Read Online The Way Some People Die by Ross MacDonald - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ross MacDonald
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came back to inquire after my health, I didn’t want to be available.
“You better go home,” I said. “Where do you live?”
“I’m staying at the Oasis Inn, with my husband.”
“Can I get transportation to Palm Springs?”
“There’s a taxi stand at the Inn. I’ll be glad to drive you over.”
“Good. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
I went through the house turning off the lights, closedthe doors, and rejoined her in the road. Her car, a new Cadillac, was parked on the shoulder a couple of hundred yards from the house. She had to use a key to open it. Another thing that puzzled me was the fact that the Cadillac was turned towards the house.
“Let me get this straight,” I said as she started the engine. “You were driving past the house when you saw me lying on the porch. So you backed up two hundred yards in the dark, locked your car, and then went back to investigate. Is that what you did?”
She sat behind the wheel letting the motor idle. Her answer when it came was another question, off at another tangent: “Do you know my husband, Mr. Archer?”
The question took me by surprise. “Your husband?”
“Henry Fellows. Colonel Henry Fellows.”
“I don’t know him.”
She fed gas to the motor, and the heavy car moved on the crackling gravel. “I really don’t know him myself very well. We were married only recently.” She added after a moment’s pause: “As a matter of fact, we’re on our honeymoon.”
“Why don’t you go home and get acquainted with him? No time like the present.”
“He wasn’t at the Inn when I left. I came out looking for him. Are you sure you don’t know him, Mr. Archer?”
“I know several thousand people, several dozen colonels. I don’t know a Henry Fellows.”
“Then it couldn’t have been Henry who struck you and knocked you unconscious?”
I felt out of touch with reality, wherever it was. The big car rolling across the star-blanched desert might have been a spaceship just landed on the moon. “Where did you get that idea?”
“I just wondered.”
“Did you see him?”
“No, I didn’t.” She sounded uncomfortable. “It was a silly idea. I shouldn’t have put it into words.”
“What does he look like?”
She answered reluctantly, then warmed to her work: “He’s a large man, in his forties—a great tall powerful creature. I need a big man to set me off, you know. Henry’s quite distinguished looking with his nice brown wavy hair, and the gray at his temples.” A sharper note entered her voice: “He’s very attractive to women.”
I tried to dredge up an image of the man who had knocked me out, but nothing came. I had had no time to turn and look at him. Perhaps I had seen his shadow on the veranda floor. I couldn’t even be sure of that.
“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Henry,” I said. “You don’t have any reason to think it was?”
“No. I shouldn’t have said it.”
“How do you spell the last name?”
She spelled it out for me. “I’m Marjorie Fellows. But if he thinks he can carry on like this, even before our honeymoon is over—I shan’t be Marjorie Fellows for long!” Her mind was helplessly hung up between love for Henry and resentment of him. New tears glittered like rhinestones on her lashes.
I felt sorry for the big soft woman, driving her car along unpeopled streets in early-morning darkness—a poor sort of way to pass a honeymoon. She seemed out of place on the California desert.
“Where did you meet Colonel Fellows?”
“In Reno.” But she had remembered her pride, and it stiffened her voice: “I don’t care to discuss it. Please forget what I said.”
At the next corner, she jerked the steering-wheel viciously, cutting the wheels so the tires ground in thestones. There was a little settlement of lights ahead, which became a scattering of buildings behind an adobe wall. A score of cars were parked with their noses to the wall, a single taxi at the end of the line. A blue neon
“You better go home,” I said. “Where do you live?”
“I’m staying at the Oasis Inn, with my husband.”
“Can I get transportation to Palm Springs?”
“There’s a taxi stand at the Inn. I’ll be glad to drive you over.”
“Good. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
I went through the house turning off the lights, closedthe doors, and rejoined her in the road. Her car, a new Cadillac, was parked on the shoulder a couple of hundred yards from the house. She had to use a key to open it. Another thing that puzzled me was the fact that the Cadillac was turned towards the house.
“Let me get this straight,” I said as she started the engine. “You were driving past the house when you saw me lying on the porch. So you backed up two hundred yards in the dark, locked your car, and then went back to investigate. Is that what you did?”
She sat behind the wheel letting the motor idle. Her answer when it came was another question, off at another tangent: “Do you know my husband, Mr. Archer?”
The question took me by surprise. “Your husband?”
“Henry Fellows. Colonel Henry Fellows.”
“I don’t know him.”
She fed gas to the motor, and the heavy car moved on the crackling gravel. “I really don’t know him myself very well. We were married only recently.” She added after a moment’s pause: “As a matter of fact, we’re on our honeymoon.”
“Why don’t you go home and get acquainted with him? No time like the present.”
“He wasn’t at the Inn when I left. I came out looking for him. Are you sure you don’t know him, Mr. Archer?”
“I know several thousand people, several dozen colonels. I don’t know a Henry Fellows.”
“Then it couldn’t have been Henry who struck you and knocked you unconscious?”
I felt out of touch with reality, wherever it was. The big car rolling across the star-blanched desert might have been a spaceship just landed on the moon. “Where did you get that idea?”
“I just wondered.”
“Did you see him?”
“No, I didn’t.” She sounded uncomfortable. “It was a silly idea. I shouldn’t have put it into words.”
“What does he look like?”
She answered reluctantly, then warmed to her work: “He’s a large man, in his forties—a great tall powerful creature. I need a big man to set me off, you know. Henry’s quite distinguished looking with his nice brown wavy hair, and the gray at his temples.” A sharper note entered her voice: “He’s very attractive to women.”
I tried to dredge up an image of the man who had knocked me out, but nothing came. I had had no time to turn and look at him. Perhaps I had seen his shadow on the veranda floor. I couldn’t even be sure of that.
“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Henry,” I said. “You don’t have any reason to think it was?”
“No. I shouldn’t have said it.”
“How do you spell the last name?”
She spelled it out for me. “I’m Marjorie Fellows. But if he thinks he can carry on like this, even before our honeymoon is over—I shan’t be Marjorie Fellows for long!” Her mind was helplessly hung up between love for Henry and resentment of him. New tears glittered like rhinestones on her lashes.
I felt sorry for the big soft woman, driving her car along unpeopled streets in early-morning darkness—a poor sort of way to pass a honeymoon. She seemed out of place on the California desert.
“Where did you meet Colonel Fellows?”
“In Reno.” But she had remembered her pride, and it stiffened her voice: “I don’t care to discuss it. Please forget what I said.”
At the next corner, she jerked the steering-wheel viciously, cutting the wheels so the tires ground in thestones. There was a little settlement of lights ahead, which became a scattering of buildings behind an adobe wall. A score of cars were parked with their noses to the wall, a single taxi at the end of the line. A blue neon
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