April Evil (9 page)

The girl behind the desk in the Chamber of Commerce pointed toward the big open notebook and said, “They leave the messages in there—alphabetical.”

He moved down the counter to the notebook and looked under R. Only a very few in the business knew the full name he used in the tire business, Ronald Crown. No one knew the name he had been born with, Ronald Dearlove. It was his name that had given him his first acquaintance with the law, and with himself. Goaded beyond reason by schoolyard taunts, he had beaten an eight-year-old contemporary into unconsciousness with a short length of pipe. He kept striking after the other boy was down. Wild anger changed by slow degrees into hot rising pleasure. The other child was four months in the hospital. For a time it was thought he would not recover.

He found the message under R.
Dear Ronnie—While you’re in town give us a ring at 4-6040
. It was signed “Alice.” The
li
part of the name was written faintly, the
Ace
bold and black. He thought it a typical example of Ace’s childishness.

He walked back up Bay Avenue and phoned from a drugstore booth.

A man answered, saying, “Hello?”

“Ronnie speaking.”

“Where are you calling from?”

“A drugstore booth.”

“Be at the corner of Bay Avenue and Palm at eight tonight. The southeast corner. The Ace will pick you up. Gray Buick, three beeps on the horn.” The man hung up. Ronnie shrugged
and hung up. He stood in the doorway of the drugstore. Young girls walked by in shorts and halters. Heavy women in print dresses. Men in slacks and sandals and T-shirts. Sun was bright on the street, blazing from chrome trim. New traffic lines were bright yellow against the gray blue of the asphalt.

He sensed that Flamingo was too small to permit complete freedom of motion. Strangers would be noted and remembered. He had a drugstore sandwich and walked down to a small city park and sat on a bench and watched the traffic and the blue bay water and the cars heading out across the causeway to Flamingo Key. People fished from the bridge. A mother and child stood by the sea wall and fed bread to the gulls. He could hear the child laugh.

He walked back and located the corner where he would be picked up. He spent the rest of the day in the movies.

At ten fifteen on Wednesday morning, Mooney was sitting beside Lennie Parks as she drove down the narrow street toward Dr. Tomlin’s stone house. He felt nervous and irritable. Lennie, in a pale blue blouse and white skirt, was calm, casual, impersonal.

“You sure this won’t seem funny?” he asked.

“Not in the least.”

The big iron gates were closed. Lennie parked the car beyond the gates and they got out. She pushed the bell button set into the gate post. They saw Arnold Addams coming down from the house, wearing a white jacket.

“Good morning, Mrs. Parks,” he said as he unlocked the gate.

“Good morning, Arnold. Is Uncle Paul around?”

“He having coffee with Miss Laurie out on the back terrace. You can go right on around, I guess.”

Mooney followed her closely as they went around the house. A tall severe-looking old man sat at a shaded table with a sturdy, pretty girl. They both looked up as Mooney and Lennie approached. Mooney decided the old man looked very unfriendly. The girl got up quickly and the old man got up
with the slow stiffness of age.

“Hello, Uncle Paul. Hello, Laurie,” Lennie said brightly and cheerfully. “This is Mr. Mooney. Doctor Tomlin, Mrs. Preston.”

The doctor’s hand had a cool papery feel.

Mooney paid particular attention to the doctor’s voice. It was slow and deep, the words carefully enunciated. There was a slight quaver of age.

“That coffee looks good,” Lennie said disarmingly.

“I’ll bring some,” the girl said and hurried off.

“Please sit down,” the doctor said, no warmth in his voice. They sat at the table with him. Lennie took her cigarettes from her purse.

“Mr. Mooney works for Dil,” Lennie said. “I’ve borrowed him today. I’m afraid this is very boring for him, carting me around. I’m soliciting contributions for the Community Concert series.”

“And you’ve come to me, Lenora?” There was an undercurrent of sour amusement in the old man’s voice.

“I know how you feel about such things, Uncle Paul, but there’s no harm in trying, is there?”

“Just a waste of time and motion.”

Lennie made a face. “So all I get is coffee.”

Laurie Preston brought cups and saucers and a fresh pot of coffee. Mooney wanted to hear the old man talk some more. “Lovely grounds you have here inside your wall, sir.”

“Give credit to Laurie. She has the touch. Lenora said you work for Dillon?”

“I sell cars for him.”

“I imagine you are an excellent salesman.”

“I’ve done it for quite a few years. Why would you think I’d be a good salesman?”

“You carry yourself so confidently. And you seem to be observant.”

Mooney felt more at ease. “Observant enough, sir, to see the front end of that car in the garage. The old black Packard. What is it? Nineteen thirty-nine?”

“Thirty-eight. It’s been a little over a hundred and twenty thousand miles.”

“We couldn’t give you much on a trade, Doctor. But don’t you think it’s about time?”

“I have no intention of trading it. None whatsoever,” the old man said coldly.

Mooney smiled. “As Mrs. Parks just said, no harm in trying.”

Laurie and Lenora made light conversation in the manner of two women who barely know each other and do not care for each other. Soon the coffee was finished and they left. Arnold let them back out the gate. They got into the car and Lennie drove away.

“That old gent is crazy like a fox.”

“He ought to be put away.”

“Who are you trying to kid, Lennie?”

“He’s taken those Prestons in. Who are they? You should see Joe Preston. A complete nothing.”

“The girl seems nice.”

“If you go for that type. She’s a peasant. They’re a pair of adventurers. I can’t understand why he took them in. He isn’t competent to protect himself from a pair like that.”

“Maybe he was lonesome.”

“He wasn’t lonesome when we offered to move in with him.”

“Maybe you and Dil aren’t the type.”

“Don’t try to be witty. If that’s what you’re trying to be.”

“Calm down, will you?”

“I’m calm. Get one thing firmly in mind, Mooney. I’m not interested in your opinion of him. I want to know if you can do what we talked about.”

“I’ll practice some. You can check me on it after I give it a workout. It shouldn’t be too tough.”

“Let’s hear you right now.”

“ ‘I have no intention of trading it. None whatsoever.’ ”

“Hmmm. Not bad. Not very good, either.”

“ ‘I have no intention of trading it, Leonora. None whatsoever.’ ”

“That’s better, Mooney.”

“We’ll check it over the phone. That’s where it has to sound right. Don’t worry, I’ll get it down pat.”

“When?”

“Hell, I don’t know.”

“Today?”

“I have to go back to work. When I get a chance I’ll call you from the shop. You be home?”

“Call me about three.”

“I … I moved into one of the cabanas. The end one, on the south.”

He watched her face and it did not change. “How nice for you.”

“It’s not bad there.”

She said nothing further. He felt frustrated. He didn’t know how he had annoyed her. She let him out without a word. He stalked toward the agency car he had left on the downtown street. Just as he touched the doorhandle, she said, “Mooney!”

He turned around and looked at her. She was leaning across the front seat. “Well, come here!” she said impatiently.

He walked back to the car, scowling.

“Don’t sulk, darling,” she said.

“What do you expect me to …”

“Hush now. No tantrums, doll baby. Is there a phone in your cabana?”

“Yes, there is.”

“Then why don’t you call me there?”

His mood of depression was gone, all at once. “Sure thing! I’d be glad to …”

“Stop glowing and give me the key then.”

He took the key off his ring and handed it to her. She winked at him and said, “If it’s a good imitation, darling, I’ll wait there for you and we’ll celebrate. If it isn’t any good, I’ll be gone before you can get back. Understand?”

“That isn’t fair, damn it. How can I …”

But she had put the car in gear and she was gone. He looked after the car and then went and got in the agency car, slammed the door and raced the motor.

All the way back to the agency he practiced the timbre and cadence of Paul Tomlin’s voice.

Laurie noticed that after Lenora Parks and Mr. Mooney had left, Doctor Paul seemed troubled.

“She’s very pretty,” Laurie said.

“Eh? Oh, Lenora. Yes, she’s pretty enough. Dresden type. Pretty and restless and greedy.”

“Is something bothering you, Doctor Paul?”

“Nothing, Laurie. Nothing important. I just keep wondering what was on her mind. She’s never done anything in her life without a purpose. I just don’t know why she came here. I’ve made it clear to them that if they want to see me, either of them, or both of them, they should call first. I’m quite aware that the knowledge of the money I keep here is a source of acute, almost physical anguish to Lenora. I know that I am the reason she married Dillon. She must be a badly frustrated woman. She must be very distressed at my … durability. And very upset, about your living here with me.”

“Upset?”

“Don’t be so unworldly, Laurie. She hates you. That was quite obvious to me, the first time she met you. I hope she isn’t planning to hurt you in any way.”

“How could she hurt me?”

“I don’t know. She might try to discredit you with me. I,
don’t see how she would go about that, though. If there is any weak link here, it would be Joe. She might try to hurt you through Joe.”

“Are you certain you aren’t imagining this?”

“I don’t think so. I’d like to know where that man fits in. Mooney. That was his name, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“Not a very good type, Laurie. He has the look and flavor of an opportunist. He was more on edge than he should have been on a routine call like that. Those two are plotting something.”

She touched the back of his hand. “They can’t hurt anything, Doctor Paul. There isn’t anything they can do. And I think you’re imagining things.”

He smiled. “I hope you’re right, my dear.”

“You’ve acted a little odd lately.”

“Have I? Let me tell you something, Laurie. These last few months have been happy months. I didn’t know I would ever feel this alive again. It could be that I’m superstitious about it. The last time I was completely happy, the world fell apart. That could be the reason for the presentiment of evil. Contentment is a gift horse. I have the feeling that something bad is going to happen. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know which door to guard. Maybe you’d like to take my mind off it.”

“Who will it be this morning?”

“Let me see. Something new for you and old for me. Some Conrad, I think. I think you might like him. He’s on the next to the top shelf, near the windows. Find the volume that has ‘Typhoon’ in it. You’ll like the captain, I’m sure.”

She took the cups in and left him sitting there. She went to the library and hunted for the book he wanted. He enjoyed having her read to him. Reading seemed to give him headaches lately. She knew that he enjoyed listening and at the same time watching her discover something new. She was learning to read much better, and did not stumble over words nearly as often as in the beginning. It pleased her to read to him. It made her feel as though she was in that way earning a portion of the money he paid her each Friday. But it seemed wrong
to enjoy it as much as she did. She tried to talk to Joe about what was in the books. Joe would listen for a time, contemptuously amused, and would soon lose patience.

“Books, books. What’s in books, kid? What’s got you so all wound up anyhow?”

“Joe, honey, you don’t understand what …”

“Digging around in those books all the time. They’re not for you and me, sugar. That’s not living. Here, I’ll show you what living is.”

“Joe, honey, stop. Wait a minute. Let me explain to you.”

“What is there to explain? Hell, the old boy likes his books. You get along with him real good. That’s fine. But don’t try to drag me in on it. If you want me entertained, why don’t you get the old boy to put a TV set here in our bedroom. That’s the way you keep up with the world, sugar. That’s the way you know what’s going on. Not out of those old books. Living is something like this. And this.”

“Joe … please.”

“And like this too. Isn’t this being alive? Isn’t it?”

“Oh, Joe. Yes, honey. Oh, yes, yes, yes.”

She found the right Conrad book. She walked slowly back through the house toward the garden. She frowned as she thought of Joe. Steadily and inevitably she was growing away from him. She wondered if Doctor Paul knew that. She and Joe had less and less to talk about. Now his conversation seemed curiously empty. Like shallow water where you can see every stone on the bottom. Doctor Paul’s conversation was like a deep pool. You could not see bottom. You could look down into the pool and see the deep shifting of green shadows, of things partially understood. Doctor Paul’s mind was like some of the passages in the books. It could mean one thing and a lot of other things too, and each time you read it you would see something you missed before.

Lately, when Joe talked to her, she could nod and say the right things without even hearing him. “… bought me a beer when he found out I was a Giant fan … watched those kids water skiing near the municipal pier … must have been a
heart attack or something, because they took her away in an ambulance … he says to me … so I said listen bud you’re talking to a guy who really knows California … so he says … and brother I told him off … she was driving a bright red Thunderbird … so then I told him the oldie about the plumber and the night nurse …”

She knew that her horizons had been the same. But the world had grown larger for her. On this morning, reading to Doctor Paul from this book she had never heard of, the world would grow larger still, and Joe would be left a little farther behind. The only close remaining element of their marriage was the physical. And she knew that her recent heightened interest in the physical was probably a reaction to the loss of the other elements of their marriage. Joe was pleased with her responsiveness. She could not tell him that she now feared for even that aspect, because she had lately begun to feel a vague distaste for the way he looked. His sideburns had begun to look absurd. His over-long fingernails looked cheap and affected. She was distressed by the spots of acne near his lips. That had never bothered her before. She was offended by the oil marks his hair left on their pillows. She resented picking up his dirty shorts and socks, washing his comb, replacing the top on the toothpaste, picking black hairs out of the sink.