1981 - Hand Me a Fig Leaf (16 page)

"No."

"I guess you've heard I'm trying to find him."

"I've heard."

"Miss Smith, maybe you can help me. Mr. Weatherspoon wanted to buy the Jackson farm. I understand he sold frog saddles to restaurants, but I didn't know he canned frogs."

She stared thoughtfully at me.

"What has that to do with finding Johnny Jackson?" I gave her my confidential smile.

"I don't know. In my job, I go around and pick up information, and sometimes, but not often, one bit of information jells with another. Did Mr. Weatherspoon do a big trade in canned frogs?"

"No. We sell around five hundred cans a month, but Mr. Weatherspoon said it was only the beginning. Last month, we sold five hundred and twelve cans so I guess he knew what he was doing."

"Would it bother you to tell me how the frogs are processed?"

She shrugged and pushed back a lock of black hair under the scarf.

"We get the legs from the shed over the way. They are then dipped in batter and quick fried, then canned. All the customers has to do is to empty the can into a dish and put it in the oven for fifteen minutes."

"That all?"

"Well, no. Mr. Weatherspoon invented a special sauce to go with the frogs legs. It is included in the can in a sachet. The ingredients are his patent. It is one of the quick-made sauces: you put the powder in a saucepan, add water, a little milk and white wine and cook it slow for three minutes."

"Sounds tasty," I said. "I'm always on the look-out for an easy-to-make meal, Miss Smith. Would you have a can I could buy and try?"

She shook her head.

"No. Mr. Weatherspoon was very particular about that. He always put the sachets in the cans himself and stood over me while I sealed the sans. He had a list of mail-order customers who subscribed for a monthly delivery. The cans went out in a special container."

"I couldn't buy one of these cans at a grocery store?"

"They were only for mail-order customers. Mr. Weatherspoon said we hadn't the equipment to supply retailers, but he was hoping, pretty soon, we could expand."

I was beginning to see some daylight.

"Well, thanks, Miss Smith. What's going to happen here?" She shrugged.

"I don't know. I suppose I'll have to find another job."

"For a pretty, smart girl like you, that shouldn't be hard. Maybe Mr. Weatherspoon had someone working with him who might continue the business."

"There was a Mexican who came here a lot, but I don't know if he was working with Mr. Weatherspoon. He could have been a customer."

"I think I know him: pencil-lined moustache, short, broad shoulders?"

She nodded and stared thoughtfully at me.

"Is there anything else you want to know? I want to go home."

"I'm sorry to have kept you, Miss Smith. Just one other thing. Where did Mr. Weatherspoon live?"

"He had an apartment over the office."

"He wasn't married?"

"No"

"Well, thanks for your time." I gave her my wide, friendly smile and left her.

As I crossed the courtyard, I looked at the office block. Above were four windows of a living quarter.

I drove to The Jumping Frog hotel. I found Bob Wyatt sitting behind the reception desk. He looked close to death.

"Sad news," I said, corning to rest in front of him. He forced a tired smile.

"Man proposes: God Disposes."

"You will get someone to buy the hotel. It's not the end of the world."

"I don't care about myself. I'm continually thinking of Peggy."

"How is she getting on?"

"They tell me she will be all right. They are giving her some drug." He looked sadly at me. "She's lonely. I can't leave here to visit her."

"Think she would like a visitor? I've a free afternoon. Suppose I take her some flowers and chat her up?"

His face brightened.

"Would you? She seemed to have taken a liking to you, Mr. Wallace. I can't ask anyone else. The ladies here don't seem to like her."

"Leave it to me. I'll go right now. Where's the hospital?"

He gave me directions. The hospital was about half a mile outside Searle.

So, armed with some rather tatty-looking flowers and a copy of Judith Kantz's latest bestseller, I found Peggy Wyatt sitting on the balcony of the small hospital, on her own, and gazing at the pine-tree forest.

She gaped at me, then her face lit up.

"Why, Dirk, this is a surprise!"

"How's the girl?" I asked, putting the flowers and the book on the table beside her.

"I'm going to be okay. I've got over it. Dr. Vance is sending me home tomorrow."

"Is that right? That's quick."

She laughed.

"I'm not an alcoholic, although I did behave like one. I was lovesick."

I sat beside her.

"That's good news. How's the lovesickness?"

"Two hours ago, the nurse told me he was dead." She looked directly at me. "I couldn't even shed a tear. I must have been out of my skull."

"When I was your age, I also nearly went out of my skull over a girl," I lied. "It took me time to get over it, but over it I did."

"How's Dad?"

"He'll be better when you get back. Right now, he's having a tough time running the hotel without you."

"I can guess. Poor Dad. He's so brave. I'll be back tomorrow. Will you tell him?"

"You bet."

"So the hotel won't be sold?"

"There must be other buyers beside Weatherspoon." She nodded.

"I want to get away from Searle. No one likes me here."

"You talk to Willis Pollack. He could find a buyer."

"Yes. Anyway, I will wait until Dad goes." She looked away. "He's going fast."

"Peggy, you just might be helpful. The more I look for Johnny Jackson the more complicated my search becomes. Would you feel like telling me about you and Weatherspoon?"

"What has Harry to do with Johnny?" She looked puzzled.

"I don't know." I gave her my usual line. "I'm like a fisherman. I have hooks out, maybe a fish will bite. When did you first meet him?"

"About two years ago. He came to the hotel to talk with Dad about buying it. There was something about him that hooked me." She lifted her hands in despair. "Dirk, girls can be goddamn fools."

"So can men."

"I guess. Well, I fell for Harry. At first, he scarcely noticed me. Then I could see he was taking an interest. One evening, when Dad was feeling bad and had gone to bed, Harry came in. He asked me to show him the best bedroom." She gave a bitter little smile. "Okay, I fell for it. You can guess what happened." She thought, sighed, then smiled at me. "He really turned me on. I had been screwed often enough, but Harry really knew how to do it. He got me going so all I could think about was the next time we could make love. It was too dangerous with Dad around, so he suggested I come to his home. It was only five minutes" walk. He had a nice place above his office. We were together three times a week. I couldn't have enough of him. Then, I sensed he was cooling off. He would drop in for lunch at the restaurant, smile at me and say he had business, so don't come tonight." She closed her eyes, then shrugged. "I was so hot for him, I would give myself a big slug of gin, go to bed and cry myself sick. God! What a fool I was!"

"It happens," I said. "It's happening every minute."

"I guess." She shrugged. "I've got over it. Now, I'm glad. I saw him only once a month, but I still kept drinking."

"Why are you glad, Peggy?"

"There was something about Harry . . . it's hard to explain. I think he was in some kind of racket. There were times when we were in bed, the phone would ring and he would go down to the office. This was after the factory had closed. Several times, I heard film shouting as if he was angry and, when he came up, he looked so hard and . . . well, cruel. Those times, he would tell me to go. He said he had business, and once, when I protested, he looked horrible. He scared me."

"You can forget him," I said. "He's out of your life."

"That's why I am glad."

"You said you thought he was in some kind of racket. Why did you say that?"

"I'm not exactly an idiot. Why should he get telephone calls around two o'clock in the morning and throw me out, saying it was business? Besides, there was this truck that came around three o'clock in the morning."

"What truck was that, Peggy?" I asked as casually as I could.

She hesitated, then shrugged.

"Well, he's dead now . . . so what? It happened when I was crazy about him. I guess I was drinking too much. He came to the restaurant on the night we always dated and told me the date was off. Oh Dirk, I had been longing and dreaming of this night. I wanted him to hold me in his arms and screw me until I screamed. I was burning for him." She looked at me. "Why do I tell you this?"

"They say confession is good for the soul," I said and smiled at her.

"God! You'd get information out of an oyster."

From her sudden change of expression, I was scared I was going to lose her confidence.

"This is important to me, Peggy. Tell me about the truck."

She looked at the tatty flowers on the table and picked them up. She fingered the overblown roses and the Sweet Bay magnolias.

"No one has ever given me flowers before."

I controlled my impatience.

"They will," I said. "You're young."

She put the flowers down and began to finger the book.

"Peggy!" I said, sharpening my voice. "Tell me about the truck."

"Okay. When he had given me the night's brush-off, I guess I got good and drunk. Then, lying in bed, I thought, maybe he had found some other girl. I had to find out. I dressed and went over to the factory. It was after midnight. The gates were unlocked. There were lights on in his apartment. I don't expect you can understand, but what with burning up and the gin I was half out of my mind." She looked doubtfully at me.

"I understand."

She shrugged.

"I wonder if you do. It's easy to say that. Never mind . . ." She smiled at me. "I often wonder if people ever understand other people."

"They can try," was all I could think of to say.

"Anyway, I was sure he had some girl up there in his apartment. I had to see who she was. Drunk as I was, I hadn't the nerve to burst in on them. By now Harry was scaring me, although his love-making burned me up. I got behind a row of barrels, stinking of frogs, and I waited. I had a three-hour wait. I began to lose my high. I suddenly could see myself, squatting behind smelly barrels, jealously tearing me to bits, and as the gin died on me I began to realize what a stupid fool I was and how worthless Harry was. I was about: to go home, when this truck arrived. There was a tap on the horn and a man got out of the truck and opened the gates. The truck drove in and the man closed the gates. It was dark. I could only see his outline. Then the office door opened and Larry came out. Light streamed out of the office and I saw a second man get out of the truck." She gave a little shiver. "Those two really had me scared. They were niggers. One of them was wearing beads and a big wide black hat. The other had on a kind of goatskin jacket. They looked really weird. They followed Harry* into the office. For the next twenty minutes they carried out small cartons which they stacked into the truck. They worked fast, but there seemed to be hundreds of cartons. When there were no more cartons, these two went back into the office. From where I was hiding, I could see right into the office. Harry gave them money. Then they got in the truck and drove off. Harry went down to the gates, closed and locked them, then went up to his apartment. After a while all the lights went off." She picked up the flowers and smelt the magnolias. "I felt pretty stupid. There was no girl and I was locked in. After wandering around, I found a gate at the back. The lock was rusty. I got the gate open and went home."

"Quite a night out," I said.

"That's why I said he was in some kind of racket." She looked at me. "Does it make sense to you, Dirk?"

"Well, he's dead," I said. "Forget it, Peggy. Now, tell me more about yourself."

I spent the next half hour listening to the inevitable and usual doubts and hopes of a teenage girl. I have learned to become a sympathetic listener. I knew she needed to talk about herself and I said the right things at the right moment.

Finally she ran out of steam and she smiled at me.

"I've never talked to anyone the way I've been talking to you," she said. "If I've bored you, I'm sorry."

I grinned at her.

"You're going to be okay, Peggy. You will have trouble ahead of you, but you'll come through. Talk to old Willis Pollack. He'll find you a buyer for the hotel, but in the meantime get back there and help your dad."

"You're the most understanding man I've ever met," she said.

On that note, I left her, my mind full of the information she had given me.

Back at the hotel, I told Bob Wyatt that his daughter was fine and would be back with him the following morning. This news made him look five years younger.

After a good dinner of clam chowder, I went up to my room and watched a replay of a Western with plenty of action. When it finished, around 22.45, I equipped myself with a powerful flashlight, checked my gun and went down to the lobby.

Old Abraham was fast asleep behind the reception desk. There were two commercials discussing business. Neither of them looked up as I walked into the deserted street. Searle went to bed early.

The sheriff s office was in darkness. The few street-lights made pools of faded light; the rest of the street was dark.

Walking fast, and keeping in the shadows, I reached the frog-factory. I took a narrow lane around the high walls until I came upon the gate Peggy had told me about. I paused to listen. In the distance, I could hear the hum of traffic on the highway: no other sounds. The stink of frogs lay heavily on the hot, humid I leaned my weight against the gate and it yielded. I moved into the big courtyard. All the buildings, including the office block and Weatherspoon's apartment were in darkness.

The big moon lit the courtyard and made deep shadows.

I crossed over to the office block, mounted the steps and tried the door. I didn't expect it to swing open so I wasn't disappointed. Using my flashlight, I saw there were three locks, top, middle and bottom.