Джеймс Кейн - Rainbow’s End

“Not that I know of, no.”

“Have you seen her?”

“Not as I recollect.”

We went inside, where Aunt Jane sat us down, and my mother turned to me. “I haven’t seen her,” I said.

“I came to warn her.”

“Of what?” asked Aunt Jane.

“Of that girl,” my mother told her. “Of that Jill, who’s on her tail.” For a moment, I thought she must know about Jill’s finding the money, which I didn’t want Aunt Jane told. But then I realized she meant the previous day’s conversation, when Jill shot her mouth off so loud. I cut in: “I’ve just asked Aunt Jane to tell her to skip if she comes.”

“What I came to say,” said my mother.

“And she has what it takes to skip with,” growled Aunt Jane, in a tone not friendly to Mom.

We sat back then and visited, with Aunt Jane bringing more coffee and my mother asking about people, all sorts of Gileses apparently, that I’d never even heard of. But pretty soon she got up, and I got up of course. We both shook hands with Aunt Jane, left our greetings to Borden, and went outside. I kissed my mother and put her in, telling her: “Be better if you let me pull out first.” As to why it would be better, I hadn’t quite figured out, but she said “OK” real quick, as the main thing was not to wink or do anything that might tip Aunt Jane we had stuff to tell each other that we didn’t mean to tell her. So I patted Aunt Jane once more, then got in the truck and drove off. But I drove slow to make sure my mother was back there, tailing me. As I turned into the road, I kept motioning with my hand, my left hand that is, that she should stay there, behind, and not make any effort to pass. I watched in the mirror, and sure enough her hand gave a little shake, and I knew she understood. It gave me a real lift, that she should know what I meant just from one little wigwag.

We drove on, back through Clarksburg, then turning into route 50 and keeping on for some miles, she following right along, till ahead of us was a lookout, one of those parks with a view. I signaled, then pulled out and stopped. She pulled up right beside me, and when I got out we looked at each other and laughed. I think it sent her too, that we’d do things together that way, each one always knowing what the other one meant. I walked to her window and told her:

“Something’s happened I couldn’t tell you back there.”

“OK, but first: did you tell her, or did anyone, what Little Myra told you? About us, I mean?”

“No — I couldn’t tell just a little bit.”

“Of course she knows — but you knowing the ins and out of why — it could have got pretty complicated.”

“That’s why I said nothing about it.”

“So — what’s happened?”

“Jill found the money.”

“That Shaw had?”

“That’s right — all but two thousand dollars. By accident, last night.”

I told her about the fishing trip, and her face screwed up in pain, and even when it unscrewed, she sat there with her eyes shut. Then: “That makes it certain, doesn’t it? About Little Myra? That she did steal that poke. What now? What now?”

“There’s more.” I told her about Bledsoe and what he had said, and Jill, and what she had said. After a moment she said: “I don’t blame her, Dave. It’s just a bit crazy, that’s what, a real lawyer’s idea. So don’t blame her too much.”

“Bledsoe was thinking of me.”

“As I am, of course. And Myra, from what you’ve said, now hates you and hates that girl, with that old time religion of hers that she’s full of and that for some reason makes her ornery. She’s a real danger, but playing it tricky is worse. Jill has the right instinct, Dave.”

“I’m not so sure I agree.”

“Suppose you did it that way, as this lawyer suggested to you, and the police didn’t bite?”

“How do you mean, didn’t bite?”

“Didn’t fall into your trap? Didn’t search the tree?”

“They’d more or less have to, wouldn’t they?”

“People never have to do what you want them to do. So they do search the tree, but not until working you over, so they’re good and sure and certain you know more than you’re telling. Then it’s all bound to come out, from the flop of the carp to the lawyer’s idea — his not very bright idea. Then it could really mean trouble.”

“You’re on her side, then?”

“When it’s money, hang onto it.”

“How about when it’s a neck?”

“I’m not so sure it is.”

“Well, I’m damned sure that it could be my neck, for instance, and hanging, in connection with it, is not a subject I like to hear brought up — or a stretch in prison, either.”

“Dave, there’s an angle, a real possibility that’s occurred to me since you told me about this, that would make Jill so right it makes me shiver. Haven’t you thought of it too?”

“What are you talking about?”

“If you haven’t guessed, I certainly won’t tell you. But maybe Jill has, and if she has, it makes it all different, the way she’s acting about it. And, of course, makes it all different for me .”

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

“Have dinner with me tonight, and by the time dessert is served, I’m pretty sure you’ll guess.”

“I have to get back to Jill.”

“If she’s still there.”

“If not, I’ll have to call her.”

“Will you call me too? I’m at the Two Rivers, that new place down near the armory.”

“I’ll keep you posted, of course.”

What she meant, I couldn’t imagine, but it turned out she meant plenty and that what she meant was right — as I found out the next day.

It was nearly 4:00. I got in the truck and drove on. She tailed along for a while, but then at a light I lost her and didn’t slow down for her to catch up. It was late afternoon, around 6:00, when I turned into my lane, and my heart gave a great big bump when I saw Jill’s rental car still there. I drove around to put the truck in the wagon shed. As I closed the door she came running out of the house, dressed in my pants, one of my flannel shirts, and a corduroy jacket I had. She ran into my arms, kissed me, and whispered: “I’m so glad, so glad. I was afraid you weren’t coming, Dave.”

“Why wouldn’t I come? You’re here and I live here.”

“You wouldn’t if arrested.”

“That’s an idea, it sure is.”

“Stop sulking and kiss me.”

I kissed her, but couldn’t help making a crack: “If you can interrupt kissing that money.”

She pulled back, and slapped me, then kissed me some more. Then: “That’s a surprise I have for you, Dave. I have stopped kissing it. I put it back, as that lawyer said.” She motioned at her costume, as though it explained everything, but I didn’t connect. I asked: “Back? You mean in the tree?”

“Just like he said.”

“But how could you handle that boat? You couldn’t handle it, Jill, rowing upriver in the Muskingum River current!”

“I didn’t say I did.”

“The left-handed way you talk, you sound mountain already. Come on, say it: What did you do, fly?”

She seemed delighted at my being so crossed up, kissed me once more, then said: “Let’s go inside.” So we went in the kitchen, and there on the table was ham, two pieces, sliced real thick, fresh peas, shelled in a bowl, potatoes, peeled and sliced shoestring, in a bowl of water, and salami, sliced thin and wrapped in wax paper. She said: “There’s our dinner, that you’re cooking for us. We’re having sliced ham, green peas—”

“I see what we’re having,” I said. “Get going on what you did.”

“Let’s go in and sit down.”