Come Easy, Go Easy Part 24

chapter twelve.

I.

But I needn't have worried.

The next morning, Roy was his old self again. I realised he had been disappointed that I had turned down his Mexican emigrant idea, but having slept on it, he seemed to have put it out of his mind.

We played Gin in the evening and we kidded each other about his winnings, and we talked about this and that, but we didn't talk about hover planes nor about quick, easy money.

I was relieved, not only because he was back in form, but also because Lola was slowly thawing out. She had spoken to me once or twice during the day: strictly business, but at least she was speaking.

Around ten o'clock that evening, she came out on the veranda and watch us playing Gin.

"Why not join us?" I said. "I'll get another chair."

"Cards are a waste of time," she said. "I'm going to bed. I have to be up early. I have a lot of stuff to get from Wentworth tomorrow. Which of you is coming to give me a hand?"

Up to now, she had always managed on her own when marketing in Wentworth. Her request startled me. While I was hesitating, Roy said, "If you don't want to go, Chet, I'd be glad to. I haven't been off the place since I've been here. There are things I want to buy. Okay?"

I felt a sudden stab of suspicion. I looked at him. He was lighting a cigarette and his face, lit by the flame of the lighter, was casual.

"Why, sure," I said. "You'll be back by lunch time. I can manage until then."

"I'll be leaving at eight," Lola said. "Good night," and she walked away towards the bungalow.

"I've got to get me some shirts and a pair of shoes," Roy said as he picked up his cards.

My suspicions died down. It was true he hadn't left Point of No Return since he had been here. It was reasonable that he should want some new clothes, but I wished he wasn't going with Lola. That bothered me. I was sure she would get to work on him. A twenty mile drive into Wentworth and back was too long for them to be alone together.

"Relax, pea brain," Roy said and reaching out, he slapped me on the knee. "I know what you're thinkinga"let her try. She'll cut no ice with me."

"I'm not worrying," I said.

But when I saw them go off together the following morning, I felt lonely and uneasy. To get my mind off them, I began to take down the engine of the Station wagon, but even working on a job I liked, I kept thinking and wondering and worrying.

A big truck, loaded with wooden crates, pulled up by the gas pumps. The driver was a thickset, elderly man. His blond hair was shot with white and his red, heavy face was shaded by a Stetson hat.

While I was filling the tanks, he climbed down from the cab, wiping his face with a grimy handkerchief.

"You're new around here, aren't you?" he said, looking curiously at me. "Where's Carl Jenson?"

I spotted he was a Swede, and that warned me he might be a friend of Jenson's. I gave him the story that Jenson was in Arizona.

For some reason this seemed to bother him. I saw his face tighten and his staring eyes harden.

"I've never known him to leave here before," he said. "I've been through here off and on for the past twenty years, and I've always found him here. Arizona, huh? Going to open a new gas station? Does that mean he isn't coming back?"

"He'll be back to clear up."

"Did he take his wife with him?"

"She's running this place while he's away. I'm just helping out."

"Are you a friend of hers?" he asked as I screwed on the caps to the tanks.

"I'm just hired to help out. What do you mean?"

"She's no good. You could have knocked me over with a puff of wind when I found her here, married to Jenson." He leaned up against the side of the truck and began to roll a cigarette. "I knew her in Carson City. That was five years ago. Then she was married to a guy named Frank Finney. He ran a repair station and a snack bar: she helped out. It wasn't his place: he just ran it. Know what happened to him?"

I was listening, tense, not missing a word.

"They found him dead in the snack bar one morning. There was a gun in his hand and his brains all over the floor. Her story was she heard the shot when she was upstairs. She came down and found him. There was a check on the till. They found over two thousand bucks missing. It looked like Finney had been robbing the till for months. They never found the money. The cops reckoned she had it, but they never proved it. There was one cop who even figured she shot Finney. They had been quarrelling for months, but they never proved that either. She left town soon after. Imagine my surprise to find her here, married to a good man like Jenson."

"First time I've heard of it," I said, managing to keep my face expressionless.

"It's not the kind of thing she would advertise," the trucker said. "Jenson is okay, isn't he? He really is in Arizona?"

I suddenly felt cold. This was dangerous. This Swede could be a lot more dangerous than Ricks.

"He's fine," I said, forcing myself to meet the pale, staring eyes. "I had a letter from him the other day. He's pretty pleased with this new filling station. Maybe the next time you come through you'll catch him."

He looked relieved.

"I'm d.a.m.n glad to hear it. You know, for a moment, when you said he wasn't here, it jumped into my mind thata"well, I thought maybe he was dead."

I was really sweating now.

"This story about her shooting her husband," I said, "there was no proof, was there?"

He suddenly looked embarra.s.sed.

"No, but there was a lot of talk."

"As far as I can see, Mrs. Jenson makes Mr. Jenson very happy," I said. "He wouldn't like a story like that going around. I reckon he'd be pretty angry with you if he heard what you've been saying."

"You mean he's really happy with her?"

"That's what I'm telling you."

"Well . . . yeah, maybe, I have shot my mouth off. You forget it, will you? Don't mention it to Mr. Jenson."

"You forget it too." I took his money. "That kind of talk can cause an awful lot of mischief."

He got in the cab, slammed the door and drove off. I could see from the expression on his face I had thrown a scare into him.

He had certainly thrown a scare into me.

I stood staring after him.

Thoughts raced through my mind. So Lola had been married before. Her husband had died violently, and there had been money missing. I felt a tightening in my chest. Jenson had also died violently, and maybe, if I hadn't slammed the door of the safe shut, more money would have been missing.

I walked over to the lunch room veranda and sat down. I lit a cigarette, aware my hands were shaking.

My mind was now buzzing with alarm and suspicion.

According to the trucker, the Carson City police had thought Lola had not only taken the money, but she had murdered her husband.

Had she murdered Jenson?

I thought back on that scene that now seemed terribly near to me and startlingly vivid. In my mind, I say her come into the sitting room. I could almost hear her quick, hard breathing. She had the gun in her hand. I heard again the fast, unreal dialogue. I remembered Jenson, red in the face with anger, getting to his feet I saw Lola looking at me as I slammed the safe door shut, then I heard again the bang of the gun.

I had been convinced then that the sound of the safe door shutting had made her accidentally tighten her finger on the gun trigger. The gun had gone off, and Jenson had been killed.

Accidentally?

I threw the half smoked cigarette away and wiped my face with the back of my hand.

Accidentally was now the operative word.

She was suspected of murdering her first husband and money was missing. Had the shooting of Jenson been deliberate?

It had looked like an accident, but had it been, after all, murder? She could have pinned the murder on me. Then I had another idea that made my heart skip a beat.

The safe door had been open when she had come into the room with the gun. Suppose she had planned first to shoot Jenson, and then me, and then take the money from the safe? Suppose this had been her plan? She could have hidden the money and then called the police. Her story would be that she and Jenson had caught me opening the safe. I had murdered Jenson. By some trick, she had got the gun from me and had shot me in self defence. I was an escapee from Farnworth: a man with a reputation. That fat sheriff from Wentworth might very easily have accepted such a story.

But she hadn't killed me because I had shut the safe as she had shot Jenson. She had been quick enough and smart enough to know that she couldn't open the safe, but that I could. When she found she couldn't blackmail me into opening it, she had had this sudden change of heart and had pretended to be in love with me. She had suddenly turned hostile when she had discovered I now wasn't the only one at Point of No Return who could open the safe! Roy could open it!

She had the gun. I was now sure her story of getting rid of it had been a lie.

That could mean both Roy's life and mine were in danger. She could persuade Roy to open the safe, then she would kill him. She could kill me too. Her story could be more or less the same as the one she would have told if she had killed me when she had shot Jenson.

I got to my feet This was guess work, sparked off by the mischievous talk of an old Swedish trucker. The chances were that this guy Finney had committed suicide and Jenson's shooting had been an accident, but I wasn't going to take chances. I remembered those hard green eyes. There was one way to fix her. I would take the money from the safe, leaving the safe door open so she would know that there was no point in working on Roy or planning to murder me.

I had to find a safe hiding place for the money, but that wouldn't be difficult I looked at my wrist watch. The time was ten minutes past ten. They wouldn't be back until midday. I would bury the money in Jenson's grave. If she wanted it, she would have to dig him up as well.

It was a good idea, but it didn't work out As I started over to the bungalow, a truck, towing a 1955 Packard came down the Wentworth road and I had a major repair job on my hands.

The driver of the Packard was in a hurry to get to Tropica Springs. He was an aggressive and impatient salesman. He wouldn't take no for an answer.

I was still working on the Packard when Lola and Roy came back from Wentworth.

II.

For the next three days and nights I never had a chance of getting near the safe.

Lola was always around. She had given up night work, and as soon as Roy and I settled down to our game of Gin, she went to bed.

She was now on speaking terms with me, but there was a reserve in her manner that warned me we could no longer be on the same terms as we had been before Roy arrived. I made no attempt to touch her. I didn't even want to touch her. I was suspicious of her, watching her all the time for some sign that might confirm that she was planning to murder me, but the sign wasn't there.

I also watched Roy, anxious to see if there was now any change in his att.i.tude after his drive with her to Wentworth, but, here again, I saw no change.

There were moments when I was tempted to take him into my confidence, but I didn't. I had an instinctive feeling that the knowledge that what was in that safe would be too much for the urge in him to lay his hands on any easy money. So I held back, hoping sooner or later, she and he would go into Wentworth again, and I could get at the safe.

The chance came about a week later when Lola said as we were clearing up after a busy supper trade, "There's a good movie on in Wentworth. I want to see it. This French star: Brigitte Bardot. I want to see her. Is anyone coming?"

Roy shook his head.

"Not mea"I only go for gangster pictures." Here was the chance I was looking for. They wouldn't be back before three o'clock in the morning. I would have all the time I wanted to get the money from the safe and bury it before they returned. After midnight, I wouldn't have to worry about any interruptions.

"I'm stuck here, Roy," I said. "I can't go into Wentworth. It's my turn for night duty anyway. Take a chance: you might get a kick out of a French star."

He looked at me, puzzled.

"I'd just as soon play cards."

"Pretty tough on Lola to go twenty miles on her own." I was scared I was overplaying my hand for now Lola was staring at me, but this was a chance I had to take.

"Well, when you two have made up your minds," she said, "You don't have to do me a favour. I can go on my own."

Roy suddenly grinned.

"Okay: you have a date," he said. "Let's go." Soon after half past nine, Lola came from the bungalow. She was wearing a white frock I hadn't seen before. It was tight across her chest and flared out over her hips. She had taken a lot of trouble with her make-up. The sight of her set my heart thumping which irritated me.

I watched her get in the Mercury beside Roy. He grinned at me as he gunned the engine.

Out of the comer of his mouth, he said, "This was your idea, pal: not mine."

It was a remark I hadn't expected from him, but I didn't care. Once I had the money buried, I had the whip hand over them both.

"Have a good time," I said.

Lola was staring at me. Her green eyes were mocking.