More Good Old Stuff Read online

  “But I thought your patents were unchallenged!” she said.

  “The courts will have to decide that. They may slap an injunction on us to keep us from turning out any of the new line.” He turned around suddenly and she saw that he looked old. “Pat,” he said, “I’ve an idea that if Roy Bedford didn’t have his eye on this place, we would have got our steel. Also, Roy owns a piece of Delansey Tool in Rochester. This guy Feeney worked for Delansey. You figure it out.”

  She frowned. “Can he do that to us?”

  Evan Cleveland gave her a tired grin. “Honey, he’s doing it. And you know as well as I do that if it doesn’t work this way, he’ll get us through Susan, marrying her if he has to, to get control of her stock. That boy is dynamite.”

  “I’d better talk to Susan,” she said.

  “Or take Bedford’s offer.”

  She smiled with an effort. “Evan, if I took his offer now, I’d never again be able to think of my ancestors without blushing.”

  She smiled at him and left his office.

  Evan Cleveland sat down, rolling a yellow pencil between his blunt fingers.

  Maybe it would be a good thing if she fights him, he thought. Maybe it would be a good thing if she loses every dime in the world. Maybe then I’d have the courage to tell her that I’ve loved her ever since the day she fell out of the pear tree and broke her wrist and didn’t cry.

  The pencil cracked suddenly, with a loud snap. In a quiet tone he called Roy Bedford every name he could think of.

  The phone rang and he picked it up. A voice said, “Evan?”

  “Speaking. Who is it?”

  “Your favorite correspondent in the Chinese armies, chum.”

  “Matt!” he yelled. “Where are you? Are you in town? When can you come over?”

  “Slow down, boy. It’s ten minutes to noon. We’ll have lunch together in the grill of the Ocean Bay—unless you’ve got other plans. You can find me at the bar.”

  “A deal,” he said, hearing Matt’s laugh, then the click of the line.

  Standing at the bar of the Ocean Bay, Matthew Otis watched the man mix a martini. Evan Cleveland should be along in a few minutes. He hoped that no one would recognize him before Evan arrived. He wanted to think. The ghosts were thick in the bar. Over there, at the corner table, he and Alicia had sat one night. She had broken a date with Roy Bedford to be with him.

  A heavy man with white hair and a yellowed face walked in, stood at the end of the bar and glanced incuriously at Matthew before ordering a drink.

  It was a face out of the past. The man with the white hair was John Bernard, coroner.

  The coroner’s jury had returned a verdict of accidental death. Bernard had wanted more than that …

  “Dr. Green, please describe the injuries suffered by the deceased.”

  “The car, driven by Otis here, was a convertible. Both occupants were thrown clear when the car overturned the first time. The deceased was thrown clear in such a way that the handle which fastens the top tore her throat open. She bled to death in seconds, as the carotid artery was completely severed.”

  “You have treated Mr. Otis?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Describe his injuries, please.”

  “Thigh broken near the hip joint. Pelvis crushed. Bad concussion. He was thrown clear but the car evidently rolled over him on its way down the slope.”

  “He sustained no permanent injury?”

  “We can’t tell as yet. That cast you see on him can be taken off in another month. He’ll be confined to that chair for some time, however. The concussion has destroyed all memory of the accident.”

  “Could alcohol have the same effect?”

  “Yes. It would be possible. When the percentage of alcohol in the blood reaches a certain tolerance, memory is often impaired.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Green. Call the next witness, please …”

  “Your name and occupation?”

  “Anthony Dorio. I’m a waiter at the Ocean Club.”

  “You served the deceased and Mr. Otis on the night of the accident?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How many drinks did Mr. Otis have?”

  “I think it was five.”

  “Do you know?”

  “Not for sure. It was at least five.”

  “Was he drunk when he left there?”

  “I wouldn’t say he was drunk. He was happy.”

  “Happy? What degree of intoxication does that indicate?”

  “Just happy, sir. Laughing, kidding with the girl and tipping me a whole buck when he left …”

  “Your name and occupation, sir?”

  “Stanley Hoornbeck, highway engineer.”

  “You have looked over the site of the fatal accident?”

  “I have.”

  “Would you please describe it.”

  “Halfway between the Ocean Club and Cranesbay, the road goes up over the hills, because there the hills reach to the waterline. The road climbs around two sharp curves, then straightens out. There is a long straight stretch with a ten percent grade, a three-lane road with a sharp drop of about seventy feet off the right side. Since the road is straight at that point, there is no guardrail on the right. The skid marks were still on the road, hadn’t been washed off by the rain. Otis apparently drove toward the edge, then jammed on the brakes too late and went on over …”

  “Matthew Otis, sir. Unemployed. I’d just got out of college when—”

  “We don’t need explanations. Tell us what you remember of that night.”

  “I remember sitting in the booth and talking to—to Alicia. After that, nothing.”

  “You were drunk, then?”

  “No, sir. I was not drunk. I was hit on the head and—”

  “Do you have any idea why you drove off the road?”

  “No, sir. I can’t understand it. Dr. Green says it may come back someday and I’ve been trying—”

  “Limit yourself to answering the questions, Otis. What was your relationship to the deceased?”

  “We were going to be married.”

  “Had you quarreled that night?”

  “No, sir …”

  At last he sat in the wheelchair and looked into the yellowed face as the coroner said:

  “Matthew Otis, you have heard the verdict of accidental death. My hands are tied. But my opinion, sir, is that you are a murderer. Your intent makes no difference. This girl died through an act of yours. You have caused her parents, her friends and, I hope, yourself immeasurable sorrow. According to Dr. Green, you will walk again. It would not be too heavy a cross for you to bear, in my estimation, if you never walked again.

  “Possibly, you would have lonely hours in which to sit and think of Alicia Crane, great-granddaughter of the founder of this city. You could think long of this girl, brutally killed in the flush of youth. When you killed her, Matthew Otis, you killed her potential children and children’s children.

  “It is obvious that if you were not drinking, she would be alive today and you would not be facing me. I do not envy you, Matthew Otis …”

  Matthew Otis turned suddenly at the rough grasp on his arm and stared down into the smiling face of Evan Cleveland. They shook hands warmly and exchanged the customary banalities.

  It was only after Evan had ordered his drink and they had carried them over to a table that Matt noticed the lines of strain in Evan’s usually cheerful face. Evan said, “I ought to be thrilled sitting right here with a national figger.”

  “Lay off!”

  “No, in an unpleasant sort of way, I mean it. How long are you staying?”

  “Maybe two days. Maybe two weeks.”

  “You ever have any trouble from getting smashed up the way you did before you left, Matt?” Direct mention of the accident reminded them both of the death of Alicia, and put constraint on the easy conversation.

  “I got around on crutches for over a year. Nowadays I can tell when it’s going to rain, and that’s abo
ut all. Stop quizzing me and give me the pitch on the locals. How’s the Furnivall girls?”

  “Lush and wealthy, as usual. Pat worked like a fool at the plant after her father died. Things haven’t been going too well there. Susan came home from Wellesley last year. She doesn’t take any interest in the place so long as she can keep her purse full of cash.”

  “You married, Evan?”

  “No. You?”

  “No. How’s Roy Bedford?”

  “Obnoxious. In forty he eased into that garage deal as sole owner. By the end of forty he’d put in machine tools and had a contract from the British Purchasing Commission. He plowed the money back in and went way into hock to build a big plant south of town. Aircraft parts. With the dough from that, he has a finger in every pie all up and down the coast and some interest in distant pies. Knitting in the sunny South. A foundry in Buffalo. A tool works in Rochester. I guess he’s still coining dough. He bought the old Crane house on Perkins Street. Alicia’s folks went out to California the year after she died.”

  “Did he marry that girl he was running around with when I left?”

  “Rose Carney? No. He’s fixed her up with a nice little beach house about three miles out of town. He entertains out there. She makes a good hostess. She’s thinned down and she acts like a lady. She’s kept up with our boy Roy all right.”

  “How about Maura Gissing?”

  “Her? Oh, sure. You went around with her before you got engaged to Alicia. She’s still in town. A widow. She married a boy named Barton who got killed overseas during the war. She works in the phone company and is active in civic affairs. No kids.”

  “I might look her up.”

  “Oh, so you came back to pick a wife?”

  “Relax, boy. I’ve got no time for wives.”

  “Got yourself all lined up with some Chinese talent, hey?”

  During lunch Evan told him about the current problems of the Furnivall Company, told how anxious Roy Bedford was to get his hands on it.

  His face a mask of despair, Evan said, “What I can’t understand is why he should want the outfit. He’s got enough irons in the fire.”

  Matt sipped his coffee, then said, “The pattern is pretty clear, Evan. Roy was the kid that everybody expected would end up like his old man. Look at him now. At thirty-two he’s one of the biggest guys in town. Who were the two top families when he was a kid? The Cranes and the Furnivalls. Now he lives in the Crane house. He won’t completely justify himself until he controls the Furnivall Company.”

  Evan smiled tiredly and said, “It’s pretty tough to combat a psychosis—with dough behind it. I wish I knew what to do.”

  “Can you fight?”

  “Pat wants to fight. She’s got an ancestor complex about the plant. And she hates Bedford and everything he stands for. But our working capital is scraping bottom. If we have to close down, it will just about force us under.”

  “What will happen to you, Evan?”

  “Oh, I’ll start punching somebody else’s time clock.”

  “I wish I could help you,” Matt said.

  Evan frowned, stirred the dregs of his coffee. Matt, looking toward the door, saw Roy Bedford come in, following a young girl. She was quite tall and looked oddly like Patience Furnivall. But there was more life and exuberance to her. Her eyes were brighter, her mouth larger. She walked with an air of vitality and health, smiling back over her shoulder at Roy Bedford.

  “Here’s your problem,” Matt said softly.

  Evan looked back and then stared at Matt, consternation plain on his face.

  “That’s nice!” he said. “That’s Susan Furnivall.”

  Roy Bedford had changed little in nine years. His crisp dark hair had receded a bit, but the sharp, vital features were the same; the eyes, set far apart, had that same opaque, bland look. He was well dressed and had an air of confidence.

  Matt saw him glance toward the table, say something to Susan, and they came over. Evan stood up as Matt did. Roy Bedford said, “Well, hello there, Matt! Heard you were in town.”

  “You must have your spies out,” Matt said.

  “I keep track of things. This is Susan Furnivall, Matt. Hello, Evan.”

  Susan sighed. “You were one of my heroes, Mr. Otis. When I was in the fifth grade you were on the football team in high school. I cut your picture out of the paper and slept with it under my pillow for months. Hello, Evan.”

  “I can’t live up to that buildup, Susan. How’s Patience?”

  “The female industrialist? Grim. Why don’t you drop out and see her? The way I lost that picture, she took it away from me and it ended up under her pillow.”

  “You had quite an effect on the whole family,” Roy said. “Well, see you around. Drop up to the house for a drink if you have time.”

  They walked off and took a table in the corner.

  “She owns eleven thousand shares of Furnivall stock,” Evan said. “She’s young and pretty. It’s time Roy got married. That would be the easy way for him to beat Pat.”

  “You’re dreaming up trouble for yourself,” Matt said.

  “Am I? Take a look over there when you get a chance.”

  As they left, Matt looked back. Susan was leaning toward Roy, her face animated and eager, her eyes soft. Her fingers rested lightly on Roy’s wrist …

  Susan took her hand away as the waiter approached. She ordered and, as Roy studied the menu, she thought of Matthew Otis. There was such a tremendous gap between the dreams of childhood and the actualities of an adult.

  Matthew Otis had always been young, laughing, surrounded with sort of a shining halo of success. There were two males named Matthew Otis. One was forever back on the green field, leaping high in the air to catch the long pass, running with the ball while the cheering section screamed. The new Matthew Otis was a heavy man with a brown face and an impassive look.

  She looked at Roy. Roy was different. She had gradually begun to think of him in one of those odd curved helmets that the Spaniards had worn when they sought gold in the New World. He had a look of lean cruelty that awakened something deep inside her. Something exciting.

  “That’s a very unflattering expression, Susan,” he said. “You look as though you expected me to reach over and hit you.”

  “You’re a conquistador,” she said.

  All expression left his face. He said softly, “That’s not bad, Sue. Not bad at all. They came here in the sixteenth century and took over. And that’s what I’m doing.”

  “You frighten me sometimes. You know, I didn’t expect you to know what a conquistador was.”

  He was suddenly angry. “You college snobs! You got it in nice airy classrooms. I got it at night. And I got a lot more than you did.”

  She laughed. “A sore point?”

  His anger faded. “Sure, kitten. Why do I frighten you?”

  She took time to pick the right words. “When I was a little girl I used to go in the plant with Dad. There was a room with a concrete floor and in the room there was a huge machine that nearly touched the ceiling. It had a big hammer thing in it that used to come down with a thud that you could feel against your feet. I used to think that nothing in the world could stop that machine. It was ruthless and relentless. It used to scare me and I used to hold Dad’s hand so tightly that he’d laugh at me. But every minute, I wanted to run to where it came down and be smashed to nothing.”

  He smiled crookedly. “Not too flattering, kitten.”

  “You don’t care about me as a person, Roy,” she said softly.

  “Don’t be silly!”

  “Oh, I know. I’m young and healthy and clean and I dress well. But this is just a big deal for you.”

  “Big deal?”

  “Sure. I know how you operate. You want me because along with a nice clean young girl to wife, you’ll get control of the company. The daily double.” There was scorn in her voice.

  He looked at her steadily. “That’s exactly the way it is. And there isn’t a thi
ng you can do about it. Your dad isn’t around to hold your hand so you won’t jump into the drop forge. It’s just a question of how long before you jump.” He reached out and his fingers were tight and hard on her wrist. She looked into his eyes and all the rest of the room faded into mist, with just those eyes the only thing visible to her.

  She felt her breath come fast. Then he leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. The room swam back into focus.

  “I think I hate you,” she said softly.

  “That’s a strong enough emotion, kitten. That will do.”

  The food came, but she had lost her appetite. She wanted to disturb his calm confidence. She said, “Rose Carney will hardly be pleased, Roy.”

  He took a sip of water. He said, “Rose Carney does, thinks and believes what I tell her to do, think and believe. I will tell her to be glad about this.”

  “And you will tell her to pack her undies and take a train ride to California, Roy. Without forwarding address.”

  His face was blank. Then he smiled brilliantly. “You know, kitten, you have possibilities! Okay. Rosie gets a one-way ticket. The dough I get for the beach house will give her a going-away present.”

  “And you will be nice to Pat.”

  The smile went away. “Don’t push your luck, Susan. Your stately sister isn’t like us.”

  Susan said with anger, “You shouldn’t say that!” But she knew that, deep down, she resented Patience and had never admitted it to her conscious mind.

  Matthew Otis walked through the growing chill of dusk up the hill that led to the Furnivall home. He tried to analyze his interest in Bedford’s attempt to take over the Furnivall Company, because the real reason he had returned to Cranesbay was to rid himself of the ghost of Alicia Crane. Her dream image had grown stronger over the years, making the daylight hours into unreality, making night the only reality—night when he could hear the silver tones of her voice.

  He had intended to rent a car. He hadn’t driven an automobile since that night. He had intended to drive to the Ocean Club each night until there was a rainy, misty night like the night when she had died.

  He would then drive over that same road, possibly park and climb down over the rocks to where his smashed body had lain. A lonely vigil and then, in the gray of dawn, a visit to her grave. Her ghost would be appeased. Or he would find out why she returned in his dreams.