”
“I think you might be right about that. But are you saying they didn’t get along?”
“Jackie is supremely headstrong, smart, opinionated, unlike any other woman I know — other than her mother, that is, for my daughter took after Isabel in a fierce way. And women from South America, Archer, are hot-blooded, full of fire and fight. It was what attracted me to her in the first place. She was the only woman of my acquaintance who could hold her own with me. Actually, more than hold her own.”
“But if she didn’t die in an accident, what happened then?”
Tuttle looked out the window again. “Sometimes it’s better not knowing the truth. Do you believe that, Archer?”
“Well, I think the truth is important. But I guess the truth can hurt too.”
“You’ve laid out the dilemma precisely. The truth not only can hurt, but also can have the capacity to destroy. Do you understand that?”
“What sort of truth are you talking about?”
“My wife was a beautiful creature, Archer. Beautiful beyond comparison. I could hardly believe it when she agreed to become my wife, for I was a young man just making his way. But tropical beauty such as she possessed sometimes affects the mind in ways that can be dangerous.”
“You mean...?” prompted Archer.
“I mean that sometimes I became frightened of my own wife. You see me with my shotgun, and you think I’m a little touched in the head and prone to violence. But with me it’s just bluster, Archer. With Isabel, it was something more.” He paused. “And beauty was not the only thing that Jackie inherited from her mother.”
“Hold on, now, Jackie is a good person.”
“Keep in mind that you’ve known her a short time. I’ve known Jackie her entire life.”
It was not lost on Archer that Jackie had pretty much said the same thing to him, only in the context of Archer’s knowing her father for such a short time. “What exactly are you trying to say, Mr. Tuttle? I’d like the straight dope without all the gobbledygook.”
Tuttle poked him in the chest. “Bring my daughter back to me, Archer. And collect your money, which I’ve just upped to two hundred dollars.”
Archer looked stunned. “Why the increase?”
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
He motioned to the door, and Archer slowly climbed out. The chauffeur, who had gotten his Coke and was sipping it while perched on a fire hydrant, observed this, jumped up, and got back into the car, and the Cadillac drove off.
“Archer?”
Archer turned around to see Jackie Tuttle staring at him from across the way.
Jackie Tuttle wasn’t really looking at Archer, though. He could see that now. She was looking over his shoulder, at the Cadillac rolling down the street.
She pulled her gaze away and walked over to him. Then she took a whiff and drew back, holding a hand to her nose. “You stink, do you know that?”
He looked down at himself. “Well, butchering hogs doesn’t exactly make you smell pretty.”
“Is that what you’re doing now?”
“Got my butt kicked out of the hotel.”
“Where are you staying then?”
“Working on it.”
“Look, you can stay with me, Archer.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?” She smiled. “It would give us certain advantages of privacy.”
“How’d you think that would look, especially to Mr. Shaw with the way things are?”
Her smile faded. “Right, I see your point.” She looked down the street. “Was that my father?”
“I think you know it was.”
“Did you speak with him?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“And he’s increased the offer to two hundred dollars if you come back home.”
“What else did he say?” she blurted out.
He drew a step back. “What? Nothing.”
She lurched forward and grabbed his jacket. “Are you lying to me?”
“No.”
She let go of him and her hostile look faded. “Well, good. How about I feed you then? I can see your belly pushing inward from here.”
However, he was still reacting to her dizzying emotional swing and didn’t answer.
Apparently his unsettled features showed his dilemma, because she smiled disarmingly and said, “My father drives me a little crazy, Archer.”
“Yeah, I can see that. Maybe more than a little.”
“So, let’s go eat.”
“I don’t have the cash, and I’m not letting you buy me a meal again.”
“Then how about I cook for you?”
He looked askance at her.
She said, “You doubt I can?”
“No. I just... Well, what would you be thinking of making?”
“I like my food fried, Archer. So chicken and okra and green tomatoes, for certain. And I have a bottle of wine. You ever have that spirit?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“My mother introduced me to it. Wine from Argentina was her favorite. I don’t have that. But I have a bottle of red wine from France.”
“France! How the hell did you manage that?”
“I didn’t. Hank did. He gave it to me.”
“You okay with us drinking it?”
“We can toast him, if you want. But I mean to drink it sooner rather than later. He said some people wait years, even decades, to uncork a bottle.”
“Never heard of such a thing. Couldn’t be any good after all that time.”
“They say it is, but I’m not that patient. Why don’t you meet me in an hour’s time at my house? Then dinner will be ready.”
He thought of his arrangement with Ernestine and said, “I’ll come up to your back door. And I can’t stay all that long. I have to go to work in the morning.”
“Right. Killing hogs.”
“Well, in my case, just butchering ’em.”
“That’s a hairsplitter if ever I’ve heard one, Archer.”
Chapter 25
It was sixty-one minutes later that Archer found himself knocking on the woman’s back door. She answered it wearing an apron over her dress.
“Well, if the smell is any factor, this meal will be pretty fine,” he said.
He watched her working the skillets on the three-burner stove, which had an electric icebox next to it. When the food was done, shortly after he arrived, they sat down in a small dining room stuffed with too much furniture. She’d lit candles that threw the room into shadowy relief.