Джеймс Чейз - Do Me a Favour Drop Dead

Joe Pinner appeared from the station, carrying a heavy package. He dumped the package and came up fast as Marshall got out of the car.

‘Hey, Frank! I’ve been wanting to have a word with you.’

Ignoring him, Marshall said to me, ‘I’ll be back on the six o’clock. Be here,’ then sidestepping Pinner as if he was the invisible man, he walked into the station.

Pinner stared after him, his expression shocked and hurt.

‘Don’t let it bother you, Joe,’ I said. ‘He has a hell of a hangover.’

Tugging at his moustache, aware the other commuters were watching, Pinner moved up to me.

‘Well, that was kind of rude.’

Lowering my voice, I said, ‘Strictly between you and me, Joe, he was so drunk last night, Mrs. Marshall got scared and called in Dr. Saunders.’ I knew it would be news all over the town by midday, if not before.

His eyes popped wide open.

‘Is that right?’

‘But say nothing to nobody, Joe.’

‘Yeah. Well...’

I nodded to him, then drove from the station. In the driving mirror, I saw he was already talking to a couple of commuters and more of them were converging on him. The word would spread like a forest fire, and that’s what I wanted.

Beth was making the beds when I got back. She came to the head of the stairs when she heard me enter the hall.

‘Do you want breakfast, Keith?’

‘Not now. I’ll heat up some coffee.’

‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

I was drinking the coffee when she came into the kitchen. She was wearing shapeless slacks and an old, well-worn sweater, but there was still that thing about her that hooked me. Staring at her, I was sure if I got her dressed right, got her a new hair style, put her in the hands of people who knew how to make any woman look glamorous, she would be custom made for the wife of a millionaire: me!

‘What are you staring at?’ she asked uneasily.

I smiled at her.

‘You... imagining you in three months’ time. There’ll be a big change.’

She shrugged.

There was a pause, then I said, ‘Show me his will.’

She went to the bureau, opened a drawer and took out a bundle of papers. She searched through them and finally handed me a single sheet of paper.

The will couldn’t have been more simple. He left everything to her: the house, his business, his money. There were no bequests. She had it all. His sprawling signature was witnessed by Yule Olson and Maria Lukes, probably Olson’s secretary.

I looked at Beth.

‘He has no relations? No one who would contest this?’

‘No.’

The will was dated three years ago.

‘It was my wedding present,’ she told me.

I re-read the will. It looked watertight. Marshall had begun to drink a year after he had married: that was common knowledge. If he had changed his will secretly since he had begun to drink, she could contest it was drunken irresponsibility and as there was no one to make a claim, she had to win. It looked fine to me. I handed the sheet of paper back to her.

‘As soon as his aunt’s will has been proved, Beth, we’ll fix him.’

She regarded me, her black eyes remote.

‘It could take months.’

‘It won’t take long to prove the will. Once the will has been proved, he inherits. There will be taxes and duties to take care of, but once the will is proved he becomes the heir and that means he can get any amount of credit while waiting for the estate to be settled. He is already buying the car on credit. Once he has been recognized as the legal heir to a million dollars, we can fix him because you, as his widow, will automatically inherit should he die.’

She continued to stare at me.

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m telling you.’

She nodded, then put the will among the papers and the papers back in the bureau drawer.

‘Once the will is proved, Beth, we kill him.’ I was determined she must realize just what I was planning to do.

Again the dead pan stare and the remote eyes as she nodded.

‘You understand?’ I said.

She turned away and moved to the door.

‘Beth! You understand?’

She looked over her shoulder, nodded again, then leaving the room, she went up the stairs. After a second or so, I heard her bedroom door close.

Because Marshall meant nothing to me except money, I was being cold blooded about this, but surely, I thought, he must mean something to her. After all, she was his wife... she had slept with him.

But to her, it would seem we were planning nothing more important than drowning a cat. For all I knew, she might have had more feeling for the cat.

Again the cold dead finger moved up my spine.

Leaving the house, I wandered uneasily into the garden. I told myself that this was my second chance to achieve my ambition. I had to take this chance. I could never get a third one.

Away from the house, I sat on the grass, feeling the rays of the sun seep into me and I began to think what I would do once the money was mine. I was confident, once I got my hands on it, nothing and nobody could stop me from going to the top.

I lit a cigarette, then lying back on the hot grass, I let my mind drift into what could be an exciting future. I was still dreaming when Beth called that lunch was ready.

While we ate, I began to talk about our future together, but she cut me short. She seemed far away and her black eyes had that remote, cold expression.

‘Later,’ she said curtly. ‘I don’t want to talk about it now.’

So we finished the meal in silence. As she began stacking the dishes, she said she was going to make jam, and if I had nothing to do, the lawn wanted cutting: her way of telling me she wanted to be alone.

The power mower was in the garage. I had left the Caddy out under the trees. I went to the garage by the kitchen door that led down a short passage to the garage. I paused to look at the lock on the garage door. The screws were rusty: a good solid kick would bust the lock.

The set-up was that you drove into the garage, pulled down the swing door and locked it. Then you unlocked the door leading to the kitchen and locked it from the other side. My first thought was to buy a bolt so the door into the kitchen was secure, but I quickly realized a new bolt would raise suspicions. The door itself was sound and solid. Then I walked into the garage and looked at the lock on the swing down door. This looked fragile.

I dragged the power mower out on to the lawn and after a struggle, got it going. As I tramped up and down the big lawn, my mind was busy. Finally, I decided two wooden wedges would be the answer.

I finished cutting the lawn by 16.00 and then went up to my room. I showered and put on a clean shirt. The smell of raspberries cooking filled the house. I could hear Beth’s transistor playing classical music. Going down to the kitchen, I found her fixing caps on a dozen or so jars.

‘You’ve made enough jam to stock a store,’ I said.

‘I like doing it.’ She didn’t look at me. She began cleaning the big copper pan in which she had made the jam.

Her remoteness began to worry me.

‘Is something wrong, Beth?’

She shook her head.

‘No... it’s just that I’m used to being on my own.’

‘But you are not on your own... you have me.’

She went on scrubbing the pan.

‘Are you telling me I’m in the way?’ I said sharply.

‘It’ll be different when I get away from this house.’

‘You bet it will be different.’

I moved up to her and kissed the back of her neck. She shivered and jerked away from me.

‘Do find something to do,’ she said, an edge to her voice. ‘I’m busy.’

I struggled to keep my hands off her. After a long moment while I stared at her long, beautiful back, I went out, feeling thoroughly frustrated, got in the Caddy and drove down to Wicksteed. I was half an hour too early for the 18.00 Frisco express so I bought a newspaper, sat in the car and tried to interest myself in the news, but I kept thinking of her.