Slam the Big Door (13 page)

“My God,” she said softly. “Oh, my God.”

“I don’t know, Mary, but I think that’s as close to the reason as anybody is ever going to get.”

“And that woman is just… I’d like to see her.”

“I think it would be better if you didn’t. I think it would just make it harder to understand, seeing her.”

“Could we get him to a doctor?”

“I could try. I could try to do that.”

“You think she’ll leave?”

“I’m sure she will. But I don’t know when. Maybe Thursday when I give her the money.”

“I’ll pay you back for that.”

“No point in that. It’s hard to get used to the idea a thousand bucks isn’t important money. But it isn’t. And… you might get cleaned out, Mary. I guess you know that.”

“I know it. Yes.”

“It scare you?”

“A little, I guess. Yes, it does. But… what is happening to Troy is more important. I don’t… need all this. I didn’t earn it. We could live on what he was making before, as a builder. Debbie Ann has her own money. It would just be the two of us.”

“I want to poke around a little. I want to look into that land deal. There’s something funny about it.”

“Poor Mike. You came down for a rest. We’re all leaning on you. It isn’t fair. Tell me what you think I should do. How should I… react?”

“You won’t like this, Mary.”

“Try me.”

“I think you should get the hell out for a while.”

“Go away when he…”

“You’re one of the things he wants to destroy. Like I said, sort of a symbol of self-destruction. Going away takes some of the pressure off him, the need to hurt you and keep hurting you.”

“I—I guess I understand.”

“You ought to pack and leave in the morning. Tell him you want to go away and think things over. Don’t be emotional about it. Pick a spot and tell me, so I can be in touch with you. It got rough after she took off the last time. It might get just as rough again. I’ll do what I can. The land deal, the doctor, the woman.”

“Mike. Mike, I’m so…”

“Where will you go?”

“I… don’t think I want to visit anybody… and I don’t want anything fancy. I think I’ll drive over and stay in the Clewiston Inn. No. That would be too far. I wouldn’t feel right about it.”

“Why don’t you just drive up to Sarasota and check into a motel and give me a ring when you’re settled?”

“All right. I’ll have Debbie Ann drive me up so you’ll have a car here. She can tell you where I am. I can come back by cab if there’s an emergency, and she can come get me if there isn’t. I… don’t know why I should feel better. All I’m doing is leaning on you.”

Her eyes were wet. He kissed her goodnight, an impulse which surprised him but which she took gratefully and naturally, clinging to him for a short shuddering moment.

After he was in bed he spoke to himself harshly. The big mister fixit. Self-appointed. What do they matter to you? What does anybody matter to you? Just the boys. What thanks did you get last time? Did they strike off a medal?

He wanted, dolefully, desperately, to be back in the house in West Hudson. When you were in one room, it was if she was in the next room. The little sounds of housekeeping. That wild little yelp of exasperation when she broke something or burned something—a sound that was almost, but not quite, a dirty word. The quick fragrance. The things around her that she touched and loved.

So lie in this strange bed and go over all the times you were cross and cruel, the times you made her cry, and all the gestures of affection you never made, the presents you never brought to her, the days that had gone by without an avowal of love.

But there had been that one thing denied to so many others, the chance to say goodby. “It’s like I’m running out on you,” she had said. “No time to pack. No time to sort things. No chance to clean the closets. You’ll have to love our grandchildren enough for both of us.” He had promised her he would be duly doting.

He lay in the three o’clock darkness. A car went down the Key. A night heron flapped by, hooting with maniacal derision. Tears, heavy as oil, ran out of his eyes. His hands were fists. His throat felt rusty. He heard an airliner.

six

HE SLEPT LATE ON TUESDAY. When he got up, the Chrysler was back and the Porsche was gone. Durelda gave him breakfast on the patio. She said her tooth was better. She said the mister was sleeping and the missus had gone away for a little trip.

After breakfast he drove into Ravenna and found a stationery store and bought a package of coarse yellow paper and some soft pencils. It was the special armor of his trade. Operating on the smallest hints and clues, he had often, in the past, dug out stories that had nudged people in high places out of their upholstered niches in city and county government. It was no special trick. It required merely sturdy legs, a consuming diligence, and the knowledge that to most people the sweetest possible sound is their own voice. They can never hear it often enough. And everybody likes to give the impression that they are very well informed. To Mike Rodenska the miracle was not that chicanery was revealed but that it was so often successfully concealed.

He went first to the small sales office just inside the pretentious entrance to Horseshoe Pass Estates and talked to Marvin Hessler, the salesman-employee Troy had introduced him to when he had shown Mike the property. Marvin was wary at first, but after Mike had managed to give the impression that his investigative efforts might serve to put the project back on its feet, and thus protect a job Hessler had begun to be dubious of, he got complete cooperation. He scrawled key words as memory aids on the coarse paper, folded twice, bulging the pocket.

He looked at land which had been cleared and land which hadn’t. He saw half-dug canals with banks that were collapsing because the sea-walling hadn’t been done. He saw where the dredging had stopped, and where they had run out of fill. He looked at the plot map, read the restrictions and specifications which had been filed with and approved by the Ravenna County Board of Commissioners. He studied the engineering reports, the list of lots already sold, the clips of the advertising campaign, a copy of the original land purchase agreement.

The initial contact always gives you a lead to a few others. It is a geometric progression. He went to the office of the elderly, somewhat ineffectual-acting lawyer who had set up the corporation. By then Mike had become a Mr. Rodney, a staff writer for a large picture magazine which was contemplating doing a story on a typical Florida land-development project—not one of the monster ones, and not one of the little grubby ones—one about the size of Horseshoe Pass Estates. He got some information from the lawyer. He had lunch, picked up his cash from Western Union, added a couple of hundred in traveler’s checks and opened a bank account at the Ravenna National Bank, where he talked for over an hour with an amiable, elderly, low-pressure vice president about the opportunities for investment in Florida land. After he left the bank he became Mr. Rodney again, and talked to three real estate agents until he found one that suited his purposes, a brown, wiry, savage little woman in her fifties who had been born in Ravenna, who envied and despised the people who, through her efforts, had made large pieces of money in real estate, who was a confirmed and vicious gossip, and who seemed to know every local landowner and every parcel of land in the county, and every slick trick that had ever been pulled on the unsuspecting. Her name was Lottie Spranger.

After talking a half hour in her office they went across the street to a curiously tearoomy sort of bar and drank Cokes in a booth.

“A story like that wouldn’t hurt this area a bit,” she said, “and I’m all for it, but you’re making a terrible mistake picking that Jamison mess out there opposite the pass. Sure, it’s a pretty piece of land, but it’s dead.”

“You keep saying that, Miss Spranger, but I don’t quite see how it’s dead. Their sales office is open.”

“I’m not one to gossip, but I’ll tell you just what happened there. For your own good. Jamison is a fool, came down from the north, built some little houses, nothing special, then married Mary Kail who was married before to Bernard Dow, and he died and left her a stack of money. Jamison got his hands on that money and got big ideas and went in too deep. I’d say it’s a good buy for anybody right now, buying good lots in there at the price he’s got ’em down to, but people can’t see that. They haven’t got patience. Pretty soon Jamison is going to be dead broke, and then he’s going to have to unload his equity for whatever he can get for it, and the wolves are just setting waiting to jump. After Jamison is out, whoever gets it will finish the development and clean up. There’s millions in that kind of deal. That’s choice land. There isn’t much of that left on this coast. It’ll be a high-class development. I’ll tell you this. Jamison fought pretty good there. He’s tried to sell treasury stock, bring people in with him, tried to borrow, tried to move those lots. Nothing has worked.”

“Who are these wolves you mention?”

“There’s big ones and little ones. This deal is big enough to interest the big ones. Purdy Elmarr. Wink Haskell. J. C. Arlenton. They sit way back quiet, but they run Ravenna County, Mr. Rodney. They make out like they’re just old cracker boys, but they’re made of money, and all that money started with land, and they still buy swap and sell land. And when any of ’em hanker to own a piece of land, there isn’t anybody going to come in from the outside and grab it away.”

“So you think somebody is after the Jamison land?”

“I do.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because he had too much bad luck for it to all be accidental. Dredge broke down. The work crew dug a whole canal in the wrong place and had to fill it up. They put fill too high around tree trunks and lost a lot of good trees. All this adds up to money, and he didn’t start with enough at first. Then there’ve been rumors about how he couldn’t give you a good deed to a lot there, and how it never would be finished. I tell you, when you’re in the selling business, rumors like that can hurt bad. Somebody wants it. I don’t know who.”

“I was talking about this project of mine to a young lawyer named Raines. He said the whole thing would fall through, that Jamison couldn’t save it. Was that an example of these rumors?”

Her shrewd eyes narrowed. “Hmmm. Rob Raines. Dee Raines’ boy. Now what in the world reason would he have to bad-mouth Jamison? He’s seeing Mary’s daughter, I hear. Nice looking boy, but he’s got an awful cold looking pair of eyes on him. You know, if he could work his way in with… Say, he has been doing some law work for Corey Haas. Jamison took Corey in with him on account of Corey being so close to Mary’s father and Bernard Dow a long time ago. And taking Corey in with you is just about like carrying a snake in your pocket. He’s a slippery one, that Corey. I must be getting old and stupid, I didn’t add that up before. Sure. Corey would love to ease Jamison out of there, and I’ll bet he hasn’t put in a dime over and above what it cost him when they set up the corporation. Corey isn’t real dishonest, but he’s so close to it you can’t hardly tell the difference. Corey goes into things with old Purdy Elmarr sometimes, and this is just the sort of thing to catch Purdy’s eye. Yes sir. It would be Purdy working with Corey, and Rob Raines sticking close to that Debbie Ann to keep in close touch with what’s going on. Nice law work
that
is!” She gave an evil snicker.

“I guess I better pick a different development.”

“Oh, this one will move fast enough soon as old Purdy gets his hooks into it. I’m sort of glad it’s Purdy instead of Wink. Or Corey Haas all alone. Purdy pushes hard, but he isn’t merciless. He’ll set it up so Jamison and Mary Kail won’t lose everything.”

“I’m grateful to you, Miss Spranger.”

“All I’ve done is talk. It didn’t cost me a thing.”

The day was gone. He went back to Riley Key. The Chrysler was gone. Debbie Ann was prone on a poolside mattress, her sun top unlatched, her sun shorts rolled and tucked to expose the maximum area. As she was entirely in shadow, it was obvious she had fallen asleep. The scuff of his shoe on the patio stone awakened her. She lifted her head, then sat up, holding the bra top against her, craning her arms back and latching it. Her face was puffy with sleep, her light hair tangled.

She yawned widely and said, “Wow! I folded. Where’ve you been all day? I got back at two. I’m going out to dinner with Rob so I sent Durelda home. No point in her staying around. You wouldn’t mind eating out, would you? Just go down to the Key Club and sign Mommy’s name.”

“I’m thirsty,” he said. “Bring you a beer?”

“Sounds good.” He opened two cans, brought her one, and folded himself into a bronze and plastic chaise longue. “I’ve been a tourist today. Was Troy gone when you got back?”

“Durelda said he went out about noon.”

“Did you get Mary settled?”

“Yes. A very nice place up on Longboat Key. Corny name. Lazy Harbor. The phone number is in my purse. What’s going on, Mike?”

“What did she tell you?”

“She said she had to get away for a little while to think things over. I asked her if she was going to think about divorce. She said no. She was pretty quiet on the way up.”

“So I guess she told you as much as she wants you to know.”

“My God, you’d think I was eleven years old. I’m an elderly divorced type, remember?”

“It’s probably a good idea to get away, get some perspective.”

“While Troy works himself up to being a genuine alcoholic, keeps some tramp on the string, and loses the family fortune. It wasn’t a big fortune, but it was comforting while it lasted.”

He studied her. “Is there anything you really give a damn about, Debbie Ann? Anything that really concerns you seriously and deeply?”

“No, thank God! I don’t want to be involved in anything but kicks.”

“Any plans at all?”

“Nothing that isn’t frivolous. What got you on this sober dedication routine anyhow?”

“Are you concerned about Mary’s happiness?”

“I’d like her to have it. She had it and now she hasn’t. Nothing I can do is going to turn it back on, like a switch.”

“True.”

“Speaking of frivolous, why don’t we make Rob take us both out? He’d hate every minute of it. We could be very flirtatious and he wouldn’t dare yelp. For some reason he’s being terrible good. A real little gentleman. I suppose he’s figured out a new approach, but I don’t know what it is yet. Won’t you come along?”

“No thanks. I’ve got a little work to do.”

“Work?”

“Sorting some notes.”

“Writing a book?”

“I might.”

“Oh, I forgot! Two letters came for you. Durelda put them in your room.”

He got up quickly. “Excuse me,” he said. “Probably the boys.”

One was from the boys, two letters traveling with one airmail stamp. Mickey told him Tommy had been very homesick, but he was getting over it. They seemed to like the school well enough. One of the boys had taken to calling Mickey Round-End-Ski and the fight had been broken up. They were taken to the headmaster who turned them over to the athletic instructor, who had put gloves on them and let them work it out. Now they were good friends. The work was hard. They were way behind the others, but they were getting special help so they could catch up.

The other letter was from a friend on the paper. After he read it, he reread the boys’ letters. Poor lonely devils. He heard Debbie Ann in the bathroom, heard the shower running.

A few minutes after the shower stopped, his bathroom door opened. She stood in the doorway, artfully draped in a big chocolate and white towel, her smile wide and utterly innocent. “Was it from your boys? Are they all right?”

“They’re fine, thanks.”

“That’s nice.”

“I’d ask you in,” he said, “but they got a tough house detective in this joint.”

She made a face at him. “Poo! It’s just friendship, Mike.”

“You can’t trust me. I’m queer for towels.”

“I could take it off.”

“That’s enough kidding around, Debbie Ann,” he said gruffly. “There’s no sense in it and no future. So back up and shut the door.”

She widened her eyes. “My goodness! The man can’t take a joke.” She backed into the bathroom and shut the door, firmly.

“Have to beat them off with clubs,” he grumbled. “Little old irresistible me.” But he decided his second reaction was right. It would do no good to try to joke with her on her level. She would just become bolder. And then, in a parody of enticement, in a burlesque of seduction, she would manage to wind up in his arms, and then it wouldn’t be parody or burlesque any longer, and she would have had her opportunity to not only satisfy her curiosity and make her soiled and ordinary little conquest, but also to save her own pride by faking great consternation and saying, afterward, in a stricken way, “But I didn’t mean this to happen, darling! I was only joking! Really I was. And suddenly everything got… out of control.”

Or, if she was a little more vicious, and it was quite possible she was, she would go only far enough to be certain that he committed himself, that he made the unmistakable pass, and then scramble away from him and be very upset about the whole thing. They had the right words long ago. Trollop. Baggage. Wench. He wondered if Dacey Whatsis knew how lucky he was to get rid of her. And he hoped Mary would never see her daughter clearly. Mary deserved a hell of a lot more than she was getting.

He stretched out for a while, then changed and went over to the mainland and ate and went to a drive-in movie. Two westerns. The good guy finally nailed the bad guys. He rode back to his room, tall in the saddle, lean, noble and deadly, rolling a cigarette with one hand and shooting hawks out of the sky with the other. He was always a hell of a wing shot.

Troy wasn’t home yet when Mike got in, but was home and sleeping when he left in the morning. He had sorted out the important pieces of information. He talked to two more men who contributed a little, more in the line of confirmation than anything new. He drove to where yellow bulldozers and draglines were working and talked to the man who had bossed the Horseshoe Pass Estates job. He questioned him closely about the bad luck he had had on the job, and when he became convinced the man was lying, and not interested enough to lie very well, he felt he was ready to tackle Corey Haas. Corey Haas managed his varied business interests from a small office in a shabby old building on West Main in downtown Ravenna.