by Crider, Bill
Burns thought that Mason felt about Stevie the way Partridge felt about Mason.
“Dr. Burns will have a talk with him and clear this up today,“ Partridge said. “Isn’t that right, Dr. Burns.“
It wasn’t a question, but Burns answered.
“I’ll go by his place at noon.“
“Do you have any other classes this morning?“ Partridge asked.
“Yes, at ten o’clock.“ Burns looked at his watch. “I have to go get my things together pretty soon.“
“You can go now. But don’t wait until noon to talk to Mr. Stilwell. I want this cleared up.“
“Fine,“ Burns said, rising awkwardly from the chair. He didn’t have any idea that he could clear things up, but he was willing to say anything to escape the present conversation.
“I’ll go downstairs with you,“ Mason said. She rose from her chair much more gracefully than Burns had managed and took his arm.
“Er,“ Burns said, and for the first time that morning, Partridge smiled.
There was an elevator in the building, but it was very old and very slow, and even though they would be going down only one floor, Burns didn’t want to be alone in it with Mary Mason. He was beginning to get an idea of what Dr. Partridge had meant about her being capable of anything. So Burns started for the stairs.
Mary Mason had other ideas. “I sprained my ankle the other day, and I still don’t do well on stairs. I know it’s only one floor, but could we take the elevator?“
What could Burns say? He led the way, and they stepped into the tiny cubicle. When the steel doors slid shut, the elevator started with a shudder. Mason stumbled slightly, and Burns reached to steady her. Somehow they wound up with her leaning against him and his arms around her. Burns tried to disentangle himself, but he seemed only to make matters worse. He got the distinct impression that Mary Mason wasn’t helping things any, and when the elevator shook to a stop and the doors slid open, they were still grappling in confusion, or at least Burns was confused. He was pretty sure that Mason knew exactly what she was doing.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if Elaine Tanner hadn’t been passing by just at that moment. She glanced into the elevator, turned her head to go on, then did a double take and looked back at Burns, who had by then gotten himself free and put a couple of inches between himself and Mary Mason.
“Good morning, Carl,“ Elaine said in a voice that would have put frost on a glacier. She went on toward her office without a backward look.
Burns started to follow her, but he found himself tripping over Mason’s leg, which had in some way gotten between him and the open automatic door. Which started to close.
Burns made a desperate lunge, clearing Mason’s leg and getting his hand on the leading edge of the door in time to stop it. He stood there holding the door and panting.
“You seem short of breath,“ Mason said. “Are you sure you’re a softball player?“
“Not much of one. Excuse me. I have to talk to someone.“
“Is it that little redhead? She’s cute, but she could use a few make-up tips, not that I’m going to give her any. You could do a lot better, Carl.“
The elevator door was straining against his hand. Burns let it close behind him as he started after Elaine. He thought he heard Mary Mason say something like, “Well, I never!“ but he couldn’t be sure. The door closed before she got it all out.
Burns sat at his desk and looked out his office window. There was a hill in the distance, dusty brown like a camel’s back, with a narrow silver ribbon of highway running down the middle. At the foot of the hill there was a white square that had formed the screen of the drive-in theater. The theater had closed years before, but the screen was still there, a reminder of how things had been a long time ago. Probably not a single student at HGC had ever been to a movie at a drive-in. Most of the faculty hadn’t, either.
Bunni had left, and Burns was alone in the office. His world literature class hadn’t gone well. One of his students had complained that the stories they were reading didn’t have any sex in them.
“We might as well be reading kids’ books,“ the student said. “This G-rated stuff is boring.“
Burns tried to explain that there was more to life than sex, though he refrained from mentioning that he was basing his answer on personal experience. The look on the student’s face let Burns know that he knew, however.
Even though the class had gone badly, it had been a delight compared to Burns’s conversation with Elaine, who might as well have been as far away from him as the hill or the screen of the drive-in. She had shown little interest in his protestations of innocence, and he had to admit it must have looked bad, what with him and Mary Mason wrapped around each other like eels in a basket. Nothing Burns could say could coax a smile from Elaine, whose main theme was something along the lines of “How could you?“ and “That woman is capable of anything.“
Burns supposed it was nice to know that Dean Partridge and Elaine agreed on Mary Mason’s character, but it was small comfort to him. It was a little after eleven, and he was supposed to go see Stilwell about the soldiers, but he didn’t feel like seeing anyone. He picked up the telephone and punched in Mal Tomlin’s number.
“Tomlin.“
“That isn’t the courteous and proper way to answer,“ Burns said.
“Now ask me if I give a rat’s ass. I’ll tell you Burns, when a man’s been shot at, his perspective changes. I know what’s important and what’s not, and answering a telephone courteously is in the not category.“
Burns hoped that Mal wasn’t going to be philosophical. Burns didn’t need that right now.
“Let’s have a smoke,“ he said. “I’ll call Earl. We’ll meet you in the boiler room.“
“I’m on the way,“ Tomlin said.
Chapter Eighteen
Although Napier had told Tomlin not to talk to anyone about the shooting, he had already told Fox, who found it hard to believe that Mal had been dodging bullets like a couple of extras in a Bruce Willis movie. But Burns assured him it was true, or sort of true.
“The trouble is that Mal had a routine,“ Burns explained. “The target of a killer should never have a routine.“
“You mean I shouldn’t walk the dog at the same time every night?“
“Exactly.“
“But how was I supposed to know somebody wanted to shoot me?“
“That’s a good question,“ Fox said. “Who’d want to shoot Mal?“
“That’s exactly what I’d like to know,“ Mal said. “I’m a nice guy, never hurt anybody that I know of.“
“Maybe a former student wants revenge,“ Fox said, taking a puff of the Harley-Davidson cigarette.
He was wearing a faded Hawaiian shirt and double-knit pants. Burns wondered if anyone made double-knit pants any more. He didn’t think so.
“That’s a possibility,“ Burns said. “Maybe the same student had it in for Matthew Hart.“
“If that’s it, he waited a long time,“ Tomlin said. “Hart’s been retired for ten years.“
“Probably not a student then,“ Fox said.
Burns nodded. “Maybe not. Can you think of anything else you and Hart might have had in common?“
“Who cares? Hart’s dead, and I didn’t much like him. I’m more worried about keeping myself alive.“
“The murder is connected with you,“ Burns said. “Napier thinks that the killer is the same one who shot at you. If Napier can catch the killer, he’ll have the guy who tried to get you last night.“
Mal looked around the boiler room and puffed his cigarette. Finally he said, “Hart sold insurance. I bought a policy from him. I guess it’s a good thing I did. You never know when your number’s going to come up.“
Earl laughed. “Your number’s not up. Maybe it was just a jealous husband.“
Mal gave a furtive glance in the direction of the boiler room door. “Don’t say anything like that, not even in here. If Joynell ever thought I was messing arou
nd, she’d scalp me. Or worse. Nobody would have to shoot me in the dark. I’d be as good as dead anyway.“
“You aren’t messing around are you?“ Earl said.
“Hell, no. I’d never do a thing like that. You should know me better than that.“
Burns tried to get back to what interested him. “What about that insurance policy you bought from Hart?“
“I bought more than one policy. He had my home insurance and my car insurance besides the whole life policy.“
“I thought you didn’t like him. I thought you said he probably screwed people who bought insurance from him.“
“Yeah, but he taught in my department, and I thought I should throw a little business his way. Besides, he found some good rates for me. You don’t think somebody is trying to kill me to collect insurance, do you?“
“Maybe Joynell is,“ Earl said. “How much are you worth?“
“Not enough for her to kill me. I hope.“
“Do either of you know Steven Stilwell?“ Burns asked.
Mal crushed the butt of the cigarette he’d been smoking and lit another. “That guy who sells antiques?“
“That’s the one.“
“Joynell dragged me to one of the talks he gave here at the college. He explained the difference between depression glass and pressed glass.“
“What’s the difference?“ Earl asked, almost as if he cared.
“How the hell should I know? You think I paid any attention? Joynell made me come to the talk. I didn’t give a damn one way or the other.“
“I don’t know him at all,“ Earl said. “I’ve never been to one of his talks or even into his store. He’s supposed to be a big supporter of the college, though.“
“What about Mary Mason?“ Burns asked.
“Mmmmmmmmmm,“ Earl and Mal said in unison.
“Very good,“ Burns told them. “You should form a singing group. Or maybe a humming group. But that noise doesn’t really tell me much about her.“
“I just know that Joynell hates her,“ Mal said. “She’s dated every eligible man in Pecan City and some of the ineligible ones.“
“Not me,“ Earl Fox said. “And here I am, as handsome a hunka hunka burnin’ love as there ever was.“
“She sticks to guys with money. That lets out anybody who teaches at HGC.“
“Did she ever date Matthew Hart?“ Burns asked.
“He was married,“ Mal said. “Very married. Not that a little thing like that would bother Mmmmmm.“
Mason had picked up that detail about the soldier somewhere. Burns said, “Was she friendly with Hart’s wife?“
“Women don’t like her much,“ Mal told him.
Burns had noticed, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t have gone by to pay a sympathy call on Mrs. Hart. Burns was willing to bet that’s where she’d picked up the story about the soldier.
“Men like her,“ Earl said. “At least I do. Why are you asking about her, Carl? I thought you were pledged to Elaine.“
“I thought so, too, until Elaine saw me and Mary in the elevator a while ago.“
“Ah-ha!“ Earl said. “And I thought you were a straitlaced kind of a guy, Carl. In an elevator, huh? How was it?“
“It’s not what you think, and it’s not what Elaine thinks, either. I’m just trying to get some information to help out the police with Hart’s murder.“
“That’s a good line,“ Fox said, nodding his approval. “I’d stick to it if I were you. Maybe Elaine will come to believe it eventually. In a decade or so.“
“Who cares?“ Tomlin said. “I have somebody shooting at me, and you two are worried about Burns’s love life. Such as it is.“
“Not me,“ Earl said. “Didn’t Mmmmm go out with Stilwell for a while?“
“Probably,“ Mal said. “He’s single, isn’t he?“
“He hasn’t always been single. I think he had a kid who went here a long time ago. I had him in class.“
“Now that you mention it, so did I,“ Mal said.
“Stilwell doesn’t look old enough to have had a son here a long time ago,“ Burns said.
“It was ten or twelve years. Anyway, Stilwell’s around fifty-five. I think he dyes his hair.“
“Now that’s suspicious all by itself,“ Fox said. “He’s probably your killer.“
“Lots of people dye their hair,“ Mal said.
Fox looked closely at Tomlin’s thinning hair. “Are you talking about anybody we know?“
“No. I was just making a comment.“
Burns didn’t think he was getting anywhere with them, so he said, “I have to go.“
“You haven’t had a smoke,“ Mal pointed out.
“I’ve quit again.“
“You going goody-goody on us?“
“They just taste bad to me.“
“Next thing, you’ll start dyeing your hair.“
“I don’t have that much gray.“
“You will if you keep on working here.“
And if I keep on getting involved with Boss Napier’s cases, Burns thought. He started for the door, then turned back.
“What happened to Stilwell’s wife?“ he asked.
“I don’t know,“ Earl said. “It’s not any of my business. Do I look like someone who’d pry into other people’s business?“
“No, but then you don’t look like a college professor, either.“
“That was a low blow,“ Earl said, looking hurt and brushing cigarette ashes off his shoddy shirt. “I could afford to dress a little better if they’d only pay me more.“
Burns didn’t think Fox would dress any differently if he’d been paid ten times as much. Earl liked going to garage sales too much to change. The clothes weren’t really the reason he went. He just liked the idea of pawing through the cast-off goods and getting a bargain of any kind.
Burns told them again that he was leaving.
“You going to lunch?“ Mal asked.
“No. I’m going to look at some antiques.“
“There are a couple teaching in my department.“
“Not that kind,“ Burns said.
When he went out the door, Mal and Earl were lighting up again. The Surgeon General couldn’t scare them.
Chapter Nineteen
Stilwell’s antique store was only a few blocks from the campus, so Burns decided to walk. It was depressing in a way. When Burns had come to Hartley Gorman College, Pecan City had been a bustling community, but the last few years had been devastating to the local economy. Downtown buildings that had been home to clothing shops and appliance stores were now mostly deserted. Someone had opened a used-book store in one of them. A spa had opened in another, but it had gone out of business within a couple of months. The work-out equipment had been repossessed, and the owner had absconded with all the membership fees he had been able to collect.
Stilwell’s antique store was in an old building that had originally been a hardware store. It was one of the oldest buildings in town, and it was a perfect setting for the antiques.
Burns went in through the front door. He had never seen an actual puncheon floor, but the one on which he found himself standing was close enough. If it hadn’t been made of planed and shaped logs, it was constructed of something similar. The old wood creaked when Burns walked on it. The stamped tin ceiling was high overheard, as high as the ceilings in the old Main Building on the HGC campus.
Stilwell was nowhere to be seen. Burns could hear low voices, and he assumed that Stilwell was with a customer in the back of the store, where they were hidden behind a wall that had once separated the business office of the hardware store from the sale goods. Stilwell had his own office back there, with most of the original furnishings still in place.
Burns didn’t want to interrupt a business conference, so he stood and looked around the store. It was full of things that some people might have considered valuable collectibles, while others might have considered them nothing more than junk. Standing near a wooden counter on which a
heavy cast-iron cash register rested, there was a wooden cigar-store Indian that looked almost new, and Burns decided that it probably was. He also thought that to be politically correct, he should think of it as a cigar-store Native American, and he did try, but somehow he couldn’t get used to the idea.
On one wall there hung a number of clocks. One of the larger ones had a wooden frame and a glass front. The top half of the glass was clear, while the bottom half was painted black. On the black, in gold script, was an advertisement for Calumet Baking Powder. Burns could hear the clocks ticking and wondered if Stilwell wound them every day.
On the wall beside the clocks there were three free-standing cabinets with barred doors. The cabinets all held rifles, and Burns went over to look at them. The barred doors were locked, and there was a handwritten sign on each one that said “Military Rifles.“ Burns didn’t know a military rifle from a BB gun, so all he could tell about them was that some looked different from others. There were several bayonets in the cases as well.
As little as he knew about military weaponry, Burns was nevertheless certain that a bullet fired from a rifle like one of those in the cases would never be mistaken for a .22 caliber such as the one that had killed Matthew Hart.
There were glass showcases all around the store, and Burns browsed around looking in them. One of them was filled with costume jewelry that reminded Burns of the kind of stuff he’d seen on top of his grandmother’s dresser when he was a kid. Another showcase held watches of all kinds, and Burns walked over to check it out. Sure enough, on one shelf there was a Mickey Mouse watch like the one Burns had worn in the first grade. It had a cracked black leather band, and Mickey was missing one arm.
A free-standing bookshelf was in the center of the big showroom, and Burns went over to see if there were any interesting books in it. He didn’t see any rare first editions, but there was a shelf of old paperbacks labeled “pulp fiction“ on a piece of tape that was stuck to the shelf. Most of the books were at least forty years old, and Burns pulled out a couple to look them over. They weren’t really what he would have considered pulp fiction, but he had to admit that they had colorful covers, most of them featuring women in various stages of undress. They had a different idea of how to sell books in the old days, Burns thought, and it wasn’t exactly politically correct. It wouldn’t have gone over well at HGC.