Дэвид Балдаччи - One Good Deed

“Then you won’t pay back the debt because he’s turned your daughter against you?”

“You said before that property is not worth a man’s life. Well, why is a debt, though legally owed, more important than a father’s love for his daughter?”

“And you said you hadn’t seen her for over a year?”

“That is so.”

“Well, why not try talking to her?”

“I can’t, Archer. She refuses to see me.”

“Why?”

“That is my business.”

“When I saw her, she didn’t act like she was being held against her will. And you’re talking to a man who has seen that up close and personal.”

Tuttle shook his head dismissively at this comment. “He has her trapped in a prison of the mind’s making, Archer. Far stronger than steel bars with no predetermined release date, and no judge to whom to appeal.”

Archer rubbed his chin, thinking about his sixty dollars. “Just to be clear, you have the money for the repayment?”

“I have, but not one penny will the man receive so long as my daughter remains absent from her home. I can only imagine the ways in which he has defiled her.”

Archer glanced at the Remington. “I have to say I’m kind of surprised you haven’t taken out your anger on him directly.”

“And with what result, Archer? Do you think me a simpleton?”

“You want to explain that?”

“If I were to shoot that foul being, my freedom would be forfeited, if not my life. And if I did not succeed in killing him, he would sue me for all I have. Then, he would have not only my Jackie, but all my worldly possessions and the land that my father and his father before him have built into a tidy industry. Indeed, in the depths of my mind, I think it no coincidence that he has seduced my daughter in such a manner in the hopes that I would attempt to take out any murderous intentions I might have, just so he could confiscate it all.”

“You’re saying he planned all this?” Archer said skeptically.

“To me, the connection is as inevitable as the eastern rise of the sun on the rotation of the earth’s axis.”

“I understand from Mr. Pittleman that he’s currently married.”

“That is indeed the case.”

“And his wife has no issue with her husband being with your daughter?”

“I think Marjorie Pittleman takes great issue, but her options are limited, seeing that he controls the purse strings.”

“Hank Pittleman does seem to be the controlling type. And he does have a lot of money apparently.”

Tuttle raised the over-under to its original position. “So, what are your current intentions?”

“Seems to me there’s only one solution.”

“What’s that, I wonder, Archer?”

“If I can get your daughter to leave Pittleman, will you repay the loan?”

“And exactly how do you propose to do that?”

“You’ll have to let me work through it.”

“And then you’ll be able to collect your commission?”

“About that, got a question.”

“I’m listening, Archer.”

“What’s it worth to you, to have your daughter away from this man?”

Tuttle’s features turned a shade darker and the pair of green eyes flamed with phosphorous intensity. “You would charge money to a father to free his daughter of an abomination?”

Archer sat forward and twirled his hat. “Look at it my way. From what you’re telling me, Pittleman is not a man of his word. Now, suppose I get the loan repaid. Why do I think the forty dollars in my pocket will be the last cash I ever see from him? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind doing the right thing for the right thing’s sake. Hell, I did that over in Italy and Germany. But a man has to eat. And he has to have a roof over his head. You see my point?”

Tuttle’s finger danced over the trigger of the Remington.

“How much then?”

“Let’s make it sixty dollars. That way, I’ll be made whole in case Pittleman doesn’t come through. I think that’s fair and square.”

“But if he does come through, do I get a refund of my contribution to your economic stability?”

Archer rubbed at his cheek and glanced at the Remington. “Well, that would come under the title of risk, Mr. Tuttle. And a man has to be fairly compensated for accepting it.”

“So, no refund then?”

“Honestly, no sir.”

“I’ll give you three days. Then I’ll come looking for Pittleman and you.”

“I’ll be sure to hold you to that, sir.”

It was an unexpected reply that made Tuttle fully lower his shotgun.

“Desiree here will show you out, Archer.”

Archer turned to see a woman standing there as Tuttle passed by them both and disappeared down the hall.

Desiree was in her forties, medium height, bland, brown hair with black framed specs over dull eyes, but her facial features were etched in stone and she had an air of efficiency about her. She was dressed in a quiet gray jacket and skirt and black pumps with heels sharp enough to pierce his skull. A small string of fake pearls lay against her light blue blouse.

“Mr. Archer,” she said, putting out a hand. He rose and shook it. “This way, sir.”

As they walked along Archer said, “So what is it that you do here, ma’am?”

“I assist Mr. Tuttle as his secretary.”

“He seems like a real sweetheart, when he’s not pointing his shotgun at my privates.”

“It pays well, and it requires little interaction with anything other than my typewriter.”

“You know Jackie Tuttle?”

“I knew her when she was here, yes.”

“I met her in town last night. She was with Hank Pittleman.”

The eyes behind the lenses swelled a bit. “I expect she was.”

“Mr. Tuttle wants her back. He doesn’t want her with Pittleman.”

“I am well aware of that.”

“I bet you are. So, if you don’t mind my asking, why’d she leave home?”

“I do mind you asking.”

“Well, to explain things, Mr. Tuttle wants me to convince Jackie to leave Pittleman. If I knew a little more about the situation, I might be able to accomplish that.”

Desiree stopped and looked up at him. “And bring her back here?”

“I never said I would bring her back here. I just said I’d try to get her to leave Pittleman. I mean, he’s married and all anyway. Doesn’t seem right.”

“How refreshingly moral of you, Mr. Archer.”

“You can drop the mister. I’m just Archer.”

“All right, Archer. I appreciate your honesty and frankness. The fact is Jackie never told me why she was leaving. Though it was around the time her mother died.”

“What was her name?”

“Isabel.”

“Pretty name. What’s that, Spanish?”

“She was from Brazil. Mr. Tuttle traveled there for business when he was younger, and they met. They married and came back here, where they had Miss Tuttle.”

“Was Isabel sick? Is that how she died?”

“No. She died in an accident.”

“Sorry to hear that. What kinda accident?”

“It was just a horrible, horrible accident. I’ll leave it at that.”

“Were she and Jackie close?”

“Isabel adored her daughter and that adoration was returned.”

“Maybe that’s why she left. Because she was so heartbroken about her mother.”

Desiree looked at him funny and said, “I’m sure that was part of it.” She hesitated. “Would you like to see a picture of Isabel?”

“Sure.”

Desiree led him down another hall and opened a door into a large and comfortable sitting room with several oval windows that looked out onto the stark fields behind the house.

Archer took it all in. Big, solid furniture, colorful rug on the Spanish tile floor, paintings on the wall depicting countryside and wildlife, and a stone fireplace that rose to the ceiling. A mantel of petrified wood fronted the stone with a framed photo on it.