Ричард Деминг - The Second Richard Deming Mystery MEGAPACK®

“They won’t be coming this way now,” the Lieutenant said as he headed for the door. “So you don’t have to worry. See you, Mr. Jolly.”

Ross Miller, following the Lieutenant, called over his shoulder, “Give Mrs. Jolly my regards.”

Then they were gone and so was Ed’s opportunity to signal that something was wrong.

As the State Troopers’ car drove away, Mark came from the back hall, putting away his gun.

“You did fine, old man,” he said. “Just keep up the good work with any other customers.”

Ed silently resolved to use the first gas customer who came along as a means of getting word of the Jollys’ danger to the police. Mentally he rehearsed how he would stand with his back to the store, so that the watching Mark couldn’t see his lips moving, and what he would say.

“Please don’t glance toward the store,” he would say. “There’s a man with a gun covering us through the window. Don’t try to answer me. Just listen. Get to the nearest phone and call the police.” (Here he would give directions to the nearest ranch, depending on which way the car was headed.) “Tell them the four men who robbed the bank in Hooker’s Gap are hiding out here. They’ve threatened to kill my wife if I don’t cooperate, so warn them to move in cautiously.”

That should do it, he thought. There was the risk that Mark would realize that Ed had violated orders and would kill him and Mary in revenge, but he was convinced the man intended to kill them anyway. This way they would at least have a fighting chance.

Ed never had an opportunity to put his plan in operation, because no other cars came along. By dark he had lost hope. They sometimes had customers after nightfall, and even occasionally were awakened to serve someone in the middle of the night, but it was a rare occurrence. Few people cared to travel the isolated desert road at night, for fear of becoming stranded in darkness miles from any possible help.

Nightfall was early at this time of year. It was already dark when Mary served dinner for everyone at 6:30. After dinner, as Mary washed dishes behind the snack counter, the four men sat at the liquor bar.

“You can serve us one drink each, Mr. Jolly,” Mark said. “That’s going to be the limit, boys, because we’re moving on at midnight.”

As he walked behind the bar, Ed again felt a chill climb his spine.

That meant he and Mary had only five hours to live. And he hadn’t even had a chance to warn her of what was coming, because they had never been allowed to be alone.

The red-faced Puffy said, “I thought we was gonna hole up here for a couple of days.”

“We were, until those state cops radioed in that we hadn’t come this way. The roadblock at Ripple City’s probably been lifted by now. It’s a cinch to be lifted by the time we hit there.”

Ed said huskily, “What do you want to drink?”

They all ordered bourbon straight, with water chasers. Ed poured the drinks and waited. No one made any effort to pay. Apparently now that his cooperation was no longer essential, the pretense of being paying customers was over.

Probably they would take back the $200 and clean out the till when they left, Ed thought. Not that it would make any difference.

Mary came from behind the snack counter and went over to the grocery department, where she began scanning the shelves.

“We’re most out of pork and beans, Ed,” she called. “Better bring out about six cans.”

Restocking the canned goods shelves was a nightly game they played, but tonight Ed wasn’t in much of a mood for games. Dispiritedly he went into the store.

When he emerged, he was juggling six cans of pork and beans. The four men at the bar watched in astonishment as the cans made a blurred circle in the air from one hand to the other.

When he had walked to within twelve feet of the waiting Mary, juggling the cans on the way, she chanted, “A-one and a-two and away and go!”

The cans suddenly took a horizontal motion, forming a continuous streak toward her. Rhythmically she plucked each from the air as it arrived, flipped it into her other hand, and plunked it onto the shelf.

The men at the bar were staring open-mouthed. All four had swung around on their stools with their backs to the bar.

Mark said, “That’s the damnedest thing I ever saw. Where’d you old codgers learn a trick like that?”

“You’re all too young to remember The Jolly Jugglers,” Ed said with an air of dignity. “We were vaudeville headliners before you were born.”

“With that act you still could be,” Mark said. “What happened?”

Ed made a wry face. Mary said, “A thing called talking pictures. Our last good year was 1929. Our last theater booking was in 1932. We played carny for a few years after that, but it was really all over.”

“What the devil is carny?” Sliver asked.

“Carnivals,” Ed said.

Mark said, “We’ve got several hours to fool away. We might as well have some amusement. How about you folks putting on your whole act for us?”

The two old people looked at each other. Mary smiled.

“Why not?” she said. “We haven’t performed before an audience in years.”

Ed had a sudden wild thought. If only he could get Mary alone long enough to explain what he had in mind, it just possibly might work.

“All right,” he said to her. “Come help me carry in the props.”

“Sliver can help you,” Mark said. “She stays here.”

That quashed that. As he preceded the gaunt Sliver back to the bedroom that he and Mary shared, Ed decided to go ahead with his plan anyway, and hope that somehow he could get across to Mary what he had in mind.

In the bedroom Ed opened the closet door and dragged out the box containing the Indian clubs. It was pretty heavy, because it contained a dozen of the tapered, round-ended wooden clubs. Sliver helped him carry the box back into the store, then resumed his seat at the bar.

Mary looked puzzled when Ed drew four of the brightly painted clubs from the box and handed them to her. The Indian clubs had always been the finale of their act, but he had left the juggling balls, dishes, and rods in the closet.

Ed gazed at her steadily, hoping she wouldn’t ask why he hadn’t brought the other paraphernalia out first. Her near ability to read his mind worked. Obviously she didn’t understand it, but he sensed that she understood he didn’t want her to question him.

Removing four more clubs from the box, he positioned himself at one end of the bar and about six feet away from it. Mary positioned herself at the other end.

“We used to juggle all twelve,” Ed said in an apologetic tone. “But we’re getting a little old. Eight still isn’t bad. A lot of juggling teams never got over six.”

“Get on with the show,” Mark said impatiently.

Ed held three clubs in his left hand, one in his right. He flipped the single one end-over-end into the air, quickly transferred another to his right hand, and flipped it. The third and fourth followed these into the air also, the last one leaving his right hand just as gravity brought the first one down into his left hand.

The spinning clubs formed a colorful pinwheel which Mary watched until its rhythm was established in her mind. Then she began to juggle her four clubs in similar rhythm so that her right hand was tossing a club into the air at exactly the same instant one left Ed’s right hand, her left hand catching one at the same instant his did.

“A-one and a-two and away and go!” she chanted.

At the word go the clubs took on a horizontal motion, shooting in a tumbling stream from her right hand to Ed’s left, while a stream from his right hand shot toward her. Back and forth the eight clubs spun, forming a glittering pattern in the air.