“What time does the ride start?” I asked.
“This morning the ride starts around nine o’clock. You’ll go crazy trying to find something to do between now and then.”
“What do you do now? Feed the horses?”
“No, we groom them and saddle them, but I’m going to town. I’ve got to take Mr. and Mrs. Wilcox in to the nine o’clock plane. They want to be in there by eight-thirty and they preferred to have breakfast at the airport. They’re just getting a cup of coffee here.”
“Fine,” I told him. “I’ll ride in with you. That’ll give me something to do.”
Kramer laughed and said, “You’re the exact opposite of most of the guests we have here. Most of them like to come straggling in for breakfast and then hold up the string on the morning rides... Okay, we’ll be leaving in about ten minutes.”
“I’ll get in the back seat of the station wagon right now,” I said, “or can I give you a hand with their baggage?”
“Don’t be silly,” he said. “If they caught me letting a guest carry baggage, they’d kick me so hard I’d be in orbit around the moon... There’s the station wagon over there.”
I got in the back seat.
Mr. and Mrs. Wilcox came out in about ten minutes. They were portly Easterners who had been trying to take off weight, get a sunburn and be able to go back East and surprise their friends with a line of horse lingo.
Talking with them on the way in, I learned that they had been at the guest ranch for three full weeks; that while the cowboy boots hurt his feet at first, Wilcox had managed to become accustomed to them so he was now swearing they were the most comfortable boots he’d ever had on in his life; he was going to have rubber heels put on them and wear them every day — “right in the office, by Jove.”
I noticed the broad-brimmed sombrero he was wearing, the coat of tan on his face, and felt quite certain that not only would he wear his cowboy boots but he’d manage to find lots of excuses to tilt back in his swivel chair and get his feet up on the desk where awed secretaries and employees could get a good view and realize that their employer was a real old-time, bronco-stomping buckaroo.
Mrs. Wilcox was enthusiastic over the fact that she had taken off seven pounds and “felt like a new woman.”
They were so busy talking about themselves that no one talked about me.
When we got to the airport, they checked in their baggage, then went to get breakfast.
I said to Kramer, “What would happen if I didn’t go back to the ranch with you?”
“Nothing. Why? You aren’t one of these credit risks, are you, Lam?”
“I’m paid up in advance,” I said, “and I’d like to have that cabin left undisturbed in case I don’t get back tonight.”
Kramer looked me over thoughtfully, then gave a quizzical grin. “I thought there was something strange about your restlessness,” he said. “I’ve seen stallions act the same way.”
I let it go at that and detoured around to find out when the next plane left for Dallas.
There was one in thirty minutes.
I was on it.
At Dallas, I put in a collect call for Breckinridge.
“Haven’t made that settlement yet, have you?” I asked, when he had accepted the charges.
“Not yet, but I’m getting a cashier’s check to close the deal. The operator said you were in Dallas.”
“That’s right.”
“What the devil are you doing there?”
“Chasing down some angles on this case.”
“Now look, Donald, I don’t want to have any misunderstandings about this. If that man has a whiplash injury, we want to settle while we can settle. Actually, he hasn’t got an attorney yet but he’s threatened to get one. He said he would if it became necessary.
“Now, in a situation of that sort, we settle and we settle fast.”
“But you haven’t settled yet?”
“No. I have a representative going to the guest ranch this afternoon with proper releases all ready to sign. He’ll have cashier’s checks. We’re going to make a very substantial settlement.”
“Tell your man to hold off until you hear from me again.”
“Why?”
“There’s something fishy about this.”
“There can be a lot about it that’s fishy but he’s got a whiplash injury and we’re going to have to confess liability. Good heavens, Lam, do you have any idea what it means when you walk into court and have to stand up in front of a jury and say, ‘We admit liability, the only question is that of damages’?”
“I know,” I told him, “but— When is your adjuster going to get to the guest ranch?”
“He’s getting in on the afternoon plane that arrives about three-thirty.”
“Okay,” I said, “tell him to get in touch with you before he leaves the airport at Tucson. I’ll be in touch with you by then.”
Breckinridge said, “I like energy, Lam, but there is such a thing as being overzealous.”
“I know,” I told him, “and there’s a damned good chance you’re not going to like me because I’m becoming overzealous. That guy, Bruno, is a crook. I’ll call you later.”
I hung up on that one and left him thinking it over.
I called Bertha Cool, collect.
“What the hell are you doing in Dallas when you’re supposed to be at that dude ranch?” she asked.
“Running down a special lead,” I told her, “and I’ve got a hurry-up job for you. There’s a registered nurse named Melita Doon. I want a report on her. I particularly want to find out the name of her boy friend. I want to find out where she is staying, whether she’s living in a dormitory with nurses, whether she has an apartment, whether she has another girl sharing the apartment with her — in fact, I want to find out all about her.”
“What does Melita Doon have to do with this case?” Bertha asked.
“I don’t know,” I told her. “I want to find out.”
Bertha groaned. “Leave it to you to dig up a woman. She’s a registered nurse?”
“Right.”
“Okay. We’ll get busy.”
“Don’t say anything to Breckinridge,” I warned her. “I’ll keep him posted on everything he should know.” I hung up.
I went into one of the department stores, I purchased a small suitcase, an electric blender and an electric can opener.
I took off all price marks, packed the stuff in the suitcase, then studied the Help Wanted columns of the morning paper. I found one advertising for salesmen on a high-class, dignified, house-to-house presentation which would net a large income.
I went up to the address mentioned and applied for a job.
It was selling a set of encyclopedias.
I said I could do the job, was given some sample brochures, some order blanks and told that after I proved myself I could probably get a guarantee against commissions, but until then I would be strictly on a commission basis. No guarantees, no advances.
I had Helmann Bruno’s address, 642 Chestnut Avenue.
I rented a U-Drive car and took my suitcase and samples around. The place was an apartment house, the Meldone Apartments, a pretty fair-looking place.
A check of the mailbox showed that Helmann Bruno was in 614.
I went up and rang the bell.
After a moment, a good-looking woman or thirty came to the door.
“Are you,” I asked, “the lady of the house?”
Her smile was weary. “I’m the lady of the house,” she said. “I’ve got a dozen things to do and I’m not interested in buying anything. I don’t know how you got in here. There is a strict rule against solicitors, peddlers, agents and appliance salesmen.”
She started to close the door.
“I’m here,” I said, “to give you your free blender and your free electric can opener.”
“My what?”
“Your free electric can opener and your free blender.”