Read Online Death in the Polka Dot Shoes by Marlin Fitzwater - Free Book Online Page B

top of the heap with a new house on Jenkins Creek and respectability as well. Everyone tells me she is the most valuable friend I can make in Parkers and I hope it’s true. She’s dark complexioned, with defined legs and thin ankles, and shoulders that imply either weightlifting or good ground strokes. In any case, I like talking with her, and immediately accepted the offer of a pizza lunch as soon as Burl was out the door.
    â€œNow listen, Mr. Ned,” she said, “we have to get you a bigger office, with a secretary, and a waiting room. You can’t have clients just walk in on your meetings.”
    â€œSure I can. First of all, I have this handy dandy answering system that takes all phone calls and records messages. Second, I don’t schedule overlapping meetings. And third, I can’t afford a secretary, and probably don’t need one if I’m going to be on the water all morning.”
    Effie sat in the client chair in front of me, pushed her can of Coke across the desk, and crossed her legs. There was condensation on the can and it left a streak of water across the top. I snatched the can before it could leave any more tracks, and she wiped the water with a Kleenex.
    â€œAre you settled in, Ned?” she asked. “How’s this gonna work? Will you have a schedule?”
    â€œDon’t know Effie. Depends on the crabs.”
    â€œWell, I expect we’ll get a lot of people looking for you who end up in the Calico Cat,” she said. “And that’s all right. Maybe I can sell them a little yarn while they wait.”
    â€œI hope so, Effie. You have been so kind,” I offered. “And this pizza is pretty good too. Not the Willard, but pretty good.”
    â€œAre you a Willard fan?” she asked.
    â€œIt’s my secret love. If you ever need me on a Saturday night, call the Willard.”
    â€œWhy you little scoundrel,” she mocked. “You’ve got two lives here and a third one in Washington. I hope you’re not dangerous.”
    â€œNo Miss Effie. Now you’ve got to go because I have another client coming.”
    â€œTwo in one day,” she commented. “Let the good times roll. Bye Ned.” Then she flashed those great legs and left, never looking back.
    I always wanted my own office. For a blue collar kid with white collar ambitions, it’s like driving a Saab. It’s a symbol of freedom and success that doesn’t really cost much, but you don’t need it or even want it until you’ve reached that station in life where material luxury dreams are possible. It all comes in stages. I remember in Parkers Elementary School, about the fifth grade I would guess, there were no white collar jobs in our career day. There was a policeman, but we all knew him, or at least his car. And most of us feared him or hated him for arresting our fathers and brothers. To think of him as a role model was preposterous.
    There was a fireman. Old Jim was the only name we knew. He sat in front of the station all day in a metal folding chair, leaned back against the building, and slept during those times he wasn’t washing the trucks. His ambition was well hidden and it was never clear to me that I should follow in his footsteps. I understood that he put out fires, and possibly saved lives, and his trucks were fascinating to climb on, but still there was something missing. We also had a waterman who brought oysters to career day and showed us how to crack them open and eat them, although many of my classmates had trouble with the sight of fresh oysters sliding out of the shell like egg yokes. My dad caught these things for a living, so I had oysters more often than hamburgers.
    We never had a professional man at career day, not even “Pigskin” Pippy Plotkin. We had carpenters and plumbers and clam diggers and one very exciting fellow who dove for oysters. He strapped air tanks on his back and ran an air hose out the window