Judas Cat (23 page)

N
EITHER JOAN NOR ALEX
felt like going to the dance, but in view of the events and the tension in the town, they went together, neither of them mentioning their reluctance.

“If we were only as young as the folks,” Alex said, motioning toward his father and mother. Mr. Whiting danced elaborately. Only the outdoor pavilion was big enough for him.

“Or as the Barnards,” Joan said. “She’s like a blue cloud, isn’t she?”

“Even we’re having more fun than they are,” Alex said. “That set smile of hers doesn’t fool me. Look at Doc’s eyebrows.”

“I wonder why they came.”

“Lonely maybe,” Alex said. “I feel a little that way myself, the things that have been happening. Maybe they just want to feel they belong somewhere.”

“Mrs. Pasteriki still has her Garbo look,” Joan whispered. “You know she’s quite lovely, Alex?”

“Tonight I hadn’t noticed,” he said. “I haven’t looked far from home.”

At the end of that dance, they joined Mr. and Mrs. Whiting at the punch table, set up under beach umbrellas a few feet away from the dance platform. Mr. Whiting was patting the perspiration from his forehead and the back of his neck.

“If you didn’t work so hard, Charles, you wouldn’t perspire so,” Mrs. Whiting said. “You’ve got me tuckered out too.”

“It’s healthy to sweat like this,” her husband said. “And that band makes you do it.”

“How about changing partners for the next one?” Alex said.

“Think you can keep up with me, Joanie?” Mr. Whiting asked.

“There’s Nat and Phyllis Watkins,” Mrs. Whiting said. “I’m so glad.”

“Back together again,” Alex said. The Barnards joined them then. “Good evening, Mrs. Barnard.”

“Good evening, Alex. Mrs. Whiting, how are you, my dear? These summer dances are charming things. I don’t know how we’ve managed to miss them so long …”

Alex and Joan drifted toward the Watkins. “It’s good to see you, Nat,” Alex said. “Mrs. Watkins.”

“Hello,” Watkins said. Mrs. Watkins did not even speak. They walked away, and suddenly Joan realized that several people had been watching them. Mrs. Baldwin’s laugh spiraled up. It had never seemed so unpleasant. Joan could feel the color rising in her throat. Her father had been angry. Her two brothers had heard tales of the incident in their shop that day, but they had not said anything beyond mentioning that they had heard it. And still she could not believe that a little incident, a wonderful little incident, could be whipped into such distortions by the tongue of one woman, and she a notorious gossip at that. It had taken more. Everyone who wanted to hurt Alex and Waterman had made the most of it. Without realizing it she threw her head back.

“That’s the spirit,” Alex whispered, leading her back toward where his parents were still talking with the Barnards.

“… Jeff’s had such recriminations,” his wife was saying. “Prejudices rise on such little provocation …”

“Let’s enjoy this evening, at least, Norah,” the veterinary said.

“Of course, Jeffrey. Get me a little more punch, will you, my dear?”

“I’ll get it, Doc,” Alex said. As he went to the table, he noticed someone turning away from him as he came near, someone who turned his head without moving his body. He had his first good look at the man he had seen at Barnard’s that afternoon.

H
E AND JOAN LEFT
the dance before it was over. Even their friends had not been cordial. They drove a little way into the country. There was no moonlight, and the heaviness of the afternoon rain was still in the air. It was no heavier than the feeling of defeat about them. “Tomorrow’s meeting will end this,” Alex said, “or if it doesn’t, God help us.”

“Yes, God help us. Alex, I think I’d like to go home now.”

He turned the car around at the next driveway. “Joan, a lot of bad things have come out of this. But for me something wonderful has happened right in the middle of it. You know that, don’t you?”

She did not answer. By an old habit, she watched the beak of the bird on the radiator cap ride into the road marker, seeming to spread the roadway like water before the prow of a ship.

“I’m in love with you, Joan. I think, or at least I hope you are with me. I wanted to ask you tonight if you’ll marry me.”

The bird had magic wings and a silver beak, but it was a prisoner. “No, Alex. If you were to ask me now, I should say no.”

“I guess it is rather stupid timing,” he said. In the rear view mirror, he saw a car that had passed them when they were turning, back into a driveway, and itself turn around and come back toward Hillside behind them. He took Joan home, and went directly home himself. He was in bed when his parents returned and they did not disturb him. But it was a long time before he fell into a restless sleep.

I
N THE MORNING ALEX
went to the office early. He went in the side door. Only Maude would be there, it being Saturday. His father was going directly to the town hall. A disheveled looking man was sitting on the bench outside the railing. Alex nodded at him. When he reached the railing the man spoke. “Remember me, buddy?”

Alex whirled around. He would not forget that voice if he lived as long as Andy Mattson. It was the county prisoner who had seen him at the morgue in Riverdale. “I think I do,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

The man was unshaven and his cheeks were hollow, but Alex thought he did not look vicious. There was something amused about his eyes, as though he must have found everything a grim sort of joke.

“I think maybe it’s what I can do for you,” the tramp drawled. “You’re in kind of a jam, ain’t you?”

Alex took a cigarette and offered one to the little man. He took it with grimy fingers and lighted it before continuing. “I figured you for a pretty good Joe after that twenty bucks. I says ‘here’s a guy I could do a good turn. Of course, he’s got to see to it I get taken care of …’”

“What do you mean, taken care of?” Alex said.

“Protection, and maybe a little cash on the side.”

“I’ll see that you get the protection,” Alex said.

“No carfare?”

“Where do you want to go?”

“I always wanted to see California. That’s why I hit the road in the first place. And every time I hook a ride I think’s taking me there, I end up in Pittsburgh. Ever been in Pittsburgh?”

“Never,” Alex said.

“I been there eighteen times.”

“Look, my friend,” Alex said, “I’ve got plenty of troubles of my own. And I haven’t got money to send you to California. I don’t think I would if I had it. If you have anything you want to tell me, I’ll see that you get all the police protection Hillside can give you.”

“Don’t get excited, buddy. Maybe we can negotiate this. Suppose I was to tell you some guy hired me to help him break into a veterinary’s laboratory a couple of days ago?”

“I’d say I wanted you to go over to the police station with me right now and tell Chief Waterman about it.”

“What do I get out of it?” the man snapped.

“It depends what we get out of it,” Alex said, his patience stretching near the breaking point. “We’re investigating a murder. If your evidence helps us, you should get a clean bill.”

“Thanks for nothing,” the tramp said.

Maude came out of the plant. “Call Roy Gautier at Riverdale, Alex,” she said.

“Is he your lawyer?” the tramp asked. “Mine too.”

Alex went into his office and called Gautier.

“That information I was getting for you from Jackson,” the lawyer said. “It’s pretty complicated. I think you should come up.”

“I’ll be there around noon,” Alex said. “Anything you can give me now on it?”

“Just that the stuff went on the market a hell of a long time after it was patented.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you,” Alex said.

“Look, I’ll do everything I can do for you,” he said to the tramp when he returned. “I can’t promise you more than that. I’m up to my ears.”

The tramp shrugged. “Okay, since you put it that way. I’ll take my chances.”

Alex turned to Maude. “Anything new?”

“Not a call this morning except that. We’re getting the silent treatment now. Alex, I honestly believe if you don’t come out with the confidence of the town after the meeting today, you’ll be out of business.”

“Say your prayers, Maudie. We’re been through tough ones before. Come on, fellow.”

As the two of them reached the street, Alex saw the man he had seen at Barnard’s and at the dance. The tramp saw him too. He was gone instantly, disappearing around the side of the
Sentinel
building. Across the street, the man whom Alex now felt sure was following him, went into Pete’s restaurant. Maude came out of the office.

“Did you see that guy disappear?” Alex said. “Like he’d seen a ghost.”

“I saw him,” Maude said. “I saw the character who frightened him, too. He was old Henry Addison’s chauffeur.”

A
LEX LOOKED AT THE
sidewalk beneath his feet. Words had been scrawled there in chalk. “Turnsby’s nose is as long as a hose …” An obscene phrase followed about Alex and Joan.

“Go on, Alex,” Maude said, putting her hand on his shoulder. “It won’t be cleaned up by erasing that. God help us. Even the kids are poisoned.”

A
MOIST HEAT WAS
already settling over Hillside when Alex left Maude. If he had heard the word “scorcher” once that morning, he had heard it a half dozen times. Along the main street he could see the little clusters of people gathering under the store awnings. White aprons and overalls … the Saturday morning crowd. These had done their shopping, the farmers at least, for those who had it yet to do were hurrying to and from the stores with a haste that defied the heat. He was aware that the chauffeur had made his choice between him and the tramp, and was moving out of the restaurant a block behind him now. The constant presence of this man was beginning to wear on Alex. It was like carrying a guilty conscience … the thought of him crept in upon the processes of his mind every so often and took over. Henry Addison’s chauffeur. Was he still in the Addison employ? Did he have the key to the whole business? Or was he on a specific mission? Probably that. What would be gained by turning back, catching the fellow and threatening to knock the daylights out of him? An assault and battery charge. He needed that on top of everything else. And there was no time now, not even for thinking about him. Humphrey Bogart at the Bijou, as he passed. Matinee today. For a second he enjoyed the suggestion of normalcy. Then the words on the sidewalk came back to him.

“Good luck, Whiting.” It was Tom Pasteriki who called it out.

“Thanks,” he said. The group Tom was with spread like a fan, each to get a look at Alex as he passed. It was the same all the way up the street. Many of the people fell in behind him at a little distance. As he turned across the street to the town square, he could see that the chauffeur was making himself anonymous among them.

The town clock struck a quarter to nine although its hands showed twenty minutes to. Out of habit, Alex looked at his watch. Some fifty people were already around the building. They might work Sunday to make up for it, but news of the emergency council meeting had taken them from their routines. He knew most of them: fanners, tradesmen, toymakers. They were like the crowd at Andy’s gate the day they found the old man, like all crowds drawn to a spectacle—restless, moving apart for better views, swelling together for exchange of rumor.

“Got yourself into something this time, didn’t you, Whitie?” It was Bill Tanberg. He was foreman of the lumber yards and had gone to high school with Alex.

“Up to my neck. They’re going to have to make this an open meeting by the looks of it,” Alex said. “Wonder why they don’t move into the fire station and leave the doors open.”

“Or in the square,” Tanberg said. “Boy, old man Fabry’d give his arm to be in the North woods today. The mayor’s got him over a barrel.”

Frank Fabry owned the lumber yard and was on the council this term.

“How over the barrel?” Alex asked.

Tanberg leaned closer. “He wants to sell lumber, don’t he? A nice building boom wouldn’t hurt him none.”

“I see,” Alex said. He saw a lot of things. Frank Fabry was one of the people he had counted on. He was a friend of his father’s. He was also a regular advertiser in the
Sentinel.
If they didn’t have friends after this, they were bound to have enemies, and enemies who could hurt them. Fabry would take out his resentment on the
Sentinel,
not on the mayor.

Alex spotted Eric Swanson heading their way. With him was Jim Brenner, the young math teacher at the high school. They were all his age, all war vets. They played ball together, made up bowling teams in the wintertime. They were good, familiar faces and he felt better. But most of them had voted for Altman the year before. The mayor was no fool. He knew how to get the young vote, and he knew their influence at home. He made big talk about the kids who had been in the services, and bigger talk about the need to provide businesses for all of them. Not jobs, businesses. The years they might have apprenticed they had spent in foreign countries. What they’d lost in practical experience, they’d made up in horse sense. They had the right to take up not where they’d left off, but where they might have been. Whatever his motives, Altman often talked sense …

“Hi, Eric. Jim.”

“Hey,” Swanson said, “the old girl really caught you at it, didn’t she? Ain’t you got no sense, Whitie? There’s a lot of places you can go besides under Turnsby’s nose.”

“Cut it,” Alex said.

“Oh. Sensitive, huh? Well, like my old lady said this morning, a person just doesn’t make up that stuff out of whole cloth. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

Eric was kidding, Alex thought, but his mother was not. It was probably on the lips of every woman in town, where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

“Have you got anything yet?” Brenner asked. “The whole damned town’s like a boil. Something’s got to cut into it.”

“I don’t know,” Alex said. “I honestly don’t know. We got a lot of things but they don’t add up yet. All I want is a chance to add them up.”