“Why would you do that?”
In answer, Shaw pulled out a sheet of paper. “I have a lawman friend out close to Nevada and he sent some men over to the casinos in Las Vegas. They’ve determined that your husband owes them about two hundred thousand dollars in gambling debts.”
Marjorie’s eyes widened at this gigantic sum. “Did you say two hundred thousand dollars!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“My word, I had no idea.” Her hand went to her bosom. “Hank, gambling? I can’t believe it.”
“That’s not all, unfortunately.”
“What?” she said sharply, her small eyes narrowing behind the specs.
“Your husband had lots of businesses.”
“Yes, of course he did. He owned half of Poca City. And now I suppose I do.” She seemed pleased by the prospect, thought Archer.
“He owned a lot, sure, but he owed a lot, too. This is a list of vendors he has failed to pay over the last eleven months or so. It’s a pretty lengthy list. I’m not sure he was paying anybody what they were owed.”
Marjorie read down the list, looked at the total dollar amount, turned the color of a cloud, picked up her drink, and drained it in one swallow. She wiped her mouth and Archer noted the shake of her hand as she set it back down.
“There must be some mistake,” she said weakly, or maybe hopefully. “I mean, this... this can’t be. This is far more than the gambling debts. This...” She faltered and looked up at Shaw in total shock.
“There’s no mistake. I’m sorry.”
She half rose and looked toward the door, which puzzled Archer, because there was no one there. Then she collapsed back on the davenport and hit a brass button on the wall. A few seconds crawled by, and Amy opened the door.
“Yes, ma’am?”
Marjorie held up her empty glass. “Another of these. Gentlemen, will you drink with me?”
Archer eyed Shaw, who nodded and said, “We’ll both be having what the missus is.”
“Tell George to make mine a double, and don’t bother with any ice,” ordered Marjorie.
Amy smiled and skipped out.
Marjorie refocused on Shaw. “This... this is unbelievable.”
Archer said, “How come if he owes the boys in Vegas, they haven’t gotten paid?”
“I asked my friend that. They said Mr. Pittleman was a good customer and always paid what he owed. So when he asked for credit, they gave it to him.”
Marjorie, looking distracted, once more put a hand to her bosom. “I feel like I’ve fallen into someone else’s life.”
“Yes, ma’am. I take it you knew nothing about your husband’s businesses, then?”
“I never saw the need, and neither did Hank. I mean, well, he was the man, correct? And I’ve never had any talent whatsoever when it came to such things. And... and he was so successful. I never dreamt... I mean, I never thought anything was wrong at all.” She looked around the grand room. “How could I? I wake up here every day to... this.”
Shaw put the paper away. “Well, you wouldn’t be the first wife to be kept in the dark about her husband’s doings, ma’am.”
She glanced warily at Shaw. “These gambling debts? Do you think these people could have had something to do with Hank’s death?”
“I certainly think it a possibility. And a two-hundred-thousand-dollar debt is reason enough to kill a man.” He paused. “But you would think they’d try to collect the money. With your husband dead, how are they going to get paid?”
Tears gathered in the old woman’s eyes. “My poor Hank.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Shaw, casting an awkward glance at Archer.
A minute later the door opened, and Amy came in carrying a tray with their drinks. She passed them out and left, but again with a smile cast Archer’s way. Shaw noted it this time, elbowed the man, and shook his head, a grave expression on his face.
Marjorie drank a goodly portion of her whiskey while the two men sipped on theirs.
Shaw said, “Has anyone tried to contact you? Phone calls, letters?”
“Pertaining to what?” Marjorie said sharply.
“The debts your husband owed. Gambling or otherwise.”
“No, but he had his office at the Derby Hotel, not here.”
“Yes, ma’am, we know that. Did he by chance keep any papers here?”
“Not that I know of, but you could talk to Sid Duckett. He might know. Been with us a long time. Hank liked him.”
“Is he here?”
“He lives in a cottage over near the trucking warehouse. White house with green shutters.”
“Right, but what about Malcolm Draper? I was told he was your husband’s business manager of sorts. If anyone knew it would probably be him.”
Marjorie took another drink of her whiskey. “Yes, of course, that’s right. I was actually counting on Mr. Draper to help me navigate all of Hank’s affairs. He came on about a year ago. He would most certainly know.”
“Does he live on the grounds?”
“No, he has a room at the Derby.”
“Does he?” asked Shaw, who cast another glance at Archer. “Well, we won’t bother you anymore. We’ll go see Duckett and find out what he might know. And then we’ll talk to Draper in town.”
He stood, along with Archer. Marjorie, showing a nimbleness that Archer certainly had not expected, rose off the davenport, came around the table, and put a hand on Shaw’s arm.
“What am I to do about these debts and such?”
Shaw looked taken aback by the query. “Ma’am, I don’t know. You’d have to check with someone. I suppose your husband had a lawyer.”
“I think he did.”
“And he owns the bank,” added Archer. “They might know something, too.”
Marjorie looked unsure. “Yes, but I’ve never had to deal with those people.” She gripped Shaw’s arm tighter. “Do you... do you think these people might come here? These people from Las Vegas? Am... am I in any danger?”
Shaw said firmly, “If anyone comes here and makes any threats whatsoever, you let me know immediately. Don’t know about Nevada, but we frown on that hereabouts.”
“Yes, of course, thank you.”
As they walked out of the house Shaw said, “That poor woman looked like she just saw a freight train coming right for her.”
“Let’s hope it’s not coming our way, too,” replied Archer.
Chapter 28
“No business papers around here that I know of,” said Sid Duckett.
They’d found him sitting on the front stoop of his small cottage smoking a fat cigar.
“So Mr. Pittleman never gave you anything like that? To hold for him or whatnot?”
“Naw. If something needed doing, he just told me, and it got done. For papers and such, you’d have to ask Mr. Draper that.”
“And where is Mr. Draper now? At the Derby?” Shaw wanted to know.
“Don’t know. Not the man’s keeper.”
“If you see him, will you let him know I want to talk to him?”
“Sure thing, Detective.”
Archer said, “Draper carries a gun. He said it was because of the warehouse.”
“That’s right.”
“But the other guys at the warehouse weren’t carrying guns,” noted Archer as Shaw looked on.
“Don’t know what to tell you about that. Man wants to carry a gun, he can carry a gun.”
“You don’t,” said Archer.
“Never saw a need to.”
“Mr. Pittleman ever mention any money troubles to you?” asked Archer.
Duckett laughed. “Money troubles? Hell, he’s the richest man around here. Maybe the whole state far as I know. I mean, just eyeball that house ’a his. Look to you like the house of a man with money troubles?”
“Well, looks can be deceiving. Your wages ever been late in coming or not come in full?”