Джон Макдональд: More Good Old Stuff

Life had suddenly become very complicated. He had been almost completely discouraged about the Oliver woman. She had seemed so — so remote. And he had caught her looking at him from time to time as though he was some sort of a bug she found when she tipped up a flat rock. She had made him feel stupid and young.

When he had given her the yarn about needing a few hundred, he had done so with the idea that she would brush him off, maybe laugh at him. She had an odd way of hurting his confidence. The willingness with which she had handed it over — in cash — had taken his breath away. And then, when she had said that about five thousand or fifty thousand, he had felt as though somebody had hit him in the pit of the stomach with a hammer.

Yes, he had figured it wrong. The old biddy was a hell of a lot better heeled than he had suspected. And she had no reason to lie.

Then, when he had kissed her, she had fallen apart — come all to pieces like a young kid. That was funny. His lips curled in slight distaste as he thought of the sagging looseness of the flesh under her chin. But to give her the benefit of the doubt, that was the only place she showed her age. Yes, she was all right. But compared to Serena — hell, it was like comparing a cube of sugar to a hundred gallons of honey. And he had all that dough on the hook, but good!

He arched his chest and beat his clenched fist against his thigh. More dough than he had ever had a smell of before!

The deal was to get hold of as much of it as possible. He knew that if he chiseled five thousand, he’d always think of the much larger amount he had left behind. What was five thousand? You couldn’t even live a year on that. No, there had to be a better way.

In the morning he would send a hundred to the finance company and a hundred to Myra. That would shut both of them up. Give him time to think.

Betty and Serena. Serena and Betty. What a mess! Now if Serena only had Betty’s money — or if Betty had Serena’s looks. The deal was to find some way of grabbing all of Betty Oliver’s money, and then marrying Serena.

There was that marriage idea again! Must be getting soft in the head. But no getting around it. He wanted to marry Serena. The trouble was, the only sure way to get all of Betty’s money was to marry her. From the way the old biddy had reacted, she would be a pushover for marriage. Yeah. She’d grab the hook like a starving bass. Then where would he be? Tied to her apron strings for a couple of thousand years while Serena went off with somebody else. Maybe even with that Lawton punk. What’ll you have, Kelso — money or the gal? But why not both?

Suddenly he stood very still and almost stopped breathing. The idea was vivid, startling and full of cold fear. Marry both of them! Marry Betty and fix her up with an — an unfortunate accident. Husband inherits. Widower, loaded with dough, marries young gal.

For a moment a vision flashed across his mind. A neat little chair with straps on the arms, electrodes and a black cap to fit over his head.

No, that would have to be avoided at all costs...

Maybe his marrying Betty would put Serena off him for keeps? But then he’d have dough to help him forget. Forgetting was easy with money in the kick. And if he moved fast enough, talked fast enough after Betty was — was dead, he could probably rope Serena back into the fold. “Darling, I made a horrible mistake. It was you all along.” Something like that.

Probably be a good idea to lay the groundwork before Betty died. But how would she die? Fall guys were better than accidents. How many fall guys were there around this dump? Just one. That Lawton guy.

Kelso frowned in the darkness. With sudden resolution he strolled down toward the main building. It was so late that the floodlights were off. He knew that Jonas Bright, unable to sleep, often sat out there after the place was closed, thinking old-man thoughts, remembering, tasting the night.

Jonas was in his usual chair. Kelso went up behind him, said softly, “Nice night.”

The old man’s head jerked around. “Yep. Can’t you sleep either?”

Kelso laughed. “Usually I can. Tonight, no.” He let a long period of silence go by. Then he said, “You know, pop, that Lawton is a funny guy.”

“How do you mean?”

“I saw the son of a gun talking to himself yesterday. Is he a little bit nuts?”

Jonas was quiet for so long that Jay thought he wasn’t going to answer. Finally the old man said, “Guess he had a bad time in the war. From a couple of little things he said, about prison camps and stuff like that, I shouldn’t wonder if he was in one of those head hospitals.”

Kelso fought to keep the delight out of his voice. He said, “Yeah, that makes it a rough deal. They wouldn’t take me, you know. Bad teeth. I got a full set of choppers top and bottom. The rule says you got to have eight of your own teeth.”

Jonas Bright grunted. Kelso turned the conversation onto the weather and then walked slowly away. When he was out of earshot of the old man, he quickened his steps.

What a break! A psycho right on stage. His mind began sifting through the possible clues he could leave. That Lawton was a powerful guy. It would have to look as though a powerful guy had done it. Snatch a couple of hairs out of her head and sneak them into Lawton’s quarters. Those torn khaki shorts of Lawton’s would be a good deal. Rip off a small hunk and wedge it into her dead hand like she had torn it off in a struggle.

That ought to be enough. Too many clues would be bad, would make even the hick cops wonder about a frame.

He reached toward the doorknob of his own cabin, then paused. Hell, this was too good to hang back on. Better use the speeding hours to talk the Oliver dish into that quick ceremony that would make Jay Kelso the legal heir.

With quiet steps he went up the slope toward her cabin. All the cabins were dark. He glanced at the luminous dial of his wristwatch. A little after two. He knocked lightly.

“Who is it?” she said softly.

He made his voice hoarse. “Me, Betty. Jay. I want to talk to you.”

“Can’t it wait until morning?”

“Please, Betty. It’s important. Don’t show a light when you open the door.”

There was a long period of silence. Then her latch clicked softly and the door opened. He slipped through, reached for her, pulled her gently against him.

“Oh, Betty,” he said.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” she whispered.

Ben Lawton was putting new washers in the faucets of Cabin 5 when Serena Bright walked dully in with clean sheets, pillowcases and towels. He looked up, saw her face, desolated and ravaged by tears, and his heart went out to her.

She had been badly fooled by Kelso, but that didn’t make it any less bitter for her. He had a sudden appreciation of the agonies she must have to go through when she took fresh linens to Cabin 11, now shared for these past ten days by Jay Kelso and his bride.

But it was time that Serena snapped out of it, he thought. The girl couldn’t go on this way forever. And that marriage escapade certainly must have given Serena some idea of the sort of man she had been dealing with.

Ben grinned up at her, straightened up and said, “Well, maybe she’ll be a mother to him.”

A weak, sad smile touched Serena’s lips. “I thought so at first, Ben. But have you looked at the darn woman? She’s dropped fifteen years. Now I know what they mean by the ‘radiant bride.’ Ben, I can’t understand how it happened so — so quickly.”

“He probably got a look at her financial statement.”

“But he really isn’t that way, Ben. That woman must have some hold over him.”

He put the wrench down, wiped his hands on the sides of his shorts, went over to her and took her by the wrists.