“I never stole from anybody. Lots of places were abandoned. If I put a hunk of bread or an apple or some raw carrots in my pocket, I don’t think anybody minded.”
Crabtree wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin. “Well, I’m just glad the war’s over.”
“You and me both.”
“Thank you for the pie. I should go now. I will pay my bill separately, of course.”
“Already paid the bill when I went to use the john.”
“Now why did you do that?”
“I knew if I’d offered, you wouldn’t let me, so.…”
“It’s against the rules for me to—”
“You tell me how it’s wrong for a man to buy a woman a meal? I mean, you’re helping me out with all the parole stuff. This is a way of thanking you.”
“It’s my job. It’s what I’m paid to do. It is not done out of friendship or kindness.”
“I paid for your dinner out of an act of kindness. Do you want ex-cons to be kind and thoughtful or not?”
“Well, when you put it that way, the answer seems obvious, I suppose. So thank you very much for dinner.”
“Good, now it’s a fine evening. We can walk off dinner.”
“I…I really should be—”
“I can at least walk you home.”
She glanced at him sharply. “If you saw Dan Bullock, you know where I live.”
He nodded. “So what happened to him? You never said.”
“He was sent back to prison based on my written account and the knife that he had with his fingerprints on it. I called the police as soon as I got in my house. They picked him up trying to hitch a ride out of town.”
“I think he’s right where he belongs, then.” He stood, put on his hat, and looked down at her. “You ready?”
She picked up her purse and hat, and they set off together.
Chapter 19
THE AIR WAS CRISP, which was a nice change, though the sky was clear to the horizon and probably beyond. Archer kept glancing at his companion curiously as she walked along rigidly and uncomfortably.
Crabtree said, “So, with Pittleman dead, that means you no longer have a job?”
“The jury’s still out on that, so to speak.”
“How so?”
“I have an opportunity to still make it pay off, only I have to handle things delicately.”
“With Lucas Tuttle?”
“Right. I’m going out to meet with him at some point.”
“Why not right away?”
“Well, with Mr. Pittleman being murdered and all, it’s probably smart to let things quiet down a little before I go making money off something connected to him.”
“Oh, I guess I can see that.” She suddenly eyed him sharply. “Archer, you didn’t have anything to do with the man’s death, did you?”
“I swear on a stack of Bibles that I didn’t.”
Her gaze lingered on him for a bit. Her look had told Archer all he needed to know. She and Jackie both thought he might have killed the man.
“Did you finish that book you were reading, by, who was it again?”
“Virginia Woolf. And yes, I did. It was wonderful.” She paused. “The writing of hers I like best isn’t a novel or a short story, but an essay entitled A Room of One’s Own.”
“What’s it about?”
“A woman working in a man’s world, essentially.”
“Is that how you see it?”
“Perhaps.”
“I read a lot in prison. I like detective stories. You heard of Philip Marlowe, Sam Spade, and that little fellow from Belgium?”
“Yes, I have. They’re quite entertaining.”
“And maybe I can make a living doing that sort of work,” said Archer. He had thought of this before and had decided to try it out on her.
“From convict to detective? Quite a leap.”
“I was a scout in the Army. My job was to look at things, take in a bunch of information, and then take a course of action. Probably close to what Detective Shaw is doing right now, don’t you think?”
She looked impressed with his logic. “I think you might be right.”
They eventually arrived at her house.
“You own it?”
“No, I’m renting it for the time being.”
“It’s really pretty.”
She smiled. “It wasn’t so pretty when I got here, but I’ve had some things repaired. Though the door to my bedroom still jams. I can never fully close it.”
“I can fix that in a jiffy.”
She looked alarmed. “What? No, that’s all right.”
“Ma’am, I’m right here. Probably take me no more than a few minutes.”
“Archer, I wouldn’t feel comfortable letting you do that.”