I Would Rather Stay Poor

Iris shut the door and went over to sit on the bed.

‘Dave tells me you are going to work at the bank,’ Kit said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Her cold, hostile voice startled Iris.

‘You weren’t there when he asked me. I – I thought he had told you,’ Iris said. ‘Why? You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Yes, I mind. You’re only a kid. I don’t want you to be exposed to Dave’s charm.’

Iris felt her face grow hot.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Don’t you?’ Kit’s bleak eyes frightened her. ‘I think you do. I’m going to marry him. I’m twice your age. I’m not anything like as pretty as you. The less you see of him, the better it will be for me.’

‘Kit!’ Iris jumped to her feet ‘You don’t know what you’re saying?’

‘You mean I’m drunk?’ Kit smiled bitterly. ‘I guess I am.’ She passed her hand across her eyes. ‘You’re not going to work for Dave. Do you understand? I forbid it.’

There was a long pause, then Iris said quietly and steadily. ‘I’m sorry, but I am. It’s all arranged. It’s a good job and I need the money. I’m sure you don’t know what you are saying. Please go to bed.’

Kit remained motionless. Her head throbbed. Her brain felt as if it were in a covering of cotton wool. She wished now she hadn’t had that last drink.

‘Kit… it’s late. Please go to bed,’ Iris said.

Unsteadily, Kit got to her feet.

‘All right, you poor little fool,’ she said, her words slurred, ‘then work for him if you want to, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I don’t care… I don’t care a damn what happens to him or to you or to me,’ and lurching a little, she went out of the room.

Iris listened to her mother’s stumbling steps as she climbed the stairs. She felt a cold chill crawl up her spine, and involuntarily, she shivered.

CHAPTER FOUR

1

A little after six o’clock the following morning, Kit woke with a start. She became aware that someone was tapping softly and persistently on her door.

She half sat up. Her head felt heavy and her eyes burned. She looked towards the bedside clock as she called out, ‘Who is it?’

‘Dave! Open up! I’ve got to talk to you.’ Calvin’s voice was pitched low. There was a note of urgency in it that alerted her.

She threw off the bedclothes, snatched up a wrap and struggled into it as she crossed the room and unlocked the door.

Calvin, his face set, a cold, bleak expression in his eyes, came in and shut the door.

‘What is it?’ she demanded, moving away from him. She picked up a comb from the dressing-table and ran it through her hair. ‘What is it?’

‘I tried to get you last night,’ he snarled, ‘but you were so drunk you didn’t hear me knocking.’

‘What is it?’ she repeated. She stared at herself in the mirror, seeing the shadows under her eyes and the gaunt tightness of her skin. She grimaced and looked away.

‘Trouble.’ He paused, then went on, ‘Have you a typewriter?’

She stared at him, startled. Her head was beginning to ache.

‘A typewriter? Yes… why?’

‘Where is it?’

She motioned to where a battered portable stood against the wall. He picked it up, rested it on the bed and lifted the lid. It was an old Smith Corona.

‘Does it work?’

‘Yes… What is all this?’

‘I wrote that damned letter to Alice on the bank’s typewriter. The police have found out it was written on a standard Remington with faulty letters. If they find the machine, we’re in a hell of a jam.’

She stiffened, her eyes growing large.

‘You and your fool-proof plan!’ she said, her voice going shrill. ‘Now what are you going to do?’

‘Keep your voice down! I’ll get rid of the Remington and use this.’ He nodded to the portable. ‘If they ask, I’ll tell them I found the machine in the bank. Lamb’s dying and can’t be questioned. Alice can’t answer questions either.’

‘How will you get rid of the Remington?’

‘I’ll hide it in the vault.’

She relaxed a little.

‘Then take the portable and get out!’

‘I haven’t finished yet. That letter you’ve sent to your attorney. You’ve got to get it back. You don’t seem to realise if anything happens to you, the spot I’ll be in,’ Calvin said, trying to make his voice sound casual. ‘At the rate you’re drinking, you could drop dead any time, then where would I be?’

She smiled jeeringly at him.

‘You tried to murder me last night… remember? Why should I care what happens to you? Get out!’

‘I want that letter!’

‘You’re not getting it!’

They stared at each other, their hate white hot, then Calvin, realising there was nothing he could do to force her to give him the letter, suddenly shrugged. He would have to bring pressure on her somehow, but now wasn’t the time to worry about that. He had more vital things to cope with.

‘You know Iris is working for me?’ he said. ‘You were so drunk last night I don’t know if you remember.’

‘I remember,’ Kit said, looking at him strangely. ‘I tried to stop her, but I couldn’t. I’m warning you. If you try any of your tricks with her, I’ll kill you. I’m not warning you again.’

The cold baleful expression in her eyes made him uneasy. He remembered the gun.

‘Where did you get the gun from?’ he asked, watching her.