Girl Out Back Part 12

"Oh, yes," he said. "I almost forgot. That guy Nunn called up a couple of hours after you'd left."

"Oh?"

He nodded, still looking at the broom. "Wanted to talk to you, but I told him you'd gone for the rest of the day. So then he wanted to know where."

"What was on his mind?" I asked. I didn't like this much.

"He was crying about the job we did on his motors, as near as I could tell. I tried to get him to let me in on what he thought was the matter with 'em, but he just said he jumped you about 'em when you stayed out there last week."

I looked at him quickly. He was still staring down at the broom. Well, there was Sunday. I could tell him that was when I'd been out there. Then I realized it was no use. Otis knew I'd lied about Sumner Lake. But why was he trying to tell me?

I made no reply. There appeared to be a shortage at the moment.

"Uh, boss," he went on hesitantly, "about that twelve dollars a week you pay me. How much of that would you say was for personal advice?"

"I don't know," I said. "You break it down."

"Well, look. I won a prize once for minding my own business. A whole new bedroom slipper-I think it was the left one. You say the word and I'll keep right on after the other one."

"That's all right," I said. "Spill it."

"This Nunn is bad news. Believe me, boss. He's hairy as h.e.l.l. This is a little out of my line, but I just figured you might not know about him. He killed four men while he was in the Sheriff's office over there "Oh," I said. I saw it now. Otis thought I was making a play for her. I sighed softly in relief. Well, it would look that way. We'd been here alone when she came for the motors, and then I'd taken off right after her. And she'd been calling here for me.

"I guess that's about all," he said. "No offense intended."

"Of course not," I replied. "Thanks."

"Maybe I just got used to you. If something happens to you, I got to go looking around for some other slave-driving skinflint to exploit me."

"I'd never forgive myself," I agreed. I felt a lot better. "Suppose you fell into some evil dive where they expected you to work?"

"Sure," he replied. You could see he was relieved, and glad to be through with it. "Like I was telling the old lady just this morning. Where else they got a pension plan that you can retire and live free in the dog pound as soon as you're a hundred and five? I get this lump in my throat every time I think about it.. . ."

We had it all settled without getting weepy about it. I was to stay out of the sack with Mrs. Nunn. He went back to sweeping. I checked yesterday's receipts, made up the deposit, and locked it in the safe. He'd given me a scare there for a moment, but everything was fine. I knew, though, that I was never going to feel entirely at ease until I could clear out of here. Utterly harmless things would be forever making me jumpy when I read the wrong meaning into them. It'd happened twice so far this morning, and it wasn't nine o"clock. You had to be on guard all the time to keep from giving yourself away. More than one badly wanted man had been picked up by a cop who'd meant to do nothing more than give him a parking ticket.

Fortunately, business was good, so I didn't have too much time on my hands. At ten I went over and made the bank deposit and had a cup of coffee. When I returned a local car salesman came in to talk about boats and try to sell me a new station wagon.

I was up front alone just after eleven when the telephone rang. Otis looked out the door of the shop, but went back when he saw I was going to answer.

As soon as I picked up the receiver I was glad he had. It was Jewel Nunn.

"Oh, how are you?" I asked, wishing she'd stop this. Being killed by George Nunn would be carrying an alibi too far.

"Are you busy?" she asked.

"Well, fairly so." If she thought I was going to drive down to Hampstead she was crazy. "You running errands again this morning?"

"No . . . I mean, nothing important. I just thought I'd give you a ring while I was here at the drug store. There was something I wanted to tell you. . . ."

"Sure," I said. "Fire away."

"I don't think I ought to over the phone."

"Hey," I protested, "that's not fair, getting my curiosity all aroused. I wish I could get away, but I just don't see. . . ."

"Well, it's not real important, anyway," she said. "It's just about Mr. Cliffords. You remember . . ."

I went cold all over and I could feel a thousand needles stabbing at my back. He couldn't couldn't have been found yet; even in water that warm his body wouldn't float this soon. What in h.e.l.l did she mean? have been found yet; even in water that warm his body wouldn't float this soon. What in h.e.l.l did she mean?

"Cliffords?" I said, wondering if my voice was all right. "Oh, yes, sure. The little man who reads comic books. What's he done?"

"It's not anything much, really. And I don't think I ought . . ."

"Never mind about Cliffords," I put in quickly. "I want to see you. Can I, if I can get away?"

"Do you really want to?"

"Of course I do. Look. It may take me about an hour, but I'll be there. At the same place?"

"All right," she said softly. "Good-bye, Barney."

"Good-bye" I hung up and took a deep breath. Relax, I thought. Don't start walking up the walls. They couldn't have found him this soon. And what if they have? It doesn't make a bit of difference. Anyway, it's just some silly thing she remembered about him.

I went back and leaned against a bench and watched Otis while he worked on a motor. Every minute was like ten. I wanted to yell at him to go on and get his lunch and hurry back. It was a quarter to twelve before he put down the tools and started scrubbing his hands.

He finally left. I prowled the showroom, unable to sit still. It was twelve fifteen when he came back. I stooged around for a few minutes and then announced boredly I'd go get something myself and stop in at the post-office on the way back. I was doing seventy-five when I pa.s.sed the city limits.

After I made the turn on to the road to Javier I met no other cars. That was good, anyway. I hoped she hadn't given up and left. It had been nearer an hour and a half. I swung into the ruts going off through the pines. Her car was parked under one of the big trees by the little stream. The door was open and she was sitting behind the wheel dressed in something crisp and blue, facing outward with her knees crossed. For one of the few times in my life I was too tense and too hurried to give a well-made leg the critical approval it deserved.

She smiled a little shyly and stood up. She was really nice-looking, and it always helps when you've got good material. I took both her hands in mine and said, "I don't know how you do it. You're always even lovelier than I remembered."

"Now, Barney. Remember. . . ."

I smiled gently. "All right. I'll try harder this time."

"It is is nice to see you again." nice to see you again."

"You're not making it any easier," I said chidingly. I wanted to shout at her. When in h.e.l.l was she going to get to Cliffords?

She sat back down on the seat and slid over. I got under the wheel and started to move toward her but she shook her head, not too severely. Well, there always had to be a certain amount of that. Oh, the devil with that. Who cared a d.a.m.n? How soon could I bring up the subject of Cliffords myself, if I had to?

"We can just talk, can't we?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "As long as I can look at you." I put a finger under her chin and turned her face toward me. "I bet you've had a lot of experience doing that."

"No."

"Yes." She smiled. "You do it too well."

"Tell me what you've been doing since I saw you last."

"Not anything very interesting. ..." She stopped abruptly, and then went on. "Mr. Cliffords! I almost forgot about him."

"Oh," I said. "That's right. What about him?"

She glanced down at her hands, a little abashed. "Barney . . . I hope you won't think I just used that for an excuse to . . . to . . ."

I smiled at her. "Of course not, you lovely little goose. But what about Cliffords?"

"It's the craziest thing you ever heard of," she said. "He's been arrested by the F.B.I."

Fourteen

Say something, I thought. Do something. Don't just sit here; she's staring at you. Look, maybe she's the one who's crazy. Maybe she dreams up things like that, and you're supposed to make some remark like, "Well, I never. . . ." We were in nine feet of water. At least nine feet, and he lost consciousness, and was sinking to the bottom. . . .

"Arrested him:" I asked stupidly, "Why?"

"I told you it was crazy," she said calmly. "You'll never believe it. You remember a man named Haig that held up a bank, a year or so ago? He got away with a lot of money, and then they lost him."

A flight of jet planes roared around inside me, and any moment they would fly out through the top of my head. Maybe they would light up and spell out something.

"I think I read about it." I could hear myself going on with the conversation, and I sounded all right. "But what did Cliffords have to do with that?"

"He had the money," she explained with the serene logic of the utter lunatic. "How he got it is kind of a long story, but anyway they found it out and arrested him."

"Let me get this straight," I interrupted. "You mean the F.B.I, told you they'd arrested . . ."

"No," she said calmly. "Mr. Cliffords told me."

They tapped the frame then. All the little pieces turned over and the picture was there entire, complete down to the last brush stroke. Even as I felt myself going numb. I had to admit there was a terrible sort of beauty about it that was fascinating. Cliffords had sent me to the electric chair, and the way he had done it was consistent and utterly predictable if you knew him. He was proud of being arrested by the F.B.I.

So I had had heard a motor start. heard a motor start.

"Tell me about it," I said. It didn't seem to make much difference now, but it would be interesting to learn what she was doing up there. I didn't have anywhere to go, anyway. Even thinking about trying to run was farcical.

"Could I have a cigarette?" she asked.

"Sure."

We each took one, and I lit them.

She smiled at me with a kind of shy delight above the flame of the lighter and said, "This is the funniest thing, actually. I mean . . . I never really thought I'd ever get to know you."

"Know me?"

"Umh-umh. The first time you ever saw me was when I came in to get those motors, I guess. But I've seen you lots. Around Wardlow, I mean. I spend the night there once in a while with this friend of mine-she's really my second cousin. And a friend of hers used to work for you. Barbara Renfrew. She's the prettiest thing, isn't she?"

"I guess so," I said. I was going back to being crazy again. Nothing made any difference, really. Somehow Barbara Renfrew had wandered into this chase sequence and we were all going around like a clip out of a Laurel and Hardy movie-Haig, the F.B.I., Cliffords, and somebody's second cousin. No, it was really two different stories. This taffy-maned screwball had a girlish crush on me or something, and wanted to get in line if I was no longer laying Barbara Renfrew. No wonder the poor girl had quit, I thought. Maybe they even thought Otis was sleeping with me. Well, why not? He thought I was with her. This one, I meant.

"And I think your wife is absolutely gorgeous," she went on, "When will she be back?"

I gave up then. The only thing to do was go back and start over. Then, suddenly, my mind began to clear again and I saw something I had overlooked before. At best, it was the most tenuous wisp of hope imaginable, but I reached out for it desperately. She had had said she thought Cliffords was a little off his trolley. said she thought Cliffords was a little off his trolley.

"Oh," I said. "She's supposed to be back some time this week. But about Cliffords. When did he tell you all this?"

"Yesterday evening, up at his cabin."

"And he'd already been arrested?"

"Yes. That's right. And that's when he told me why. I mean, about the money."

I stared at her unbelievingly. "You mean he was under arrest at the time? And these F.B.I, men just stood there and let him tell you all about it? I thought a prisoner wasn't allowed to talk to anybody but his lawyer. . . ." Here was old Barney Blackstone again.

"No," she replied. "There was only one F.B.I, man, and he wasn't really there. He'd hurt his leg when they were out there digging up the money, and Mr. Cliffords was making him a crutch."

"Then you didn't see him at all?"

"No. I was only there a few minutes."

"Oh," I said. "Cliffords just told you he was under arrest? But he was wandering around alone."

"That's right, Barney. You see, he had to take the crutch and some bandages out there where the F.B.I, man was hurt. He couldn't walk."

"Oh," I said again, frowning. "Well, I suppose. . . . Aw, I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"I was thinking of what you told me about him. That he was a little-you know. He might have just dreamed it up. Or got it from one of those comic books."

"No," she said. "He was telling the truth, all right."

"How do you know he was?

"I saw the man's coat there on the bed, when we went in to wrap up the fish. And Mr. Cliffords showed me some of the money, in a paper bag."

Well, it was a good try, I thought. But it wouldn't have worked, anyway; she didn't have to be able to prove it. Just whisper it down a well. Roughly half the F.B.I, agents in the State would be down there looking for Cliffords in another few hours. The other half would be looking for me. If they weren't already.

"What were you doing up there?" I asked. We might as well talk; that's what we'd come out here for.

She puffed on the cigarette and tapped ashes out of the window. "Well, sometimes when I do an errand for him I take the stuff on up there, just for the boat ride and to get away from that camp for a few minutes. And then, he pays me."