Read Online 1981 - Hand Me a Fig Leaf by James Hadley Chase - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James Hadley Chase
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working for a detective agency and my job was to find old Fred Jackson's grandson. I sat at a table away from the windows.
A smiling old coloured waiter came over and suggested the special.
"It's one of the cook's best, Mr. Wallace, sir," he said. "Pot roast."
I said that was fine with me and he shuffled away. Conscious of eyes still staring at me, I concentrated on my folded hands on the table. I supposed, sooner or later, I would cease to be a novelty, but this scrutiny, as if they expected me to draw a gun or produce a rabbit or something, bored me.
I became aware of a tall, sad-faced man standing over me.
"I'm Bob Wyatt, Mr. Wallace. My little girl tells me you will be staying with us. It's a great pleasure."
As I shook hands, I looked at his thin white face and dial eyes. He would be around fifty and life hadn't been kind to him.
"If there's anything special you want, just tell Peggy," he said, forcing a ghost of a smile. "Have a nice lunch," and he wandered away.
The pot roast was excellent. I took my time over it, then, a little after 14.00, I walked out into the lobby, not before the remaining diners left in the restaurant had nodded and grinned at me and I had nodded and grinned back.
Peggy was propping herself up at the reception desk. She gave me a bright smile, but I didn't stop. I went into the humid heat and walked across the street to the sheriff s office. I was pretty sure that Sheriff Mason would be imbibing his medicine and with luck Bill Anderson would be on his own.
I found him with his feet on his desk, picking his teeth with a match-end. When he saw me, he whipped his feet off the desk and jumped up.
"Hi, Mr. Wallace. Glad to see you."
"Call me Dirk," I said, shaking his hand. "Could be you and me will be working together soon," and I told him what the colonel had said.
He looked like a man given a million dollars.
"Why, that's great! Thanks, Dirk. That's truly great!"
"The sheriff not around?" I said, sitting down.
"Not for another three hours."
"Tell me, Bill, what's happening to old Jackson's cabin?"
"Nothing. It's for the birds. Maybe someone will want to buy his land, but that's for his grandson to decide. I guess he must be old Fred's only heir."
"And no one knows where he is?"
He nodded.
"That's the situation. Dr. Steed says he'll put an ad in the local paper, announcing Fred's death." He shrugged. "I don't know if that'll do any good, but Dr. Steed says we have to go through the motions."
"I want to take a look at the cabin, Bill," I said. "Do you want to come with me?"
"You expect to find something there?"
"I don't know until I've looked."
"You mean right now?"
"Why not, if you're not busy?"
He grinned.
"I sit here day after day without a thing to do. It's driving me nuts. Searle has a crime rate you could put on the head of a pin."
"So . . . let's go."
On the drive up to Jackson's cabin, I asked Bill about Peggy Wyatt. I sat by his side in his ancient Chewy, primed to get as much information out of him as he had to give.
"Peggy? There's a mess." He shook his head. "You know, Dirk, I can't help feeling sorry for her and for her father. He has an incurable cancer and hasn't more than a year to live. If it wasn't for their black staff, the hotel would have folded. Amy, their cook, turns out food that brings in the customers. Bob Wyatt just hangs on. He's never out of pain. Peggy runs the place. I went to school with her. She was a bright kid. When her mother died, she quit school to help her father run the hotel, and from then on she became a wild one."
"When did her mother die?"
"Around six years ago. Peggy was sixteen then."
"That's when Johnny Jackson was supposed to have gone missing."
He gave me a quick glance.
"What has he to do with Peggy?"
"A wild one? Did she get into trouble?"
"I wouldn't say that. She sure got into trouble with herself. This town never misses a trick. She began screwing around. She has a bad reputation, but Bob Wyatt is popular.
A smiling old coloured waiter came over and suggested the special.
"It's one of the cook's best, Mr. Wallace, sir," he said. "Pot roast."
I said that was fine with me and he shuffled away. Conscious of eyes still staring at me, I concentrated on my folded hands on the table. I supposed, sooner or later, I would cease to be a novelty, but this scrutiny, as if they expected me to draw a gun or produce a rabbit or something, bored me.
I became aware of a tall, sad-faced man standing over me.
"I'm Bob Wyatt, Mr. Wallace. My little girl tells me you will be staying with us. It's a great pleasure."
As I shook hands, I looked at his thin white face and dial eyes. He would be around fifty and life hadn't been kind to him.
"If there's anything special you want, just tell Peggy," he said, forcing a ghost of a smile. "Have a nice lunch," and he wandered away.
The pot roast was excellent. I took my time over it, then, a little after 14.00, I walked out into the lobby, not before the remaining diners left in the restaurant had nodded and grinned at me and I had nodded and grinned back.
Peggy was propping herself up at the reception desk. She gave me a bright smile, but I didn't stop. I went into the humid heat and walked across the street to the sheriff s office. I was pretty sure that Sheriff Mason would be imbibing his medicine and with luck Bill Anderson would be on his own.
I found him with his feet on his desk, picking his teeth with a match-end. When he saw me, he whipped his feet off the desk and jumped up.
"Hi, Mr. Wallace. Glad to see you."
"Call me Dirk," I said, shaking his hand. "Could be you and me will be working together soon," and I told him what the colonel had said.
He looked like a man given a million dollars.
"Why, that's great! Thanks, Dirk. That's truly great!"
"The sheriff not around?" I said, sitting down.
"Not for another three hours."
"Tell me, Bill, what's happening to old Jackson's cabin?"
"Nothing. It's for the birds. Maybe someone will want to buy his land, but that's for his grandson to decide. I guess he must be old Fred's only heir."
"And no one knows where he is?"
He nodded.
"That's the situation. Dr. Steed says he'll put an ad in the local paper, announcing Fred's death." He shrugged. "I don't know if that'll do any good, but Dr. Steed says we have to go through the motions."
"I want to take a look at the cabin, Bill," I said. "Do you want to come with me?"
"You expect to find something there?"
"I don't know until I've looked."
"You mean right now?"
"Why not, if you're not busy?"
He grinned.
"I sit here day after day without a thing to do. It's driving me nuts. Searle has a crime rate you could put on the head of a pin."
"So . . . let's go."
On the drive up to Jackson's cabin, I asked Bill about Peggy Wyatt. I sat by his side in his ancient Chewy, primed to get as much information out of him as he had to give.
"Peggy? There's a mess." He shook his head. "You know, Dirk, I can't help feeling sorry for her and for her father. He has an incurable cancer and hasn't more than a year to live. If it wasn't for their black staff, the hotel would have folded. Amy, their cook, turns out food that brings in the customers. Bob Wyatt just hangs on. He's never out of pain. Peggy runs the place. I went to school with her. She was a bright kid. When her mother died, she quit school to help her father run the hotel, and from then on she became a wild one."
"When did her mother die?"
"Around six years ago. Peggy was sixteen then."
"That's when Johnny Jackson was supposed to have gone missing."
He gave me a quick glance.
"What has he to do with Peggy?"
"A wild one? Did she get into trouble?"
"I wouldn't say that. She sure got into trouble with herself. This town never misses a trick. She began screwing around. She has a bad reputation, but Bob Wyatt is popular.
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