Free 1981 - Hand Me a Fig Leaf by James Hadley Chase

said, "At a guess, that frame contained Mitch's Medal of Honor. Above the old coot's bed: a place of pride. It's a guess, but I bet I'm right."
    "If some thief came up here between yesterday and this morning," Bill said, "what would he want with a Medal of Honor? It would have Mitch's name on it."
    "Who said some thief? Whoever cleared out the drawers and took that frame was the man who shot Fred Jackson," I said. "No thief would clean out every scrap of paper belonging to Jackson. This was the killer, Bill."
    "Yeah."
    I moved into the steamy sunshine.
    "We'll take a look at the frog-pond."
    We did and found only frogs. They seem to know that Fred Jackson was no more for they were sitting in swarms along the bank. As soon as we appeared they vanished into the muddy, weed-covered water.
    "That's it," I said, lighting a cigarette. "We'll go back." As we walked to the Chewy, I asked, "Will the sheriff worry that you are going around with me, Bill?"
    "I fixed that. I told him it would be a good idea if I kept close to you and reported to him. He liked the idea."
    "Don't over-report, Bill. Give him the idea I'm getting nowhere. I have a hunch that this is a bigger fig-leaf job than I had first thought."
    He looked intrigued.
    "What makes you say that?"
    "Work it out for yourself," I said as I got in the car. "It'll be good training for you." As he started the engine, I asked, "Did you talk to the mailman about Jackson's correspondence?"
    "Not yet. I haven't forgotten, but Josh is difficult to catch. I hope to see him tonight."
    "Do that," I said and sat back while he drove me to Searle.
    Before leaving Anderson outside the sheriff s office, I asked him where Syd Watkins's father lived.
    "Wally Watkins?" He looked surprised. "You want to talk to him?"
    "Where do I find him?"
    "He has a real nice little house just outside Searle," Anderson told me. "It's the third turning on your left off the highway. You can't miss it. There's no other house up there. Wally comes to the Club three or four times a week. He's popular. He and Kitty, his wife, made a real home of the place. It was a terrible thing for Wally when Kitty died."
    "When was that?"
    "A couple of years ago. The town talk is she pined away for her son, but you know how the locals talk. Dr. Steed said it was pneumonia."
    "From what I've heard Syd Watkins was a wild one."
    "He was that, but you know what mothers are. Wally had other ideas about his son. He and Syd didn't get on."
    Before driving to Wally Watkins house, I stopped off at the Morgen & Weatherspoon frog-factory.
    I found Harry Weatherspoon at his desk. He gave me a hard stare as I walked into his office, then he grinned.
    "Ah, Mr. Wallace! The private eye," he said, sitting back. "You sure conned me with that information-for-writers line."
    "Sorry about that, Mr. Weatherspoon," I said, approaching his desk. "From past experience, I've learned some people don't care to talk to private eyes."
    He nodded.
    "No offense taken. I hear you are hoping to find poor old Jackson's grandson."
    "This town certainly has a great grapevine."
    "It sure does. Nothing happens here without the whole town knowing about it within half an hour."
    "I'd like to ask one question, Mr. Weatherspoon."
    "Well, there's no harm in asking. What is it?"
    "Old Jackson supplied you with a weekly consignment of frogs. I'd like to know how much you paid him."
    He regarded me, his bright, dark eyes quizzing.
    "Why?"
    "Johnny Jackson must be his heir. The way old Jackson lived, he was spending very little money, so he must have had money stashed away."
    "I suppose so. No harm telling you. Some weeks were fair, some good. Take an average, I paid him around $150 a week."
    "How was this money paid to him?"
    "Always in cash. I would put the money in an envelope and Abe would give it to Jackson and he would give Abe receipt."
    "So he must have been saving at the rate of S too a week?"
    Weatherspoon shrugged.
    "Maybe."
    "And this has been going on for