Lucifer's Weekend (Digger) (16 page)

"An additional five hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money," she said blandly.

"And it was just as much money three months ago when my company first sent its envoys to talk to you, those people with the teeth. Maybe it was even more money then, counting for inflation. Let’s see, adjusting for an annual rate of twelve percent, in three months you’ve lost three percent of five hundred thousand, and that is…is…a lot of money."

"I’ve just decided that it seems senseless to deprive Ardath of such a financial start in life, just over some arbitrary principle," she said.

"I think it was in the train station across the hall, Mrs. Gillette, that someone told me that principles aren’t worth anything unless they
are
arbitrary."

"Times change. People change."

"Often suddenly," Digger said, "and not generally without reason."

"Listen, Mr. Burroughs. I didn’t ask you here to spar with you intellectually. I asked you here to tell you my decision. ‘Tell.’ That’s the important part of that sentence. Not to discuss or ask your advice. To tell you my decision."

"Have you ever been to the cabin where your husband died?"

"No. The police wouldn’t let anybody up there at first, and then, afterwards, well, I didn’t ever want to see that place."

"Your husband died changing a fuse, isn’t that correct?"

"That’s what the police said."

"And that’s what you’ll be saying if you decide you want the million dollars?" Digger said.

"I guess so," she said, almost reluctantly, as if she had not until then realized the impact of what she was doing. She put down her glass and nervously began turning it on the coaster on the table.

"Initially," Digger said, "you were concerned that your subscribing to that cause of death would make you an accomplice in stating that your husband was a fool?"

"Yes. That’s about right," she said.

"Well, if you believe that now, Mrs. Gillette, your husband was no fool. Your husband was a flaming idiot."

"That’s rude, crude and uncalled-for," she snapped.

"I’ll tell you how your husband died changing a fuse," Digger said. The woman was silent, staring angrily at him.

"There wasn’t any goddamn fuse box in that cabin. It had circuit breakers. Now maybe all you geniuses practice a different form of electricity with your toy subways and all your bullshit, but when I grew up, I knew you don’t put fuses in circuit-breaker boxes."

She slumped back in her chair. "What you’re saying…"

"What I’m saying is that I’m pretty sure your husband was murdered. What price do you put on his life, Mrs. Gillette? You want to take your extra five hundred thou and run away and let his killer escape? Is that what you’re telling me to do?"

The woman was silent, but her lips were working as if she were talking to herself and only by great effort preventing her words from spewing forth into the room. Finally, she said, "I want to think about things, Mr. Burroughs."

"I’d still like to know who or what convinced you to change your mind about the money," Digger said.

"I told you, I’d like to think about this for a while. I’ll be in touch."

Digger looked over toward this bookshelf. Another college photograph of Vern Gillette—athlete, scholar, husband, father, genius and murder victim—seemed to be staring at him.

"Call me," Digger told the woman. "I’m at Gus’s LaGrande Inn."

"I know. Cody told me."

"Yes. I’m sure he did."

As Digger slid behind the wheel of his car, he saw Ardath sitting in the front passenger seat.

"Ah, good, you’ve decided to run away with me," he said.

"No. I wanted to talk to you," she said very seriously. "What happened to your rear window?"

"Vandalism," Digger said. There was no need to frighten the girl.

She nodded slowly as if trying to make up her mind whether or not to believe him.

"Do you think my father was murdered?"

"Yes."

"By whom?"

"I don’t know," Digger said. "Not yet."

"Will you be able to find out?" she asked.

"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 motive. 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.