The Zebra-Striped Hearse Part 3

"Very soon now." She hid her secret behind a hushed mysterious look. Perhaps she wasn't sure she had a secret to hide. "I wouldn't dream of telling you when or where. Father would call out the National Guard, at least."

"Are you getting married to please yourself or spite your father?"

She looked at me uncomprehendingly. I had no doubt it was a relevant question, but she didn't seem to have an answer to it.

"Let's forget about Father," I said.

"How can I? There's nothing he wouldn't do to stop us. He said so himself."

"I'm not here to stop your marriage, Miss Blackwell."

"Then what are you trying to do?"

"Find out what I can about your friend's background."

"So Father can use it against him."

"That's a.s.suming there's something that can be used."

"Isn't that your a.s.sumption?"

"No. I made it clear to Colonel Blackwell that I wouldn't go along with a smear attempt, or provide the material for any kind of moral blackmail. I want to make it clear to you."

"And I'm supposed to believe you?"

"Why not? I have nothing against your friend, or against you. If you'd co-operate-"

"Oh, very likely." She looked at me as though I'd made an obscene suggestion. "You're a brash man, aren't you?"

"I'm trying to make the best of a bad job. If you'd co-operate we might be able to get it over with in a hurry. It's not the kind of a job I like."

"You didn't have to take it. I suppose you took it because you needed the money." There was a note of patronage in her voice, the moral superiority of the rich who never have to do anything for money. "How much money is Father paying you?"

"A hundred a day."

"I'll give you five hundred, five days' pay, if you'll simply go away and forget about us."

She took out her red wallet and brandished it.

"I couldn't do that, Miss Blackwell. Besides, it wouldn't do you any good. He'd go and hire himself another detective. And if you think I'm trouble, you should take a look at some of my colleagues."

She leaned on the white guard rail and studied me in silence. Behind her the summer tide had begun to turn. The rising surge slid up the beach, and sanderlings skimmed along its wavering edges. She said to an invisible confidant located somewhere between me and the birds: "Can the man be honest?"

"I can and am. I can, therefore I am."

No smile. She never smiled. "I still don't know what I'm going to do about you. You realize this situation is impossible."

"It doesn't have to be. Don't you have any interest in your fiance's background?"

"I know all I need to know."

"And what is that?"

"He's a sweet man, and a brilliant one, and he's had a very rough time. Now that he's painting again, there's no limit to what he can accomplish. I want to help him develop his potential."

"Where did he study painting?"

"I've never asked him."

"How long have you known him?"

"Long enough."

"How long?"

"Three or four weeks."

"And that's long enough to make up your mind to marry him?"

"I have a right to marry whom I please. I'm not a child, and neither is Burke."

"I realize he he isn't." isn't."

"I'm twenty-four," she said defensively. "I'm going to be twenty-five in December."

"At which time you come into money."

"Father's briefed you very thoroughly, hasn't he? But there are probably a few things he left out. Burke doesn't care about money, he despises it. We're going to Europe or South America and live very simply, and he will do his work and I will help him and that will be our life." There were stars in her eyes, dim and a long way off. "If I thought the money would prevent me from marrying the man I love, I'd give give it away." it away."

"Would Burke like that?"

"He'd love it."

"Have you discussed it with him?"

"We've discussed everything. We're very frank with each other."

"Then you can tell me where he comes from and so on."

There was another silence. She moved restlessly against the guard rail as though I had backed her into a corner. The chancy stars in her eyes had dimmed out In spite of her protestations, she was a worried girl. I guessed that she was mainlining on euphoria, which can be as destructive as any drug.

"Burke doesn't like to talk about the past. It makes him unhappy."

"Because he's an orphan?"

"That's part of it, I think."

"He must be thirty. A man stops being an orphan at twenty-one. What's he been doing since he gave up being a full-time orphan?"

"All he's ever done is paint"

"In Mexico?"

"Part of the time."

"How long had he been in Mexico when you met him?"

"I don't know. A long time."

"Why did he go to Mexico?"

"To paint."

We were going around in circles, concentric circles which contained nothing but a blank. I said: "We've been talking for some time now, and you haven't told me anything that would help to check your friend out."

"What do you expect? I haven't pried into his affairs. I'm not a detective."

"I'm supposed to be," I said ruefully, "but you're making me look like a slob."

"That could be because you are a slob. You could always give up and go away. Go back to Father and tell him you're a failure."

Her needle failed to strike a central nerve, but I reacted to it. "Look here, Miss Blackwell. I sympathize with your natural desire to break away from your family ties and make a life of your own. But you don't want to jump blindly in the opposite direction-"

"You sound exactly like Father. I'm sick of people breathing in my face, telling me what to do and what not to do. You can go back and tell him that."

She was getting terribly restless. I knew I couldn't hold her very much longer. Her body mimed impatience in its awkward gangling att.i.tude, half sitting on the rail, with one foot kicking out spasmodically. It was a fine big body, I thought, not meant for spinsterhood. I had serious doubts that Harriet and her fine big body and her fine big wad of money were meant for Burke Damis, either. The little love scene I'd witnessed between them had been completely one-sided.

Her face had darkened. She turned it away from me. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm trying to understand you."

"Don't bother. There's nothing to understand. I'm a very simple person."

"I was thinking that, too."

"You make it sound like an insult."

"No. I doubt that your friend Burke is quite so simple. That isn't an insult, either."

"What is it?"

"Call it a warning. If you were my daughter, and you're young enough to be, I'd hate to see you fling yourself into this thing in a frantic hurry-merely because your father is against it."

"That isn't my reason. It's a positive thing."

"Whatever your reasons are, you could find yourself in water over your head."

She looked out past the kelp beds where the ocean went dark and deep and the sharks lived out of sight.

"'Hang your clothes on a hickory limb,'" she quoted, "'but don't go near the water.' I've heard that before."

"You could even keep your clothes on."

She gave me another of her looks, her black Blackwell looks. "How dare you speak to me in that way?"

"The words came out. I let them."

"You're an insufferable man."

"While I'm being insufferable, you may be able to clear up a small discrepancy for me. I noticed that the shaving kit in the bathroom has the initials B.C. on it. Those initials don't go with the name Burke Damis."

"I never noticed it."

"Don't you find it interesting?"

"No." But the blood had drained out of her face and left it sallow. "I imagine it belonged to some previous guest. A lot of different people have used the beach house."

"Name one with the initials B.C."

"Bill Campbell," she said quickly.

"Bill Campbell's initials would be W.C. Who is Bill Campbell, by the way?"

"A friend of Father's. I don't know if he ever used the beach house or not."

"Or if he ever existed?"

I'd pressed too hard, and lost her. She dismounted from the rail, smoothing down her skirt, and started away from me toward the beach house. I watched her go. No doubt she was a simple person, as she said, but I couldn't fathom her.

chapter 5

I DROVE BACK DROVE BACK up to the highway. Diagonally across the intersection, a large fading sign painted on the side of a roadside diner advertised Jumbo Shrimp. I could smell grease before I got out of the car. up to the highway. Diagonally across the intersection, a large fading sign painted on the side of a roadside diner advertised Jumbo Shrimp. I could smell grease before I got out of the car.

The stout woman behind the counter looked as though she had spent her life waiting, but not for me. I sat in a booth by the front window, partly obscured by an unlit neon beer sign. She brought me a knife and fork, a gla.s.s of water, and a paper napkin. I was the only customer in the place.

"You want the shrimp special?"

"I'll just have coffee, thanks."

"That will cost you twenty cents," she said severely, "without the food to go with it."

She picked up the knife and fork and the paper napkin. I sat and nursed the coffee, keeping an eye on the blacktop road that led up from the beach.