1976 - Do Me a Favour Drop Dead

by James Hadley Chase

  She nodded.

  ‘As soon as you know you’re going to get the money, Beth, I’ll move to Frisco. You stay on for a week or so, then put the house up for sale and then join me. Right?’

  Again she nodded.

  ‘I hate being away from you for so long, but there’s no other safe way. No one must suspect what we mean to each other.’

  ‘Yes.’

  The flat, remote voice made me want to shake her.

  At this moment Dr. Saunders arrived.

  I’ll handle him,’ I said. ‘Don’t forget you’re shocked. Go upstairs and lie down. Keep out of the way until the Sheriff comes. You’ll have to see him.’

  Her expression still deadpan, she went out of the room and up the stairs as I went to the front door.

  Dr. Saunders regarded me. I explained who I was, said Mrs. Marshall was upset and wanted to be alone, then I took him to the garage and left him there.

  I stood around, aware my hands were sweaty and my heart was beating unevenly. After ten minutes or so, he came out of the garage.

  ‘We’ll leave him as he is until the Sheriff arrives,’ he said.

  Seeing an approaching cloud of dust on the dirt road I said, ‘He’s coming now.’

  We waited. The Sheriff, with Ross at his side, pulled up outside the house.

  I stood back while McQueen talked to Saunders, then he and Saunders, with Ross tagging behind, went into the garage.

  I went into the living room and sat down. I was pretty sure I could handle McQueen, but I was uneasy of Ross. He was one of those smart bastards who would look for trouble.

  I smoked four cigarettes before I saw, through the window, Dr. Saunders drive off. I smoked another three before I saw McQueen and Ross coming to the house. Ross carried the whisky bottle in a plastic sack.

  I got to my feet and moved to the living room door as they came into the hall.

  ‘Where’s Mrs. Marshall?’ McQueen asked as I moved back and they came into the living room.

  ‘She’s upstairs,’ I said. ‘This has been a shock. I’ll get her if you want to talk to her.’

  ‘I’ll talk to you first.’ McQueen pulled at his droopy moustache and selecting a chair, sat down. Ross put the bottle on the table, then sat down and took out a notebook. ‘Sit down, son,’ McQueen went on. ‘Suppose you tell us about it?’

  I told him the story: how Marshall had employed me to drive his car, how we had gone to Frisco, of his continuous drinking, of his meeting with Bernstein, how Bernstein had asked me to keep liquor away from him, how he had got so drunk in Frisco I had to call a doctor, how Bernstein and the doctor decided he should go home, how I had driven him back, how he had demanded whisky and how I had told him Bernstein had made me responsible for keeping liquor out of his way. How, when I had got him to bed, I had thrown away the only full bottle of whisky in the house but that I had forgotten there was a half-bottle in the car’s glove compartment. I went on to explain I had been up the previous night looking after him and I was bushed. I had gone to bed and slept through until the morning.

  ‘Mrs. Marshall went to bed later. She looked in on Frank. He was sleeping. She went to bed,’ I said, looking straight at McQueen. ‘I guess during the night he woke up and remembered the whisky in the car, came down, found it chilly in the garage, turned on the engine and the heater . . . when I found him the heater was on and the car suffocatingly hot . . . then he started drinking. I guess the fumes fixed him.’

  McQueen nodded.

  I went on to tell him that we were both up around seven. I went to see how Marshall was, found the bed empty. We had searched the house and finally had found him in the garage. I had opened the garage doors, turned off the motor, made sure he was dead while Mrs. Marshall had called Dr. Saunders. I paused, then lifted my hands. ‘That’s it, Sheriff.’

  McQueen digested this, stroking his moustache, then he looked at Ross.

  ‘The facts add up, Abel,’ he said. ‘Suppose we now talk to Mrs. Marshall, huh?’

  Ross stared steadily at him as he said, ‘Looks to me like an open and shut case, Chief.’ He closed his notebook. As you say, the facts add up. If you want to disturb Mrs. Marshall at this time, that’s your privilege.’

  I could scarcely believe my ears. I was expecting Ross to start all kinds of trouble, but instead, here he was, slamming the lid down.

  McQueen squinted at him.

  ‘You don’t think we should disturb her right now?’ he asked.

  ‘Mrs. Marshall inherits,’ Ross said quietly.

  McQueen got the message. Ross was telling him in so many words that Wicksteed’s amusement park now hung on Mrs. Marshall’s goodwill. If she was bothered with questions right now, she might not be inclined to part with the necessary funds.

  McQueen cleared his throat, took off his Stetson and wiped his forehead. He looked like a man who has just avoided stepping on a rattlesnake.

  ‘Well, yes, I wouldn’t want to disturb her at this time. The coroner will ask all the necessary questions. Yeah . . .’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ll send an ambulance up, Devery. You tell Mrs. Marshall to take it easy. Give her my condolences. The inquest will be in a couple of days. I’ll let you know just when.’

  ‘Thank you, Sheriff.’ I got to my feet. ‘I’ll tell Mrs. Marshall how considerate you have been.’

  He beamed.

  ‘You do that, and tell her if there is anything worrying her to let me know. Let her know Wicksteed is behind her in her loss.’

  Ross left the room, carrying the bottle. When he had gone, McQueen offered his hand.

  ‘Remember, Devery, Mrs. Marshall is now important. Put m a good word for us.’

  Shaking his hand, I said I would.

  I watched them drive away, then went up the stairs to Beth’s room.

  She was standing in the doorway, waiting for me. I scarcely recognized her. She had changed into a dark grey frock with a white scarf at her throat. She had altered her hairstyle so it now came forward, covering the sides of her face. Her features seemed to have softened and her eyes were a little swollen. She looked like a woman who had suddenly lost her husband. How she had done it I had no idea, but she had done it.

  I felt my fear drain away. First Ross, now this transformation. There was only one more hurdle . . . Bernstein, and she had said she could handle him. Looking at her, I was now sure she could.

  ‘They’ve gone?’

  ‘Yes. You’re a millionairess now, Beth. The Sheriff didn’t want to disturb you. He was scared stupid you might resent being disturbed and you wouldn’t then finance their amusement park. We’re nearly home. Everything now depends on Bernstein.’

  She stared thoughtfully at me. Again the remote look came into her eyes.

  ‘No, it doesn’t. Everything now depends on me.’

  The sound of a car pulling up made us stiffen.

  ‘Here he is,’ I said.

  She braced herself. The sad, lost look came into her eyes.

  ‘Keep out of this,’ she said, and as the front door bell rang, she went down the stairs, crossed the hall and opened the front door.

  Beth and Bernstein were still shut up together in the living room when the ambulance arrived.

  I went down and showed the two Interns where to find Marshall. They carried a stretcher into the garage and I took a walk around the garden. I was now almost certain that both of us were going to get away with murder. A lot still depended on how the coroner reacted, but I had an idea that Olson, Pinner and McQueen would cue him in. Beth was now important people to them.

  But what really fazed me was the way Ross had acted. Maybe Pinner had got at him. There must be some good reason for him to have alerted McQueen to lay off, although, of course, the set-up, as Ross had said, was clear enough and the facts added up, but all the same his unexpected attitude when I was prepared for him to make trouble, baffled me.

  I sat on the grass with my back to the house and thought again about Beth. I was more than uneasy about her, but
, I kept telling myself, we were both in this together. Maybe, I thought, we could do a deal without me having to marry her, but I would have to handle this with kid gloves.

  I heard the ambulance drive away, so I got to my feet and wandered back to the house. As I entered, I saw the living room door was open and I could see Bernstein sitting alone, smoking a cigar. When he saw me, he beckoned.

  I went in.

  ‘Sit down.’ His face was stony. ‘You didn’t do so well, did you?’

  I sat down and looked directly at him.

  ‘What was that again?’

  ‘If you hadn’t forgotten that whisky in the car, Frank would now be alive.’

  ‘You think so? I’ll tell you something, Mr. Bernstein, you can’t keep drink from a drunk. If not now, it would have been later.’

  He stared at me for a long moment, then shrugged.

  ‘I’m taking care of Mrs. Marshall’s affairs,’ he said. ‘What did Frank pay you?’

  ‘Seven hundred.’

  He took out his wallet and thumbed out seven one hundred dollar bills which he put on the table.

  ‘I want you to stick around here, Devery. I want you to look after the place, keep the garden right and take care of the sightseers. There are bound to be ghouls who will come out here looking for souvenirs. Keep them out. I’m taking Mrs. Marshall to Frisco. My wife will take care of her until I can fix her affairs. You stick around until the house is sold. Is that okay?’

  ‘Is she selling the house?’ I asked staring at him.

  ‘Yeah. She doesn’t want to live here anymore and that’s understandable. Yeah, she is selling the house.’

  ‘Well, okay, Mr. Bernstein. I’ll take care of it.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Right.’

  Beth appeared in the doorway. She was carrying a holdall.

  Bernstein shot out of his chair and took the holdall from her.

  ‘Devery has agreed to stay on, Mrs. Marshall,’ he said, oil in his voice. ‘You go to my car. I won’t be a minute.’

  I was staring at Beth. She looked broken. There was no other word for it. She held a sodden handkerchief with which she kept dabbing her eyes. She had probably dipped it in water before she had come down the stairs. She looked a shocked and sorrowing widow. As a performance she outclassed Hepburn.

  She gave me a small, wan smile.

  ‘Thank you for all you have done,’ she said, her voice quavering. ‘Mr. Bernstein is so kind and understanding.’

  Bernstein and I watched her walk slowly to the front door.

  He picked up Marshall’s locked briefcase.

  ‘See you at the inquest,’ he said curtly, then nodding, he picked up the holdall and went out to his car.

  I stood in the doorway of the front door. Beth was huddling up in the passenger’s seat, the sodden handkerchief held to her eyes. Bernstein gunned the engine and drove away.

  That left me on my own.

  From that moment, I had an instinctive feeling I was being edged out. It was a feeling I wouldn’t accept, but it was there.

  Beth had said she could handle Bernstein and she certainly had. I supposed our next meeting would be at the inquest. I would have to ask her where I could contact her. It would be dangerous for me to leave Wicksteed immediately after the inquest. I would have to stay around until the house was sold before moving to Frisco.

  I spent a dreary, lonely day in the big, lonely house, trying to kill time. No one telephoned. No one came near. Finally, around 18.00, I got so sick of my own company, I drove into Wicksteed.

  Parking, I went into Joe’s saloon.

  They were all there in a huddle: Pinner, Olson, Mason and a tall, lean bird I hadn’t seen before. As soon as they saw me, they waved, and Pinner heaved himself out of his chair to cross the saloon to shake hands.

  He signalled to Joe who brought a beer which he set on the table, nodding and smiling at me.

  ‘Well, Keith, this is something, isn’t it?’ Pinner said. ‘Meet Luke Brewer.’ He waved to the tall, lean bird. ‘He’s our coroner.’

  Brewer gave me a thin smile as he shook hands.

  ‘What’s been going on, Keith?’ Pinner asked, leaning forward. ‘You’ve been right in the middle of it.’

  I sipped the beer, then sitting back, I gave them the photo.

  With the coroner listening, it was a perfect opportunity.

  I told them what I had told McQueen. Sure McQueen had already given Brewer the facts, I was careful, but my story had more colour than the story I had given McQueen. I finished by saying Bernstein had taken Mrs. Marshall to Frisco and he was representing her.

  This item of news brought Pinner, Olson and Mason stiff in their chairs.

  ‘She’s gone to Frisco?’

  ‘That’s it. The house is going to be sold.’ I paused. ‘My guess is Bernstein is tricky. He has a way about him. He was very close to Frank.’ I sat back and looked slowly at the four of them, then went on, ‘I did have a chance to talk to Mrs. Marshall about the amusement park idea before Frank died and she seemed interested. I think she could be persuaded now she has Frank’s money, but this is my guess.’

  Pinner thought about this, then looked at Brewer.

  ‘We wouldn’t want to submit Mrs. Marshall to an ordeal at the inquest, would we, Luke?’

  Brewer chewed his thumbnail as he got the message.

  ‘There’s no question of that. Mr. Devery’s evidence will do. I don’t think I’ll even have to call Mrs. Marshall. It’s a straightforward verdict: accidental death.’

  We all nodded.

  And that was how it was.

  The inquest went smoothly and fast. I was the principal witness: in fact the only witness. Brewer said it wasn’t necessary to call Mrs. Marshall who sat at the back of the courtroom with Bernstein. He expressed sympathy of the court and sympathy of the citizens of Wicksteed. It was all over in thirty minutes.

  Pinner shoved his way through the crowd to shake Beth’s hand and murmur condolences. Bernstein whisked her away. I didn’t have a chance to get near her. I didn’t even catch her eye.

  She was pale, weepy and she looked nowhere . . . a great performance.

  I watched Bernstein drive her away.

  Pinner came up to me.

  ‘What do you think, Keith?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘If she doesn’t play now, you can’t blame yourself.’

  ‘But do you think she will?’

  I had had enough of him and Wicksteed’s greed.

  ‘How the hell should I know?’ I said and leaving him, I got in the Caddy and drove back to the big, lonely house.

  The funeral was two days later. Practically all the citizens of Wicksteed turned up, but Beth didn’t. Bernstein was there to represent her. He explained to Pinner who was leading the Wicksteed mob that Mrs. Marshall had collapsed. She had desperately wanted to be there, but her doctor had refused to let her attend.

  Marshall’s body, in an expensive coffin, was tucked away in the Wicksteed’s burial ground next to his aunt’s grave. I stood with the hypocritical mourners. Pinner stood by my side.

  Olson, Mason and the rest of them, all wearing black ties and looking mournful, flanked Bernstein who looked bored. The press took photographs.

  After the burial, Pinner tried to talk to Bernstein, but he got nowhere. Bernstein bulldozed his way through the crowd to me.

  ‘You’ll be hearing from me, Devery,’ he said. ‘Look after the house.’ Then he shoved his way to his car and drove off.

  That seemed to be that.

  Two days later, the local real estate agent came with a fat man and his fatter wife. They tramped over the house and decided to buy it as it stood. The price was right, and they were a couple who liked being on their own.

  The following day while I was cooking a steak for lunch, the telephone bell rang.

  It was Bernstein.

  ‘I’m depositing seven hundred dollars in your bank, Devery,’ he said curtly. I could tell from the tone
of his voice he had no time for me. ‘The house is sold. From now on, you’re not needed. One other thing I’ll get you to do: sell the Caddy. Get the best for it and send the cheque to me.’

  ‘Okay, Mr. Bernstein.’ I paused, then said, ‘I would like to speak to Mrs. Marshall. Could you tell me where I can contact her?’

  ‘She’s right here. Hold on.’

  A long pause, then Beth said, ‘Hello, Keith?’ Her voice sounded wooden and I could imagine the deadpan expression on her face.

  ‘When can we meet?’ I said, gripping the telephone receiver so tightly my knuckles turned white.

  ‘Thank you for all you did for Frank.’ There was a slight shake in her voice. ‘I am very grateful. I hope you will be successful in finding another job,’ and she hung up.

  Holding the receiver in my hand, I stared at it, feeling the cold dead finger creep up my spine, then I replaced the receiver.

  Getting to my feet, I moved around the big room, feeling distrust and suspicion nibbling at my mind. After a minute or so, I told myself that she was playing the cards right. With Bernstein listening, she couldn’t make a date with me - the hired hand. She was now a millionairess and important people.

  But how to contact her?

  Bernstein had said she would be staying at his house. I had his home number. Sometime during the day, I would call and ask for her, then she would tell me her plans.

  While waiting, I decided to do what Bernstein had told me to do: sell the Caddy. I had around a thousand dollars: three hundred which I had saved and the seven hundred Bernstein had given me. I was going to get another seven hundred from him in a day or so, so I wasn’t short of cash.

  I drove the Caddy to the Cadillac showroom, and after a lot of talk, got them to buy it back. I bought a VW secondhand at a knock down price. At least I was mobile. I had the cheque for the Caddy made out to Bernstein and mailed the cheque to him.

  All this took time and I arrived back at the house around 17.00. Bernstein would still be at his office. Sweating a little, I called his home number.

  A woman answered: ‘This is Mr. Bernstein’s residence.’