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

years?"
    "Jackson has been doing business with our firm for some twenty years. I'd say we paid him, taking into account, his best years, some $200 a week."
    "In cash . . . no tax?"
    "Cash, yes. I wouldn't know about tax."
    "So at a very rough guess, he could have saved a hundred thousand dollars?"
    "I wouldn't know. There was his son, Mitch. Maybe, hi gave him money."
    I thought of the hole under Jackson's bed. That must have been where he hoarded his money. Even if my guess was wrong, there could still be a big sum missing.
    "Sad for the old fellow to take his life," Weatherspoon went on, "but he hadn't much to live for. We'll miss him. That is a very fertile farm."
    "Thinking of buying it?" I asked casually.
    He hesitated; giving me his quizzing look.
    "Well, yes, I know of a young active frog-farmer I could rent the farm to if I buy it, but it belongs to the Jackson estate. Until his grandson is found or proved dead, there's nothing can do about it."
    "Nothing?" I looked at him.
    "Well, as soon as I heard old Jackson was dead, I thought of buying the farm. I have my attorney working on it." He met my steady stare with slightly shifty eyes. "I had instructed him to advertise for Johnny Jackson. You could be a help, Mr. Wallace. If you trace Johnny Jackson, I'll ask you to tell him I'd like to talk to him. Tell him he'll get reasonable price for the farm."
    "Who's your attorney?"
    "Howard & Benbolt. Mr. Benbolt handles all my business."
    "Would you mind if I talked to 'him?"
    "Why should I? What about?"
    "I'm looking for Johnny. You tell me Benbolt is looking for Johnny. We could save each other's time by not crossing lines."
    "Go ahead. He's in the book."
    "Right. Well, thanks, Mr. Weatherspoon. Let's hope we find the kid," and, shaking hands, I left.
    It took me less than fifteen minutes' driving to reach Wally Watkins's house. Bill Anderson's description was an Understatement. The little bungalow was compact, white-washed with a small garden, an immaculate, tiny lawn and standard roses. The roses were exhibition blooms. There was a short, gravel path to the front door with red tiles as an edging. The little place spoke of care and attention and loving hands.
    Sitting in a rocker under the deep porch was Wally Watkins, smoking a pipe. He was neat in a white suit and a Panama hat.
    He watched me get out of the car. He would be around seventy: lean, with a white beard and sun-tanned. To me, he looked like an old pioneer who had worked hard, suffered a little, but had finally reached his haven.
    I liked him on sight.
    "Mr. Watkins?" I said, pausing before him.
    "No one else, and you'll be Dirk Wallace, an operator working for Parnell's Agency." He thrust out his hand and laughed. "Don't be surprised. News travels fast in this neck of the woods."
    "I've already learned that," I said and shook his hand.
    "Excuse me for not getting up. I have a bad knee. Now, before we talk, go into the house and into the kitchen: first door on your left. In the frig you'll find a bottle of good Scotch and a bottle of charge water. You'll find glasses right by the frig. Will you kindly do this?" He gave me a friendly smile. "While you're about it, take a look around. I'd like you to see how I live. Frankly, Mr. Wallace, I'm proud of the way I'm keeping our home since I lost Kitty."
    So I did exactly that. The little bungalow was perfectly kept as the garden. There was a good-sized living-room and a well equipped kitchen. I guessed from the two doors there were two bedrooms, but I didn't look further. I made the drinks and came out and sat in another rocker by his side.
    "Mr. Watkins, you can be more than proud of your home," I said.
    "Thank you." He looked happy. "Kitty kept a high standard. She really loved this place and she kept it as I am keeping it." He regarded me. "I wouldn't want her to be unhappy." He took the drink. "I believe dear ones keep close." He lifted his glass in a salute. We drank a little. "So you're looking for Johnny