Тэлмидж Пауэлл - The Talmage Powell Crime MEGAPACK™ - 20 Classic Mysteries!

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Well, all right,” he said shortly. “I told you I’d think about it.” During the morning, Hester kept herself desperately busy plotting a new flower bed. But her thoughts kept returning to Claude’s disdainful impatience with her.

In their long marriage, disagreements had been inevitable. But never before had Hester been ridden with this feeling of being shut out, of being a mere nothing in Claude’s eyes. The husband she’d known seemed to have passed from her, really, during that frightful heart attack.

Hester looked toward the house, realizing that Maudie had been calling her name.

“’Phone for you, Mrs. Bennett,” Maudie said.

Removing her heavy cotton gloves with their earth stains, Hester went into the house. From the living room came the whirr of the vacuum cleaner under Maudie’s guidance.

The kitchen extension phone was dangling from its cord, as Maudie had left it.

Hester lifted the phone and said, “Mrs. Bennett speaking.”

“You don’t know me,” a thin, taut, male voice said, “and my name’s not important. What I’ve got to say concerns your husband — and a girl.”

“I don’t believe I understand.”

“She was my girl. At least I thought so, until a well-heeled old leech came along.”

Hester clutched the phone in a nerveless hand. The sound of the vacuum cleaner seemed to swell to an intolerable roar that filled the house, reverberated from the walls.

“What are you saying?” she said. “How dare you say such a thing!”

“Okay, lady, keep your head in the sand.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“So don’t. But her name is Marylin Jordan, and the leech is fixing a hideaway for her right now on Taculla Lake. The real cool pad on the point.”

“You must have made a mistake,” Hester said desperately. “My husband is old and dangerously ill. You’re suspecting the wrong man.”

“It’s more than suspicion, lady. She’s a hungry, predatory cat and he’s the rat she’s been looking for.”

“But he—”

“You know the saying, lady. No fool like an old one. Maybe he’s just got to burn big before the wick sputters out.”

Hester closed her eyes, swayed. “This is the cruelest kind of joke.”

“Joke?” the voice became a shallow, humorless laugh. “Maybe so. On the both of us.”

The line went dead. Hester lowered the phone slowly and looked at it as if it were a dream substance that would dissolve from her hand.

Stirring finally, Hester turned and walked to the living room. Maudie was rattling Venetian blinds with a cleaner attachment and made no sign of hearing when Hester spoke her name in her soft, normal tone.

“Maudie!” Hester repeated in a louder tone.

An amply-fleshed pouter pigeon, Maudie looked over her shoulder.

“I have some shopping to do,” Hester said. “I may be gone a good part of the day.”

Maudie nodded and returned her attention to her work.

In her light car, Hester drove out of the city without haste. She didn’t enjoy driving. And this was all so silly and useless. She really should turn back, she told herself. But the car seemed to have a will of its own. The city limits dropped behind.

Taculla Lake was a full hour’s drive, away from civilization, over a secondary road of macadam. While a few families maintained year-round residences there, the lake mainly provided weekend retreats for those who could afford it. The lodges, widely separated to provide privacy, were mostly of an architectural design in keeping with the setting, with vaulted ceilings and long, railed galleries overlooking private docks for cruisers and small boats.

Hester reached the small village above the lake. There was a large store handling general merchandise, a filling station, a glass and brick building, jarringly out of place, that displayed boats and marine gear. And a small log building with a sign on the roof that read: Hiram Hyder, Real Estate.

Hester parked her car on the graveled area beside the real estate office. She got out, crossed the small porch, and entered a pleasant office paneled in wormy chestnut. The lone occupant was a heavyset man of middle age. In shirt sleeves, he was bent over a slightly cluttered desk. With the forefinger of his left hand he toyed with the few wisps of hair on an otherwise bald head, while he checked figures on an adding machine tape with a pencil in his right hand.

As the screen door sighed closed behind Hester, he glanced up, rose immediately, plucked a suit coat from the back of his chair, and put it on.

“Mr. Hyder?”

“Yes, what can I do for you?” He came around the desk to offer Hester a chair.

“I want to inquire about renting a lake house,” she said.

“My specialty, Mrs...”

She ignored the hint to give her name. “I have one particular place in mind. The lodge on the point.”

“Oh, you must mean the Thrasher place. Yes, that’s a rare property to be on the rental market. Don’t get many like that. The Thrashers decided to remain in Mexico City and figure the place would be better off with somebody in it.” Hiram Hyder spread his pleasantly chubby hands. “Unfortunately, it’s been taken.”

“That’s too bad,” Hester said. “By whom? I may know them.”

“A Mr. Joseph Smith. He came with his secretary, quite a lovely young woman.” Hyder glanced away, cleared his throat, and moved behind his desk. “But I have one other place at the moment that might interest you.”

“This Mr. Smith,” Hester said. “A big man? Powerful frame? Slightly gaunt? Iron gray hair?”

Easing a covert look at Hester, Hyder’s manner became guarded. “An exact description of the man. Why do you ask?”

There was one more question. Claude, she remembered, had taken pride in the uniqueness of his car. “Driving a convertible with a custom paint job?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Is there something you wish to tell me about Mr. Smith?”

“No, Mr. Hyder, there is nothing I wish to say about him at all.”

“About this other place...”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t do at all, Mr. Hyder. Thank you for your time. Perhaps I’ll call again.” She escaped quickly, with a nod, a turn, a flight to her car.

When Hester entered the house, Maudie was at the kitchen table sipping coffee and munching on a sweet roll. “Mr. Bennett called while you were out. Twice.” Maudie lowered her roll without taking a bite. “You feel all right, Mrs. Bennett?”

“A little tired, a bit dizzy; the sun, the exertion of shopping.”

Hester continued her flight, from kitchen to den, where she picked up the phone and dialed Claude’s office.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked.

“Out. Just out...”

“Well, I wish you’d be on the ball when I need you.”

She half closed her eyes. Thirty-five years on the ball, she thought Thirty-five years of being in an assigned place and on the ball. “What was it you wanted, Claude?”

“I’m not happy with Jerry Lawter’s reports. I don’t like the way things are going in the sales office downstate. I’m going down there myself and put some ginger in Jerry and staff. So pack me a bag, will you?”

“Of course, Claude. What will you need? One day bag? Two days?”

“Two days, at least,” he said. “I’ll be by in thirty minutes. I don’t want to drive all night”

“I’ll have the bag ready, Claude.”

She had the luggage prepared, set at the foot of the bed, when he arrived.

He began stripping off his shirt, preparatory to showering and donning fresh clothing. She saw the excitement sparkling deep in his eyes, the almost frenzied movements of his hands.

“Haven’t you anything better to do,” he said suddenly and shortly, “than to stand there and gawk at me?”