«I copped that in France,» he said, and drank. «Old Peg-leg Haines. Well, it got me a pension and it ain’t hurt me with the ladies. Here’s to crime.» He finished his drink.
We set our glasses down and watched a bluejay go up a big pine, hopping from branch to branch without pausing to balance, like a man running upstairs.
«Cold and nice here, but lonely,» Haines said. «Too damn lonely.» He watched me with the corners of his eyes. He had something on his mind.
«Some people like that.» I reached for the glasses and did my duty with them.
«Gets me. I been drinkin’ too much account of it gets me. It gets me at night.»
I didn’t say anything. He put his second drink down in a swift, hard gulp. I passed the bottle to him silently. He sipped his third drink, cocked his head on one side, and licked at his lip.
«Kind of funny what you said there — about Mrs. Haines bein’ away.»
«I just thought maybe we ought to take our bottle out of sight of the cabin.»
«Uh-huh. You a friend of Melton’s?»
«I know him. Not intimately.»
Haines looked across at the big cabin.
«That damn floozie!» he snarled suddenly, his face twisted.
I stared at him. «Lost me Beryl, the damn tart,» he said bitterly. «Had to have even one-legged guys like me. Had to get me drunk and make me forget I had as cute a little wife as ever a guy had.»
I waited, nerves taut.
«The hell with him, too! Leavin’ that tramp up here all alone. I don’t have to live in his goddam cabin. I can live anywheres I like. I got a pension. War pension.»
«It’s a nice place to live,» I said. «Have a drink.»
He did that, turned angry eyes on me. «It’s a lousy place to live,» he snarled. «When a guy’s wife moves out on him and he don’t know where she’s at — maybe with some other guy.» He clenched an iron left fist.
After a moment he unclenched it slowly and poured his glass half full. The bottle was looking pretty peaked by this time. He put his big drink down in a lump.
«I don’t know you from a mule’s hind leg,» he growled, «but what the hell! I’m sick of bein’ alone. I been a sucker — but I ain’t just human. She has looks — like Beryl. Same size, same hair, same walk as Beryl. Hell, they coulda been sisters. Only just enough different — if you get what I mean.» He leered at me, a little drunk now.
I looked sympathetic.
«I’m over there to burn trash,» he scowled, waving an arm. «She comes out on the back porch in pajamas like they was made of cellophane. With two drinks in her hands. Smiling at me, with them bedroom eyes. ’Have a drink, Bill.’ Yeah. I had a drink. I had nineteen drinks. I guess you know what happened.»
«It’s happened to a lot of good men.»
«Leaves her alone up here, the ! While he plays around in L.A. And Beryl walks out on me — two weeks come Friday.»
I stiffened. I stiffened so hard that I could feel my muscles strain all over my body. Two weeks come Friday would be a week ago last Friday. That would be August twelfth — the day Mrs. Julia Melton was supposed to have left for El Paso, the day she had stopped over at the Olympia Hotel down at the foot of the mountains.
Haines put his empty glass down and reached into his buttoned shirt pocket. He passed me a dog-eared piece of paper. I unfolded it carefully. It was written in pencil.
I’d rather be dead than live with you any longer, you lousy cheater — Beryl. That was what it said.
«Wasn’t the first time,» Haines said, with a rough chuckle. «Just the first time I got caught.» He laughed. Then he scowled again. I gave him back his note and he buttoned it up in the pocket. «What the hell am I tellin’ you for?» he growled at me.
A bluejay scolded at a big speckled woodpecker and the woodpecker said «Cr-racker!» just like a parrot.
«You’re lonely,» I said. «You need to get it off your chest. Have another drink. I’ve had my share. You were away that afternoon — when she left you?»
He nodded moodily and sat holding the bottle between his legs. «We had a spat and I drove on over to the north shore to a guy I know. I felt meaner than flea dirt. I had to get good and soused. I done that. I got home maybe two AM — plenty stinko. But I drive slow account of this trick pin. She’s gone. Just the note left.»
«That was a week ago last Friday, huh? And you haven’t heard from her since?»
I was being a little too exact. He gave me a hard questioning glance, but it went away. He lifted the bottle and drank moodily and held it against the sun. «Boy, this is damn near a dead soldier,» he said. «She scrammed too.» He jerked a thumb towards the other side of the lake.
«Maybe they had a fight.»
«Maybe they went together.»
He laughed raucously. «Mister, you don’t know my little Beryl. She’s a hell cat when she starts.»
«Sounds as if they both are. Did Mrs. Haines have a car? I mean, you drove yours that day, didn’t you?»
«We got two Fords. Mine has to have the foot throttle and brake pedal over on the left, under the good leg. She took her own.»
I stood up and walked to the water and threw my cigarette stub into it. The water was dark blue and looked deep. The level was high from the spring flood and in a couple of places the water licked across the top of the dam.
I went back to Haines. He was draining the last of my whisky down his throat. «Gotta get some more hooch,» he said quickly. «Owe you a pint. You ain’t drunk nothing.»
«Plenty more where it came from,» I said. «When you feel like it I’ll go over and look at that cabin.»
«Sure. We’ll walk around the lake. You don’t mind me soundin’ off that way at you — about Beryl?»
«A guy sometimes has to talk his troubles to somebody,» I said. «We could go across the dam. You wouldn’t have to walk so far.»
’Hell, no. I walk good, even if it don’t look good. I ain’t been around the lake in a month.» He stood up and went into the cabin and came out with some keys. «Let’s go.»
We started towards the little wooden pier and pavilion at the far end of the lake. There was a path close to the water, winding in and out among big rough granite boulders. The dirt road was farther back and higher up. Haines walked slowly, kicking his right foot. He was moody, just drunk enough to be living in his own world. He hardly spoke. We reached the little pier and I walked out on it. Haines followed me, his foot thumping heavily on the planks. We reached the end, beyond the little open band pavilion, and leaned against a weathered dark green railing.
«Any fish in here?» I asked.
«Sure. Rainbow trout, black bass. I ain’t no fish-eater myself. I guess there’s too many of them.»
I leaned out and looked down into the deep still water. There was swirl down there and a greenish form moved under the pier. Haines leaned beside me. His eyes stared down into the depths of the water. The pier was solidly built and had an underwater flooring — wider than the pier itself — as if the lake had once been at a much lower level, and this underwater flooring had been a boat landing. A flat-bottomed boat dangled in the water on a frayed rope.
Haines took hold of my arm. I almost yelled. His fingers bit into my muscles like iron claws. I looked at him. He was bent over, staring like a loon, his face suddenly white and glistening. I looked down into the water.
Languidly, at the edge of the underwater flooring, something that looked vaguely like a human arm and hand in a dark sleeve waved out from under the submerged boarding, hesitated, waved back out of sight.
Haines straightened his body slowly and his eyes were suddenly sober and frightful. He turned from me without a word and walked back along the pier. He went to a pile of rocks and bent down and heaved. His panting breath came to me. He got a rock loose and his thick back straightened. He lifted the rock breast high. It must have weighed a hundred pounds. He walked steadily back out on the pier with it, game leg and all, reached the end railing and lifted the rock high above his head. He stood there a moment holding it, his neck muscles bulging above his blue shirt. His mouth made some vague distressful sound. Then his whole body gave a hard lurch and the big stone smashed down into the water.