Part 13 (2/2)
”Ninety-four thousand dollars in cash.”
Her face went quite blank as she stared at me. She rubbed the palms of her hands on her forearms, one and then the other, ”What?”
”Ninety-four thousand two hundred, less six hundred and eighty-six fifty that I paid Rucker. Ninety-three thousand something.”
She rubbed the palms of her hands together. She narrowed those tilted gray-green eyes. She swung her hair back with a toss of her head. ”Where would... Carrie get that?”
”From something she was involved in.”
”From smuggling marijuana?”
”Did someone suggest that to you?”
”Betty Joller. It had something to do with why she left the cottage and went to live at that Fifteen Hundred place, Betty said. Would she make that much all for herself?”
”It's possible.”
”She always wanted to have a lot of money.”
”On the other hand, maybe the money is Van Harn's.”
Her sallow round face looked stricken. ”Would she be mixed up with him in anything? I wonder if he ever... made love to my sister. Jesus! That word doesn't fit. Love!”
”I wouldn't know.”
She looked thoughtful. ”She was always a stronger type person than me. I mean she could probably handle that kind of a man better than I could. Being older and married and so on. I never knew about men like that. He just kept confusing me. I guess I want that money now. Where is it?”
”In a very safe place.”
”Can you get it for me?”
”Do you want to travel with that much in cash?”
”Oh. No, I guess not.”
”I can get it to you later. What are you going to do with it when you get it?”
”I don't know. Put it in a deposit box, I guess. I don't know about taxes and so on. And her estate. On the phone something she said made me think she gave you some money too.”
”She did. I hope it's going to be enough to get my houseboat fixed up. It was a fee for services. I am trying to find out who killed her.”
”Who killed her! You're confusing me.”
”Fly out of here. Fly home. I'll bring the money.”
”When?”
”When I find out what went on here.”
”And you'll tell me? Did somebody actually kill Carrie?”
”It's a possibility.”
”Because of what she was doing? Because of the smuggling?”
”I would think so. In the meanwhile, Susan, not one word to anybody. Not even Jason.”
”But I am very-”
”Not even Jason. d.a.m.n it, she told you to trust me. So trust me. Don't stand around dragging your feet.”
”Well, then. Not even Jason.”
As I went out onto the side deck with her, I saw Oliver trotting toward the Flush. He looked solemn. ”Judge Schermer wants to talk to you, Mr. McGee.”
”Send him along then.”
”Oh, no. He wants you at his car. He's up there by the office.”
Twelve.
IT WAS a spanking new Cadillac limousine, black as a crow's wing. It had tinted gla.s.s. I saw the black chauffeur walking offstage toward a shady bench.
A young woman stood beside the car. She put her hand out. ”I'm Jane Schermer, Mr. McGee. Sorry to disturb you like this, but my uncle is anxious to talk to you.”
She was a young woman with a sunburned flavor of ranchlands, cattle, and horses. She had a prematurely middle-aged face, doughy and slightly heavy in the jowls. She was oddly built, tall and broad, with vestigial b.r.e.a.s.t.s and very little indentation at the waist. The accent was expensive finis.h.i.+ng school, possibly in Pennsylvania.
Jane opened the rear door and said, ”Mr.McGee, Uncle Jake.”
”How do you do, Judge Schermer,” I said politely.
”Jane, you go take a little walk for yourself. This is man talk. Give us fifteen minutes. McGee, come on in here, but don't sit beside me. You can't talk to a man sitting beside you, d.a.m.n it. Open up that jump seat and sit facing me. That's fine. Please don't smoke.”
”I had no intention of so doing.”
He chuckled. ”No intention of so doing. You ever read for the law? Can't get the stink out of the upholstery.”
He looked ludicrously like Harry Max Scorf. He looked as if somebody had taken Harry Max and inflated him until his skin was s.h.i.+ny-tight and then had spray-painted him pink. His round stomach rested on his round thighs. He wore khakis and a straw ranch hat. The motor purred almost soundlessly. The compressor for the air conditioning clicked on and off.
”You're one sizable son of a b.i.t.c.h, aren't you?” he said. ”That's some G.o.dd.a.m.n pair of wrists on you. You go about two twenty-five?”
”Few people guess it that close.”
”I guess a lot of things close. It's been a help over the years.”
<script>