are those?” he asked, pointing to a little park-off where two vehicles sat. “They weren’t there last time I came.”
“That’s Hank’s Buick convertible, and Marjorie’s Cadillac Coupe de Ville.”
“Nice rides, though he won’t be needing his anymore.”
Jackie pulled to the front of the house and they got out. Archer slapped the dust off his hat and then put it back on as he looked around. He lit up a Lucky, then flicked the spent match into the dirt.
He drew down on the Lucky and said, “Actually, I can see why Pittleman would put up a place like this.”
“Why?” she asked.
“He’d want everybody driving by to know that this was his place and only he could build it, that’s why.”
“I like that about you, Archer.”
“What’s that?”
“You see things.”
“Just have to open your eyes.”
She flicked him a knowing look. “Now ain’t that the truth?”
Archer had to step back quickly because he had almost crushed some of the encroaching flowers when he had started to head up the flagstone walk. When he regained his balance, he watched Jackie walk right into the house without knocking; Archer tossed his cigarette and quickly followed.
Inside he said, “You think the law’s been here to tell her?” Though he had been here before, there were so many things to see, he hadn’t glimpsed them all. Now he eyed a vase of silk flowers about as tall as he was. Right next to that was a stuffed fox on a wooden pedestal staring at him, while in a hunting crouch. On the wall above that was a tapestry of a Revolutionary War battle scene hung from an ornately carved piece of what looked to be teak. It depicted gallant men dying gallantly seemingly without a thought as to their personal safety, only elegant, patriotic sacrifice in their dignified countenances. It was something Archer had never once seen in three-plus years of actual combat. For him, it had been a tedious and Spartan existence intersected with chaos, fear, and times of sporadic bravery mingled with anger, panic, hatred, self-pity, and sadness at those who had fallen, followed by a guilty relief at still being alive when the shooting had stopped.
Jackie said, “They have. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here.” Then she called out, “Marjorie?”
The same elderly sourpuss woman in a maid’s uniform toddled out into view.
“Mrs. Pittleman’s in the conservatory, Miss Jackie.”
“Thank you, Agnes.”
Miss Jackie? thought Archer. One would think his companion was mistress of the place.
Jackie led the way down the same long hall that Pittleman had led Archer on his first visit here. She stopped at a door and took a deep breath, seeming to collect herself for the confrontation ahead.
“You okay?” he asked.
She looked up at him. “You ever felt like you were walking into the lion’s den?”
“Yeah, it was called World War II.”
“Well, that’s how I’m feeling right now.”
“But you said Marjorie got what she—”
“That means nothing now, Archer. Not with Hank dead. I could walk in there and get my ass handed to me.”
Archer looked at her in confusion.
“Well, here goes nothing,” she said to herself.
Jackie opened the door and strode in. Archer followed and closed the door behind them.
This was the room he’d been in before, only he didn’t know it was called a conservatory. In the same chair she’d been perched in before was Marjorie. Sitting in front of the woman was a tall glass with chunky ice in it and an amber-colored liquid halfway up.
Jackie walked right up to the woman and swept her arms around her.
“Oh, God, Marjorie, I am so sorry.”
Marjorie Pittleman looked up at her, and then glanced at Archer. Her face was shiny with tears. As he had thought before, while the woman was nothing to write home about in the looks department, Archer was once more struck by the delicate refinement in her features that bespoke of perhaps a sympathetic soul within.
A soul that was clearly in distress right now.
“I can’t believe it. I really can’t. Why, Hank was just here.”
“I know. I know.”
“And someone killed him? How could that be? The law won’t say much at all.”
“I don’t understand it either, Marjorie. I was stunned when Bart came to tell me.”
She patted the older woman’s shoulder and placed a kiss on her flat cheek. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll go get it, or do it. Anything, Marjorie, really.”
“I can’t think of a thing. But with Hank gone, what am I supposed to do?”
“Don’t you even think about that now. Not for one second.”