I Would Rather Stay Poor

Very sure of himself, Calvin watched her go.

2

Travers got back from Downside a little after six o’clock. He found the sheriff still at his desk, pawing through a mass of papers that lay before him.

‘Anything new?’ the sheriff asked, leaning back in his chair and reaching for his pipe.

‘I’ve been checking those Remingtons,’ Travers said and dropped into a chair. ‘Nothing so far. Easton’s gone off on a wild goose chase checking the roadhouses around the district. He seems to think Acres must have taken Alice some place, and a roadhouse seems as good a bet as anything.’

The sheriff chewed his pipe.

‘Suppose they did go to a roadhouse: where does that get us?’

Travers shrugged.

‘He’s clutching at straws. We’ve got to try everything. I guess. I’m pretty certain Acres is still here. I’m pretty certain the money is here too. Sooner or later, he’ll be tempted to make a false move, then we’ll have him. That’s police work.’ He dropped the match into the ash bowl. ‘Iris called you around mid-day,’ the sheriff said. ‘She wanted to know if you’d be free this afternoon.’ He grinned sympathetically. ‘I told her you were trying to earn an honest living.’

‘That’s a fact,’ Travers said, but his mind was immediately alert. He had told Iris they wouldn’t be able to spend the Saturday afternoon together so she couldn’t have telephoned for the reason the sheriff had given. This must mean she had discovered something. She would be home by now. He glanced at the telephone, but decided not to call her with the sheriff listening in. He pushed back his chair. ‘Anything you want me to do?’

‘Why not?’ the sheriff said and waved to the mass of papers on his desk. ‘All this wants going through… reports from the highway patrols.’ He took out his heavy gold watch, ‘I guess I’ll go home. You young fellows can stand the pace better than us old ’uns. If anything turns up, call me. Those pesky thrip are at my roses again.’

When he had gone, Travers reached for the telephone. He called the rooming-house. Miss Pearson came on the line. When Travers asked for Iris, Miss Pearson said she wasn’t in. She was the only one at home.

‘She’ll be back soon,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell her you called.’

Travers thanked her and hung up. He wondered where Iris had got to, then shrugging, he settled down to work. It wasn’t until he turned on the desk light that he realised the time was now half past seven and he had had no word from Iris. He called the rooming-house again. This time it was Kit who answered.

‘Iris has gone to bed,’ she said curtly. ‘She had a headache.’

‘She’s not ill?’ Travers asked sharply.

‘She has a headache,’ Kit said and hung up.

Kit had been to a movie at Downside. During the day, she had been depressed and had a premonition that something bad was going to happen. As soon as she had supervised the lunch for the old couple, she had changed and had driven to Downside where an Alfred Hitchcock film was showing. She felt she had to escape from the house. Although the film was up to Hitchcock’s usual standard, it failed to hold her and she had to force herself to sit in the darkness, knowing that if she returned home, the feeling of depression would be there to haunt her. Finally, when the film finished, she went into the gathering dusk and crossed to a bar near where she had parked her car. She drank two double whiskies. Her tension slightly relieved, she got in the car and drove home.

She arrived back just after half past six. When she had put the car in the garage, she went into the kitchen to see that Flo had the supper in hand, then satisfied, she went up to her room.

She found Calvin sprawled in an armchair, the ashtray on the table by his side crammed with butts. He stared at her, his blue eyes glittering.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ he snarled. ‘I’ve been waiting and waiting… where have you been?’

She closed the door and walked over to the dressing-table. Sitting down, she began to tidy her hair.

‘When I want you in my room, I’ll invite you,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘Get out!’

‘Where’s Iris?’

She paused, comb in hand and turned to stare at him.

‘I haven’t seen her. Why?’

Calvin rubbed his hand over his face.

‘She knows.’

The comb slipped out of Kit’s hand. It clattered on the polished boards.

‘Knows? Knows what?’

‘She knows you and I killed Alice.’

‘You killed her! I didn’t!’ Kit said, her voice going shrill. She jumped to her feet. ‘How does she know?’

Calvin lit another cigarette. His hands were unsteady.

‘I caught her in the vault. She had found the payroll. I had to stop her mouth… either that or I’d have had to kill her. I told her you and I had pulled the robbery and you are as guilty as I am. That was the only way to stop her running to her boy-friend.’

Kit got slowly to her feet. She walked to the window and stood looking out at the distant hills, her arms tightly folded across her breasts.

Calvin watched her, feeling uneasy. You never knew with an alcoholic. She might blow her top, he thought.