meet with him, let me know and I’ll be there, too.”
“You don’t have to do that, Archer.”
“I’m not doing it because I have to, it’s because I want to, Ernestine.”
“Thank you. That’s very…sweet of you.”
They spent the rest of the evening listening to music on Crabtree’s Emerson radio.
“I like that Sinatra fellow,” said Archer. “But give me old Bing Crosby any day.”
“I still love listening to the Andrews Sisters,” replied Crabtree nostalgically. “After work, in the rooming house I stayed at during the war, we’d lie around, drinking coffee and smoking, and listen to them all night long.”
“They came over with the USO while we were fighting in Italy. Them and Bob Hope and some others. ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy’ always got me stomping my feet. And that Patty Andrews, wow, she was some looker—” Archer caught himself. “And a damn fine singer.”
Crabtree looked up at him and smiled. “It’s okay to compliment a person’s looks, Archer. You’re a handsome man, I freely admit that. So long as it’s not all we think about each other.”
“Right.”
Later, they each picked up their books and Ernestine headed off to bed. But about a half hour later Archer put his novel down, picked his hat up, clutched his new key, and left by the back door.
About twenty minutes later, he was knocking on the portal at 27 Eldorado.
Jackie answered his knock dressed in high-waisted jeans, pink slippers, and a checkered shirt tied up high enough to expose her taut midriff. Her hair was curled up in plump rollers.
She did not seem happy to see him. “You think you can just show up any old time and I’ll let you in? I got things to do, too, Archer.”
“I’m sorry, Jackie. I’ve been working at the slaughterhouse during the day.”
“And staying somewhere you won’t tell me at night. I wonder why.”
“I need to talk to you about Pittleman. Can I come in?” He glanced at her rolled-up hair. “Are you getting ready to go out somewhere?”
“No.”
“Then what’s all that for?” he said, pointing at her hair.
“I’m experimenting with a new hairstyle.”
“Women do that?” he said, eyes wide.
“Women do a lot of things to please men. But more so to please other women. At least we like to think so.”
She stepped back to allow him to pass inside.
Jackie poured a rum and Coca-Cola over ice for herself without asking him if he wanted one and sat down on the couch across from him.
“What about Hank?” she said bluntly.
Archer lifted his hat off and perched it on his knee, looking uncomfortable. “I came to tell you that Pittleman was a sick man,” he said quietly.
“What?”
“He had cancer, up here.” Archer tapped his head.
Jackie set her drink down because her hand was shaky. “Is…is that why he had the headaches?”
“I guess so.”
“He never said anything to me about it.”
“Well, I don’t think he told his wife, either. Doc said he didn’t have long.”
“He was already dying when someone killed him? Is that what you’re saying?”
He nodded. “And there’s something else.”
She shot him a glance. “That’s not enough?”
“Remember I said he had money problems?”
“How could I forget? It’s hard to believe, though. I thought Hank was rolling in dough.”
“Well, he was also a gambler. And he owed the casinos in Las Vegas two hundred thousand dollars.”
She looked stunned by this information. “That is crazy talk, Archer.”
“And at the slaughterhouse they could only make half the payroll this week.”
“Let me get this all straight. Someone kills a dying man. And then you’re telling me that a rich man isn’t really rich?”
He nodded again.
Jackie finished off her drink in one gulp and held the cold glass against her cheek.
“And you didn’t know about any of this?” said Archer.
“How could I? He gave me a car and a house and spending money. And he told me his headaches were something he’d always suffered from, even as a child.”
“Man kept his secrets, I suppose.”
Jackie looked at him with a sobering expression. “I guess we all do.”
“What were you expecting from Pittleman?”
She set her drink down, crossed her arms, and scowled at him. “What do you mean by that?” she said coldly.
“You couldn’t marry the man. He was already hitched to Marjorie. But was it just the use of the house and car and folding money?”
“Why should I tell you?”
“Because the man is dead, Jackie, and we’re trying to figure out why. And some folks think I killed him, that’s why!”
“You playing at being a shamus?” she said in a bemused fashion.