Дэвид Балдаччи - One Good Deed

The door opened, and the same young maid appeared there.

She smiled when she saw Archer.

“Can I help you?” she said sweetly.

Shaw took out his star once more. “Lieutenant Detective Irving Shaw with the state police to see Mrs. Pittleman. I’ve been out here before. I called ahead and she’s expecting us.” He pointed at Archer. “And this here’s Archer.”

The maid hiked her brows enticingly and smiled. “Oh, I know. I seen Mr. Archer before.”

She led them down the same hall as before. The maid opened the door and motioned them in. This was not the conservatory Archer had been in before, but a walnut-paneled library full of books and the smell of wood smoke. Though it was still fairly warm outside, there was a small fire in the fireplace. Marjorie lay on a small hunter green davenport set against one wall. She had on a long, simple beige dress over her husky figure and black shoes with fancy bows. She had just affixed her pince-nez to her nose and peered up at them through the lenses. Archer noted a tall glass of an amber liquid on the rocks on the small table next to her.

She said, “Thank you, Amy, you may leave us now.”

Amy gave a little curtsy, glanced with a smile at Archer, and departed.

“Please, gentlemen, sit.” She pointed to two chairs upholstered in tiger stripes and gilded wood across from her.

The men took off their hats and sat.

“Mr. Archer, isn’t it?” said Marjorie.

“Yes, ma’am. I was out here last time with Jackie.”

“Hmm, right, Jackie Tuttle,” said Marjorie disapprovingly.

“Ma’am,” began Shaw. “Sorry to have to come back and trouble you again.”

“Well?”

Archer interjected. “We saw Lucas Tuttle leaving here. He said he came to pay his respects?”

“That’s right,” she said.

“Sort of surprised me,” said Archer. “I didn’t think the two men liked each other.”

“Perhaps not, but I got along fine with Lucas.” She turned to Shaw. “Have you found whoever killed Hank?”

“No, ma’am, but we’re working hard on it. Now, this is not easy to say, but were you aware that your husband was in, well, money troubles?”

Marjorie tittered. “Don’t be ridiculous. Hank was extremely wealthy and as good a businessman as he was a husband to me.”

Archer thought to himself that with that analogy, Hank Pittleman might’ve left his wife dead broke and belly-up.

Shaw continued. “Well, did you know that he had traveled to a place called Las Vegas? It’s in Nevada.”

“I know where it is, Detective. But, no, I didn’t know that Hank had been there. How can you be sure?”

“Well, we had folks out there look into it.”

“Why would you do that?”

In answer, Shaw pulled out a sheet of paper. “I have a lawman friend out close to Nevada and he sent some men over to the casinos in Las Vegas. They’ve determined that your husband owes them about two hundred thousand dollars in gambling debts.”

Marjorie’s eyes widened at this gigantic sum. “Did you say two hundred thousand dollars!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“My word, I had no idea.” Her hand went to her bosom. “Hank, gambling? I can’t believe it.”

“That’s not all, unfortunately.”

“What?” she said sharply, her small eyes narrowing behind the specs.

“Your husband had lots of businesses.”

“Yes, of course he did. He owned half of Poca City. And now I suppose I do.” She seemed pleased by the prospect, thought Archer.

“He owned a lot, sure, but he owed a lot, too. This is a list of vendors he has failed to pay over the last eleven months or so. It’s a pretty lengthy list. I’m not sure he was paying anybody what they were owed.”

Marjorie read down the list, looked at the total dollar amount, turned the color of a cloud, picked up her drink, and drained it in one swallow. She wiped her mouth and Archer noted the shake of her hand as she set it back down.

“There must be some mistake,” she said weakly, or maybe hopefully. “I mean, this... this can’t be. This is far more than the gambling debts. This...” She faltered and looked up at Shaw in total shock.

“There’s no mistake. I’m sorry.”

She half rose and looked toward the door, which puzzled Archer, because there was no one there. Then she collapsed back on the davenport and hit a brass button on the wall. A few seconds crawled by, and Amy opened the door.

“Yes, ma’am?”

Marjorie held up her empty glass. “Another of these. Gentlemen, will you drink with me?”

Archer eyed Shaw, who nodded and said, “We’ll both be having what the missus is.”

“Tell George to make mine a double, and don’t bother with any ice,” ordered Marjorie.

Amy smiled and skipped out.

Marjorie refocused on Shaw. “This... this is unbelievable.”

Archer said, “How come if he owes the boys in Vegas, they haven’t gotten paid?”

“I asked my friend that. They said Mr. Pittleman was a good customer and always paid what he owed. So when he asked for credit, they gave it to him.”

Marjorie, looking distracted, once more put a hand to her bosom. “I feel like I’ve fallen into someone else’s life.”

“Yes, ma’am. I take it you knew nothing about your husband’s businesses, then?”

“I never saw the need, and neither did Hank. I mean, well, he was the man, correct? And I’ve never had any talent whatsoever when it came to such things. And... and he was so successful. I never dreamt... I mean, I never thought anything was wrong at all.” She looked around the grand room. “How could I? I wake up here every day to... this.”

Shaw put the paper away. “Well, you wouldn’t be the first wife to be kept in the dark about her husband’s doings, ma’am.”

She glanced warily at Shaw. “These gambling debts? Do you think these people could have had something to do with Hank’s death?”

“I certainly think it a possibility. And a two-hundred-thousand-dollar debt is reason enough to kill a man.” He paused. “But you would think they’d try to collect the money. With your husband dead, how are they going to get paid?”

Tears gathered in the old woman’s eyes. “My poor Hank.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Shaw, casting an awkward glance at Archer.

A minute later the door opened, and Amy came in carrying a tray with their drinks. She passed them out and left, but again with a smile cast Archer’s way. Shaw noted it this time, elbowed the man, and shook his head, a grave expression on his face.

Marjorie drank a goodly portion of her whiskey while the two men sipped on theirs.

Shaw said, “Has anyone tried to contact you? Phone calls, letters?”

“Pertaining to what?” Marjorie said sharply.

“The debts your husband owed. Gambling or otherwise.”

“No, but he had his office at the Derby Hotel, not here.”

“Yes, ma’am, we know that. Did he by chance keep any papers here?”

“Not that I know of, but you could talk to Sid Duckett. He might know. Been with us a long time. Hank liked him.”

“Is he here?”

“He lives in a cottage over near the trucking warehouse. White house with green shutters.”

“Right, but what about Malcolm Draper? I was told he was your husband’s business manager of sorts. If anyone knew it would probably be him.”

Marjorie took another drink of her whiskey. “Yes, of course, that’s right. I was actually counting on Mr. Draper to help me navigate all of Hank’s affairs. He came on about a year ago. He would most certainly know.”

“Does he live on the grounds?”

“No, he has a room at the Derby.”

“Does he?” asked Shaw, who cast another glance at Archer. “Well, we won’t bother you anymore. We’ll go see Duckett and find out what he might know. And then we’ll talk to Draper in town.”