Lucifer's Weekend (Digger) Page 13

  "I absolutely guarantee it," he said. "Count on it."

  "Good," she said. "I’ll run along now. I know you must be busy."

  "A few small questions first," Digger said.

  "Are these connected with our case?" she asked.

  Our case? Yes, Digger agreed silently, it was their case.

  "Yes," he said. "Do you know who telephoned your mother today?"

  "There was one call, but she was sitting by the telephone and answered it first, so I don’t know who called."

  "Did you hear any of the conversation?"

  "No. I was in another room. After Mother was on the phone, Cody came over."

  "Do you think she might have been talking to him on the phone?"

  "I really don’t know. They made love when he came over."

  "What?" Digger said.

  "Really, Mr. Burroughs. After all, I’m eight. They made love."

  "How can you be sure?"

  "My mother sent me over to my friend Wilma’s to play. Wilma is an idiot and my mother knows it. She only sends me there when she wants to make love to Cody."

  "Does that happen often?" Digger asked.

  "Not…oh, I see. You want to know if they made love before my father died."

  "I was getting to that."

  "No, Mr. Burroughs, I’m quite sure of it. Never before Daddy died. Only recently they became lovers."

  "How do you feel about that?" Digger asked.

  "It’s my mother’s decision actually. He’s not really the type of man I would choose for anybody, especially myself. He’s wishy-washy."

  "My feelings exactly."

  "I don’t think he killed my father," she said.

  "Neither do I," Digger said.

  They were silent a moment, then Ardath asked, "Do you have children?"

  "Yes. Two. What’s-his-name and the girl."

  "They’re very lucky to have you as a father," she said.

  "If that’s so, why do they have my picture posted in their kitchen with a five-hundred-dollar reward sign on it?" Digger asked.

  "They don’t understand you. You should try talking to them."

  "How?" Digger asked. "How can I talk to them? They’re not dolphins."

  She smiled and started to get out of the car. "I’ll leave now," she said. Standing at the side of the car, she said, "I almost forgot, Mr. Burroughs. A police car drove by and the policeman stopped and stared at your car."

  "Did he see you?" Digger asked.

  "He must have, but no one notices children. He just stared."

  "Was he a big guy with a face that looks like it’s mutating into a hogshead?"

  She giggled, an eight-year-old’s giggle.

  "A very good description," she said. "That was him. There was a lady with him."

  "What did she look like?"

  "I didn’t really see. A blond lady, though."

  Walter Brackler’s home phone did not answer, so Digger called Frank Stevens, the president of BSLI.

  Stevens’s big, bluff voice seemed to echo through the phone.

  "Ah, Digger. The playboy of the western world. How are you?"

  "All right, Frank."

  "Brackler told me that you think you might have a murder on your hands. He seemed annoyed that you were complicating things."

  "That’s right," Digger said. "It’s a murder. Someone even pegged some shots at me today."

  "Who?" Stevens said.

  "I don’t know yet. Does Brackler have an alibi?"

  "He’s not the violent type," Stevens said.

  "Keep an eye on him," Digger said. "I’m going to be staying here a little while."

  Chapter Fifteen

  DIGGER’S LOG:

  Tape Recording Number Four, 6:30 P.M., Saturday, Julian Burroughs in the matter of Vernon Gillette.

  Listen up, Rosicrucians. Pay attention, Scientologists, Moonies, Holly-Gollies, transcendental meditators, you’re all wrong.

  All the wisdom of the universe can be summed up in three mighty iron-clad principles which never waver. Governments come and go; new religions flourish, then die; but these three principles are absolutes.

  One. I am not in this business to get shot at.

  Two. Getting shot at sucks.

  Three. When I find out who shot at me, I will express my unhappiness in the strongest possible terms. Except if he’s still shooting at me, in which case I’ll take off like a big-ass bird.

  There are three new tapes in the master file. The first involved my descent into the inferno today to meet The Old Man, Lucius Belton. I wouldn’t say he’s infirm, but he’s not firm either, and there is an evil glitter to his eyes. "How art thou fallen from heaven, Oh Lucifer, son of the morning!" Isaiah 14:12. See, world. Aren’t you proud that I learned to read the Bible in three languages—English for my father, Hebrew for my mother and Latin for my Jesuit professors at St. Luke’s. I want my tombstone suitably inscribed.

  Anyway, old Lucifer knew I was coming, and his people knew my license number, courtesy, I’m sure, of the local gendarmerie. I didn’t like Belton as soon as I saw his bare office walls. Bare walls intimidate you because you know the bastard who occupies that office has done away with all frippery and when he’s looking at you, you know he thinks you’re just more frippery to do away with. In fact, he kind of offered to do away with me unless I behaved.

  Belton hasn’t spoken to Louise Gillette since the funeral, at least as of 12:30 today. But he knew Gillette died in an accident. He just knew it. It had to be an accident. Pay the lady the million and please leave town.

  Yes, indeedy, Vern Gillette was his friend and successor-to-be at Belton and Sons. The big policy was just a fringe in case anything happened to him. As something did. Belton, with his blue oxygen-starved fingers, is a consummate liar, but at least he admitted that his relationship with Gillette had cooled. Something about Louise and Amanda not getting along. Do I believe that? Sure. Almost as much as I believe in the Easter bunny.

  Tape Two is Mrs. Belton, lovely Amanda, who arrived at the library in her armored personnel carrier, cut a ribbon and chatted with me until I mentioned Gillette’s name and then denied knowing the man and fled. Poor woman. If she gets bored cutting ribbons at libraries, what must it be like at home at night with Lucifer, the Walking Dead. My picture’s going to be in the paper with her, shouting Brava at the ribbon cutting. I hope Belton sees it. That’ll teach him to threaten me. Let’s see. I didn’t get Dolly on tape when she gave me directions and I’ve got to be careful ’cause she might call me tonight and I don’t want her to do that if Koko’s here. I’ll tell Gus not to put through any calls.

  And then up to the hunting lodge on Tape Two and home away from home for Vern Gillette. No fuses in the cabin. Circuit breakers. So much for an accident changing a fuse. I don’t get those two little burn marks on the floor near the bed. Anyway, I got four shots fired at me. By whom? I don’t know. Cody Lord was the only person who knew I was going up there, but I don’t figure him for the killer even though he’s nuts about Gillette’s wife and he’s banging her. Anyway, I saw his rifle trophies. If he wanted to put me away, he wouldn’t have missed. I lucked up because whoever was shooting at me was using a pistol.

  Louise Gillette knew I was going up there because Lord told her. But he told her while they were in bed making love—I can recognize the signs—and anyway, if she wanted to kill her husband, she’d be too smart to do it with electric fuses in a cabin that doesn’t use fuses.

  Hold that. Cody and Louise weren’t the only two who knew I was going up to the cabin. Dolly Knockers knew too. But she doesn’t look like the rapid-fire shooter type. More like one bang at a time.

  Wait until the car-rental company sees the nice shattered windshield in the back of their car. Have fun, Kwash. Explain that one away.

  Tape Three, we’ve got Cody Lord and Louise, and Lord makes sense. He sent me to the Orleans because he wanted me to carry back the stories about his dead buddy sleeping around. Damn it, he’s got mot
ive. He left Gillette up at the cabin and came down to seduce Gillette’s wife. They cook up a scheme and Lord goes back and figures out a way to electrocute him, and then makes believe he finds the body the next day. Then he and Louise live happily ever after on the insurance money.

  Except if that held water, why did she initially turn down the million? Why get me involved investigating things? And who could believe Lord killing anybody? Not me.

  Then Louise Gillette, telling me she changed her mind about the million, that closes Tape Three. Why’d she change her mind? Count on it. The Devil made her do it. Lucifer Belton. I don’t think she knows she only gets a half million in a murder. I’m not going to tell her. Leave that pleasant duty to Kwash when the time comes.

  And Tape Three ends with my visit with Ardath Gillette, the only person in this town that I respect and trust. She just confirmed a lot of stuff and also told me that a cop came by to look at my car. Deputy Harker by the looks of him. With a blond woman. Hanging out with Harker, she must be a real beaut.

  All right, I’ve gone through all of this and I still don’t know anything. I’ll just chew it around some more. Where the hell is Koko? She’s good at stuff like this.

  All right, expenses. Thirty dollars for gas. I’ve been driving all over this place and Belton, PA, is bigger than Canada. Eight dollars for lunch with Mrs. Pfoopler; two dollars for newspapers; ten dollars for a donation to the new town art gallery; forty dollars for drinks with Dolly, who gave me directions to the cabin. That’s ninety dollars. I am not paying for the repairs to that rental-car window. Also, company, you are paying for a new jacket and pants for me, but I don’t know how much yet until my Savile Row tailor gives me an estimate. The items may just be irreplaceable, in which case you’ll pay even more.

  I’m going downstairs and wait for Koko.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "Hey, check this out," Gus LaGrande whispered to Digger. The inn’s owner was looking toward the entrance hallway at a delicate young woman who had paused at the entrance to the bar. She was wearing a brown silk blouse, tucked into men’s-style jeans rolled up into cuffs to show off hand-tooled leather boots. A wide leather belt with a saucer-sized silver buckle nipped in tight around her tiny waist. Long black hair framed a face that was all delicately exotic sloe eyes and salad oil-smooth skin. She wore a chocolate-brown stetson pushed back on her head, and it made her small, perfect features seem even tinier.

  "Ten bucks says I can get over on her," Digger said.

  Gus looked at him, at the woman again and said, "You’re on."

  The woman came into the bar and sat across from Digger. Gus turned to approach her when Digger called out, "Hey, lady."

  "What?" she responded. "What do you want, fella?"

  "I’ll give you two dollars to do disgusting things to my body."

  "Cheapskate," she said. "I never take less than four."

  "Two-fifty," Digger said.

  "Three-fifty."

  "Three," Digger said. "Not a penny more."

  "Okay," she said. "But you buy the penicillin."

  Gus LaGrande’s head was tennis-matching back and forth. His mouth hung open as the young woman got up, walked around the bar and threw her arms around Digger’s neck. They kissed and Digger said, "Koko, this is Gus. He owes me ten dollars."

  "That’s a switch. A bartender owing you money," she said. She sat next to Digger and ordered Perrier water.

  "Why do you drink that crap?" Digger asked. "It’s club soda."

  "Sure, it is. But it comes in a bottle. I don’t want to drink anything that comes out of a hose in a bar. How do you know what’s been in the hose? You taught me that. I just arrived and already you’re bitching at me?"

  "I’m not bitching. Drink whatever you want. I thought you were going to call me to pick you up."

  "There was a cab right near the bus stop and I thought I’d save you the trouble. You don’t look too bad."

  "Was I supposed to?"

  "I don’t know. Somebody shot at you, I thought you’d be hiding in a corner under a table."

  "The bullet ain’t been made with my name on it, little lady," Digger drawled. "Where’d you get that silly cowboy hat?"

  "I bought it up at my mother’s. I love it."

  "It looks nice," Digger said. "It’s just that it makes you look like all those other knickknacks around here. Everybody in Belton, PA, wears a cowboy hat."

  She whispered in his ear, "Play your cards right, I’ll let you rip it off me."

  "Hold that thought," he said.

  "I’m glad to see you. I got a scare when I was coming up here."

  "What was that?" Digger asked.

  "A cop’s car was parked down near the foot of the drive. I thought maybe you were in some kind of trouble."

  "No, I’m not in trouble," he said. "Was there a cop in it?"

  "Yes. Some big slug. He looked like a snail in a hat."

  "I’m in trouble," Digger said. "I think he’s the one that pegged the shots at me. What was he doing?"

  "Just sitting there."

  "He’s waiting for me," Digger whined. "The bastard’s waiting for me to take a step out into the street and then he’s going to draw down on me and leave my bleeding body in the dust. I hate Belton, PA."

  "I don’t want you shot at," Koko said. "You’re not much, but I don’t want you killed before I get you trained."

  Digger stared glumly into his drink because he was afraid. Not for himself, but because he didn’t want Koko around if anybody made another strafing run at him. Who knew what that bastard Harker was capable of? It was a bad idea letting Koko come here.

  "What’s wrong, Digger?" she said.

  "Who says something’s wrong?"

  "I’ve been here five minutes already and you haven’t tried to force me into bed yet."

  "What do you think I am, some kind of animal?"

  "We’ll let that pass without comment," she said.

  "You sit here and wait a minute."

  "Where are you going?"

  "Up to my room," Digger said.

  "I want to see your room."

  "It’s haunted," he said.

  "What?"

  "The presence of Hondle Sycamore permeates the place," Digger said. "I haven’t slept since I got here. I feel his cold fingers on my neck."

  "Hugo Stockelbrinner," she said. "Don’t worry about it. I laughed him off nine years ago, I can do it again." She paused. "He had warm fingers as I recall. With warts."

  "You wait here."

  "I’ll accompany you. For protection."

  "Boy, you just can’t get him out of your mind, can you?" Digger grumbled. "We’ll be right back," he told Gus.

  She followed Digger into his room, then whirled around, looking at it.

  "This is it, Dig. The very room. Even that stupid red pendant is still on the chandelier."

  "You’re disgusting. All you think about is sex, sex, sex," Digger said.

  "Same bed too. I remember the big brass headboard."

  "You want me to send downstairs? Maybe they still have the same sheets." Digger was fumbling in a dresser drawer, dumping a pile of tape cassettes into a small plastic laundry bag. When he turned around, he saw that Koko had flopped onto the bed. She extended her arms toward him.

  "Same mattress too," she said. "Come here, Dig, I’ll relieve your tensions."

  "Talk about creatures of habit," he said. "You just don’t know how to act once you get in this room."

  "Well, maybe it’s best," she said. "Maybe the memories of this room ought to belong only to Hugo and me. Dear, sweet Hugo. I wonder what he’s doing now. Maybe I’ll call and see if he’s still around."

  Digger growled and dove on top of her. She buried her lips against his and when he finally let her go, she said, "I knew if I was subtle and smart, I’d eventually wear you down. Make love to me."

  "In a little while," he said.

  "Thanks for the rejection," she said, sitting up.

  "It’s not
a rejection. You’ll understand later. Come on."

  "Where are we going?"

  "Just trust me," Digger said.

  "The last man I trusted was Hugo Stockelbrinner. At least he meant well. Actually, though, he did pretty well too."

  Downstairs, he had Koko wait in the lobby hall while he talked to Gus in the bar.

  "Gus, are you going to be here tonight? Can I borrow your car?"

  Gus hesitated a second. "Sure," he said. "Something wrong with yours?"

  "It’s lugging a little bit," Digger lied. "I don’t want to chance it."

  "Okay." Gus handed him a set of car keys. "It’s the green Volvo to the right of the door."

  "Good." Digger took out his wallet and handed Gus a fifty-dollar bill.

  "You don’t have to do that," Gus said.

  "Company expenses," Digger said. He leaned close so that Koko could not overhear. "Listen, remember that girl who was here the other night?"

  "Yeah. Dolly? Was that her name?" Gus asked.

  "Yes. If she comes in, looking for me, tell her to wait."

  "All right."

  "And if anybody calls, take messages. I’ll be calling in."

  "You’re quite a man," Gus said.

  Digger grunted. "Here’s my car keys," he said. "In case you need it."

  "Which car is yours?" Gus asked.

  "The one with the bullet hole in the back windshield," Digger said.

  "Now drive naturally," Digger said. "And keep an eye open and see if the cop’s car is still there. Then turn left onto the main road."

  "Okay," Koko said.

  Digger lay on the back seat as Koko went careening down the narrow road that led from the LaGrande to the main highway.

  "Slow down, for Christ’s sakes," he yelled.

  "You said drive naturally. This is natural."

  "Then drive unnaturally slow. I’m going to wet my pants," he said.

  Koko slowed down, then stopped at the entrance to the highway.

  "Cop’s car is still there," she said softly. "The gorilla’s still in it."

  "Okay. Make your left onto the highway and keep driving."

  He felt the car turn left and accelerate smoothly down the road.