Grizzled eyebrows lifted. “Mr Perry Weston? Ah, sure. I well remember him. I had the pleasure to kit him out around three years ago. A fine gentleman if I may say so. I haven’t seen him for too long.”
“I want to be kitted out, too,” Sheila said. “My husband is at his fishing lodge. I am joining him. What do you suggest I buy, Mr Calhoun?”
“You want fishing tackle?”
“No. Just sensible clothes.”
Calhoun smiled. “That’s no problem. You will want a half a dozen cotton shirts with long sleeves, a couple of pairs of jeans and two pairs of boots, then you’re home.”
“Do you know where my husband’s fishing lodge is?”
“Why, sure.” Calhoun looked a little startled. “But Mr Weston will be fetching you, I guess.”
“No. I’m giving him a surprise visit. I want to get there on my own.”
Calhoun scratched his beard.
“If you’ll excuse me, Mrs Weston, that’s setting yourself a tricky task. It’s my business to keep in touch with the local road conditions. I know for a fact that them roads leading down to Mr Weston’s lodge is nearly washed out. If you would wait three or four days to give the road a chance to dry out, then there’d be no problem. I doubt if Mr Weston could make it now.”
“I intend to go there this morning,” Sheila said. “I would be glad if you would tell me how to get there.” She smiled, a determined expression on her face. “My father once told me that obstacles were made to surmount. I’m going this morning.”
Calhoun studied her, then nodded.
“Then I’ll help you, Mrs Weston. I can find someone who will take you in a jeep. That’s the only transport that will get you there.”
“I’m going alone. I can handle a jeep. Can I hire one?”
“Oh, sure. Okay, Mrs Weston, over there you’ll find everything you want. You go ahead. I’ll fix a jeep for you.”
Forty minutes later, Sheila had selected the clothes she would need. Using a changing room, she put on a red and yellow cotton shirt, slid into tight fitting jeans and put on heavy calf-high boots. Carrying her dress, picking up the bundle of clothes she had chosen, she went to the counter where Calhoun was drawing a map on a sheet of paper.
“All fixed, Mrs Weston?”
“Yes, thank you. You have a wonderful selection.”
“Well, now, m’am, I’ve got the jeep fixed for you. It’ll be around in ten minutes. Here’s a map to tell you how to get to the lodge.”
He pushed the sheet of paper towards her. “You leave here, turn left onto the highway and drive around twenty miles. That’ll be no problem. You’ll come to a signpost marked ‘River’ on your left. Turn there. Now, here’s where you will have problems. Take it slow. There’ll be lots of mud and water, and I guess the jeep will get you through so long as you drive real slow. You’ll have around two miles of this road, then you’ll come to the river. Follow the road by the river and you will come to Mr Weston’s lodge. Just remember to let the jeep take you and don’t force it.”
“Thank you, Mr Calhoun, you couldn’t be more helpful.”
“Glad to oblige a determined young lady. Here are the papers for the jeep. Just needs your signature. It’s for a week’s rental. Okay?”
Sheila signed the papers, then made out a check for her purchases.
“May I ask you to give Mr Weston my compliments, Mrs Weston?” Calhoun asked. “Please tell him I hope to see him soon.”
“Of course.” She held out her hand. “Again, many thanks.”
“Want me to put your purchases in a suitcase for you? You can return the case with the jeep.”
“That’d be fine.”
By the time Calhoun had packed her clothes in a battered suitcase, the jeep arrived. Carrying the suitcase, Calhoun followed Sheila from the store to the jeep where a black youth got out of the driving seat.
“I’ll check out,” Sheila said, “and collect my other luggage.”
“You do that, m’am,” Calhoun said, then turning to the black youth, he went on, “Go, collect the lady’s baggage, Joel.”
As Sheila crossed the road, followed by the black youth, a taxi pulled up outside the motel. Gene Franklin came out of the motel, carrying a bulky briefcase. He paused, seeing Sheila. She felt his eyes go over her and saw his frown.
“Good morning, Sheila,” he said. “In spite of my advice, I see you are going.”
Sheila stared at him, her pretty face hard. “Correct. I am still behaving like a selfish, spoilt brat, Mr Toady,” and she walked by him into the lobby of the motel.
Franklin hesitated, then, shrugging, got into the taxi and was driven away.
While the black youth carried her suitcase and vanity box to the jeep, Sheila settled the motel check. Re-crossing the street, she found Calhoun had put her luggage in the jeep and was standing, waiting.
“Ma’m,” he said, “this boy knows all the roads around here. He’ll gladly drive you.”
Sheila smiled. “Thank you, no. I’ll be fine.” She shook hands. “I’ll tell my husband how very helpful you have been.” She climbed into the jeep and started the engine.
“Just take it slow, m’am,” Calhoun said. “It’s been a pleasure to help you.”
Sheila gave him a wide, flashing smile and, with a wave of her hand, headed towards the highway.
Perry Weston came slowly awake and became aware that hot sunshine was streaming through the bedroom windows. He looked at his strap watch. The time was 8:30. Feeling hot and sticky, he got off the bed. He went to the door and found he was still locked in.
He stood still, listening, but heard no sounds of movement below.
Going to the open window, he looked out onto the river, lit by the sun. He saw the road by the lodge was water logged with thick, wet mud. Well, at least the rain had stopped and the sun was out.
Taking his time, he shaved, showered and dressed. He longed for coffee. If Jim Brown wasn’t in control of this bizarre situation, he would get out his fishing tackle and spend the rest of the day by the river. But Jim Brown was in control.
Perry sat down, lit a cigarette and waited.
It wasn’t until 10:00 by Perry’s strap watch that he heard movements.
Going to the door, he listened and heard Brown’s tuneless whistling. Ten minutes later, he heard the key turn in the lock, and Brown entered.
Perry noted Brown was now wearing one of his long-sleeved shirts, hiding the tattooed snake on his arm. Brown looked relaxed as he gave Perry a mirthless grin.
“I’ve been catching up on sleep, Perry,” he said. “You want breakfast? It’s all ready.” While he was speaking, Brown’s eyes were looking around the room, then he moved forward to the bedside table and picked up a big, silver-framed photograph of Sheila.
Perry watched as Brown studied the photograph, giving a nod of approval.
He put the frame back on the table.
“Your girlfriend?” he asked.
“My wife,” Perry said curtly.
“Is that right? Nice. Lucky guy.” Brown shook his head. “Some guys are lucky. I never found a girl I’d want to marry. You like married life?”
Perry got to his feet. “I’d like a cup of coffee.”
He left the room and walked down the stairs to the living room. He found the table laid. He sat down and poured himself a cup of coffee while Brown went into the kitchen. He returned in a moment, carrying two plates of thick, grilled ham.
“This freezer of yours, Perry, is sure something,” he said as he set one of the plates in front of Perry. He sat down. “It’s something to have money. I guess you have a pretty good setup in New York, too.”
Perry began to eat. This man certainly could cook. The ham was done to a turn.
“It’s okay. I live in Long Island.”
“Nice.” Brown was shovelling food into his mouth. “Money can give you anything.”