Turlock sighed. “That’s plain,” he said. “Goodbye.”
“What is it?” Mrs. Turlock called from the living room as Turlock hung up the phone.
“Oh, some friend of the Calhouns — girl by the name of Irma Jesup — says she has to get Betty right away. It’s terribly important. I suppose it’s an invitation to a theater party or something. Don’t know why I didn’t make her tell me what it was all about.”
“You aren’t going out there, Lew?”
“I think Jim Thornton will run over and get her for me. It’s only a quarter of a mile from his place over there... Say, what do you suppose is the matter with those horses? Guess I’d better go take a look. Don’t see any lights over there, I s’pose Sid Rowan and his wife have gone to the movies again.”
“Oh, quit worrying about the horses,” Mrs. Turlock said. “You can’t do your work and Sid’s too.”
“You know Jim Thornton’s number?” Turlock called to his wife.
“Six seven four — ring three.”
“Okay.”
Turlock picked up the telephone. When he had Jim Thornton on the line, he said, “Jim, this is Lew Turlock. I hate to bother you, but Betty’s staying over with Rose Marie Mallard tonight. Long distance is trying to get her and says it’s important. Now, do you suppose you could...”
“Sure thing,” Thornton said. “I’ll get ’em over here right away.”
“It ain’t too much trouble?”
“Shucks, no. I have a signal with them. I put up an old automobile spotlight on the side of the house. It’s pointed right toward their windows and whenever someone wants one of them on the phone, I turn on that spotlight. It may take a few minutes for them to see it, but usually someone comes right over. Usually it’s Rose Marie. What with the shortage of equipment they haven’t been able to get a phone. I’ll switch on the light right away, Lew. How’s everything coming?”
“So-so.”
“Don’t want to sell that Jersey milk cow, do you? I know a man who’s trying to buy up some good cows, willing to pay a good price.”
“How much?”
Thornton’s voice became suddenly cautious, indicating his recognition of the fact that they were talking on a party line. “Remember my telling you what I got for that bay horse?”
“Uh huh.”
“Well, he’s offered five dollars less than that for the right sort of cows.”
“I’ll think it over. Probably be seeing you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Be seeing you.”
Turlock hung up. Within a matter of five minutes the phone was ringing again.
“That’ll be Betty now,” Mrs. Turlock said.
Lew Turlock put down his paper and walked patiently over to the telephone. When Betty was home, she always answered the telephone. When she was away, her father took over the job. Mrs. Turlock had a slight impediment of hearing which, as she expressed it, “Made the words sound all blurred over the telephone.” But there were those who claimed she could hear all right when it came to listening in on party-line conversations.
Lew Turlock picked up the receiver and said, “Hello.”
The voice which came rushing at him over the wire showed all of the nervous rapidity of a person who has an explanation to make and is very anxious to be certain the explanation is accepted.
“Oh, Mr. Turlock,” the voice pleaded. “This is Rose Marie. Betty isn’t here right now. She’s going to join me a little later. There was something came up. She is coming out almost... well, almost any time now. If you can leave the message, I’ll see that she gets it.”
Lew Turlock gripped the telephone receiver. He started to ask a question and then realized that there were other ears on the party line. This would make a choice morsel of gossip. Magnified, distorted, repeated, it would brand his daughter as a girl who resorted to the familiar expedient of saying she was spending a night with a girl friend who would give her an alibi and then...
Lew Turlock fought to keep his voice casual. “Tell her Irma Jesup called up and wants Betty to call back just as soon as she possibly can. She’s to put the call through collect. Trinidad 6273. That’s all. I’m sorry I bothered you but Irma Jesup said it was terribly important. I told her that I couldn’t reach Betty until later on in the evening.”
“Okay. I’ll... I’ll... tell her. You understand about...”
“Thanks,” Lew interrupted, keeping his voice casual, and rung up.
It took two or three seconds for him to compose himself sufficiently to walk back to the living room and face his wife. But Mrs. Turlock was engrossed in her book and barely looked up. She took it for granted Rose Marie had promised to drive back to her home and relay the message to Betty.
Lew stood, debating just what to do next. His mind was a turmoil of thought, but all the time he was fighting himself to keep his manner and speech completely casual.
Across on the Calhoun place a horse snorted and kicked. The wind was from the east, carrying the sound plainly. Lew Turlock welcomed it as a diversion. “I’m going across and take a look at those horses,” he said. “One of them may have a foot caught or something.”
“Sid Rowan certainly doesn’t believe in doing any more work than is necessary to get by,” Mrs. Turlock snorted. “I can’t say that I like the idea of having neighbors who go away and leave the place in the hands of someone like Sid Rowan. After all, the Calhouns aren’t there over five or six days a month. And when they are, there’s a continual screeching and shouting.”
“I know,” Lew said, and opened the table drawer to take out a flashlight. “I’ll be back in five or ten minutes.”
As Lew Turlock crossed the kitchen and opened the back door, his wife was saying something about Sid Rowan traipsing off to a movie three or four nights a week and delegating his responsibilities to the neighbors. Having warmed to this subject of conversation, she found it more interesting than her book.
Turlock quietly closed the door, shutting off his wife’s tirade.
2
The boundary line between the Turlock and Calhoun properties ran directly across the crest of a commanding knoll. For this reason, the houses were nearer together than would otherwise have been the case, each builder desiring to take advantage of the view and the cool breezes.
Using the beam of his flashlight to guide him, Lew Turlock crossed the narrow strip of lawn, opened the gate in the fence, and approached the Calhoun barn.
It had been raining earlier in the day, but now the clouds had broken up. The stars were gleaming brightly, interrupted only by an occasional blotch of drifting clouds. The air, washed clean of impurities by the rain, felt cool and crisp. The smell of damp earth was a delightful aroma in Turlock’s nostrils. It exerted a quieting influence, stilling somewhat the thoughts which raced around and around in his brain like a weary squirrel wheel of worry.
Lew Turlock knew he must make some excuse to get out to George Mallard’s place. Somehow, he must get Rose Marie off to one side and quiz her before she had had a chance to get in touch with Betty and fix up some story. That, Turlock decided, was the Calhoun influence. Lorraine Calhoun’s smilingly superior manners had started all of the girls putting on airs, trying to be sophisticated. Take Rosemary, for instance, who had ceased to be plain “Rosemary” but must now be called Rose Marie. Her parents had no business letting her get away with that stuff. If he’d been her father...
Lew, walking doggedly toward the barn, his mind occupied with his own problems, noticed that the beam of his flashlight was reflected back at him from the chrome finish on a convertible car, parked almost in front of the stable door.