Ross MACDONALD - The Underground Man

“What would wear it out?”

“Showing it to people. He also has pictures of him playing tennis, and riding a polo pony, and one at the wheel of his yacht.”

“I gather his father had a lot of money?”

“Quite a lot. At least Mrs. Broadhurst has.”

“And her husband walked out on it and her for the sake of a woman?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Who was the woman?”

“I have no idea. Stanley and his mother don’t discuss the subject. All I know is that Mr. Broadhurst and the woman eloped to San Francisco. Stanley and I spent two weeks in San Francisco last June. Stanley tramped around the city with his pictures. He covered most of the downtown district before he was through. I had quite a time getting him to come back with us. He wanted to quit his job and go on searching the Bay area.”

“Assuming he finds his father, what then?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think Stanley knows, either.”

“You said he was eleven or twelve when his father left. How long ago was that?”

“Stanley’s twenty-seven now. Fifteen years.”

“Can he afford to quit his job?”

“No, he can’t. We owe a good deal of money, to his mother and other people. But he’s getting so irresponsible, it’s all I can do to keep him on the job.” She was quiet for a moment, looking at the blank walls of the room, the calendar which hadn’t been changed in several months.

I said: “Do you have a key to the filing cabinet?”

“No. There’s only the one, and Stanley keeps it. He keeps the rolltop desk locked, too. He doesn’t like me to look at his correspondence.”

“Do you think he’s been corresponding with the girl?”

“I have no idea. He gets letters from all over. I don’t open them.”

“What’s her name, do you know?”

“She said her name was Sue, at least she told Ronny that.”

“I’d like to take a look at the registration of that Mercedes. What about a key to the garage?”

“That I have. I keep it in the kitchen.”

I followed her out to the kitchen, where she opened a cupboard and took the key off a nail. I used it to open up the garage. The key of the Mercedes was in the ignition. There was no registration, but crumpled in the back of the dash compartment I found an auto insurance invoice made out to a Mr. Roger Armistead of 10 Crescent Drive in Santa Teresa. I copied the name and address in my black notebook and climbed out of the car.

“What did you find?” Jean said.

I showed her my open notebook. “Do you know Roger Armistead?”

“I’m afraid not. Crescent Drive is a good address, though.”

“And that Mercedes is worth a lot of money. Stanley’s old school friend seems to be loaded. Or else she stole it.”

Jean made a quick quelling motion with her hand. “Please don’t talk so loudly.” She went on in a voice that was conscious of the neighbors beyond the grape-stake fence: “That story of his was ridiculous. She couldn’t possibly be his old school friend. She’s at least six or seven years younger, as I said. Besides, he attended a private boys’ school in Santa Teresa.”

I flipped open my notebook again. “Give me a description of her.”

“She’s a good-looking blond girl, about my height, five foot six. Nice figure. Perhaps she weighs 115 pounds or so. Her eyes are a shade of blue. They’re her best feature, really – and also her strangest.”

“Strange in what way?”

“I couldn’t read them,” she said. “I couldn’t tell if she was absolutely innocent or absolutely cold and amoral. That isn’t an afterthought, either. It was my first reaction when she came in with Stanley.”

“Did he give any clue as to why he brought her home with him?”

“He said she needed food and rest, and he expected me to serve her dinner. Which I did. But she hardly ate a thing – a little pea soup.”

“Did she talk much?”

“Not to me. She talked to Ronny.”

“What about?”

“It was nonsense talk, really. She told him a wild story about a little girl who was left alone all night in a house in the mountains. Her parents were killed by monsters and the little girl was carried off by a big bird like a condor. She said that had happened to her when she was his age. She asked my son if he would like it to happen to him. It was fantasy, of course, but it had an ugly element, as if she was trying to unload her hysteria on Ronny.”

“What was his reaction? Was he frightened?”

“Not exactly. He seemed to be kind of fascinated by her. I was not. I broke it up and sent him to his room.”

“Did she say anything about taking him away?”

“She didn’t say it directly. But that was the message, wasn’t it? It scared me at the time. I should have acted on it and got rid of her.”

“What scared you?”

She looked up at the sky, which was full of blowing dust. “She was afraid, I think, and I caught it from her. Of course, I was upset already. It was so unusual for Stanley to do what he did, bringing her home like some kind of child bride. I realized that here my life was changing, and there was nothing I could do about it.”

“It’s been changing for some time, hasn’t it? Since June.”

Her gaze came down, full of darkened sky. “June was the month we went to San Francisco. Why do you say June?”

“It was the last month your husband tore off the calendar in his study.”

A car with a noisy engine pulled up in front, and a man appeared at the corner of the house. His body seemed ill at ease in his dark rumpled suit. His long pale face had cornices of scar tissue over the eyes.

He came toward us along the driveway. “Is Stanley Broadhurst here?”

“I’m afraid he isn’t,” Jean said uneasily.

“Would you be Mrs. Broadhurst, by any chance?” The man spoke with elaborate politeness, but an undertone of aggression buzzed in his voice.

“Yes, I’m Mrs. Broadhurst.”

“When do you expect your husband back?”

“I really don’t know.”

“You must have a rough idea.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“If you don’t, who does?”

He sounded like a man who was full of trouble. I stepped between him and Jean:

“Broadhurst’s left town for the weekend. Who are you and what do you want?”

The man didn’t answer me right away. He went into an intense quiet rage, swinging his hand up and slapping his own face. The blow left a four-fingered mark burning red on his cheek.

“Who I am is my concern,” he said. “I want my money. You better get in touch and tell him that. I’m blowing this town tonight and taking the money with me.”

“What money are you talking about?”

“That’s between he and I. Just give him the message. I’m willing to take the even thousand if I get it by tonight. Otherwise the sky will be the limit. Tell him that.”

His cold eyes didn’t believe what his mouth was saying. I guessed he was an old con. He had the prison pallor, and he appeared ill at ease in the open daylight. He was sticking close to the wall as if he needed something to contain him.

“My husband doesn’t have that kind of money.”

“His mother has.”

“What do you know about his mother?” Jean said in a thin voice.

“I happen to know she’s loaded. He said he’d get it from her today and have it for me tonight.”

I said: “You’re a little early, aren’t you?”

“It’s a good thing I am, with him out of town and all.”

“What’s he buying from you?”

“If I told you, I couldn’t sell it, could I?” He gave me the tricky look of a half-smart man who had never learned the limits of his own intelligence. “Tell him I’ll be back here tonight. If he don’t pay me then, the sky’s the limit.”