Free Detour by Martin M. Goldsmith Page B

condition I couldn't help noticing that she wasn't bad at all; a little thin in the face, maybe, but her eyes were clear and she had nice shafts and a cute round keister. Of course, put her next to Sue and she'd look like thirty cents—but then most women would. “Hello,” she smiled. “Are you looking for a cabin?”
    “That's right, baby.”
    “Well, you've come to the right place Are you alone, sir?”
    Tired as I was, I thought I'd kid with her a little. It's weakness of mine that when I see some pretty rural talent I play for the laughs.
    “No, I'm not alone, sister,” I replied with a dead pan. “Can't you see my grandmother's ghost sitting right here beside me?”
    She laughed, proving that her teeth were white and even, with no cavities. “Well, we won't charge you for your grandmother. If you'll drive straight back, I'll show you and the old lady a cabin.”
    “Not too near the music.”
    I crept down the line of bungalows until she signaled me to stop in front of one of them. I cut the switch, opened the rumble, pulled out Haskell's bag and followed her inside. It was the usual auto-camp shack, except that this one had a bathroom.
    “See? Bath, shower, towels, soap. And a nice roomy double bed.”
    “Not so roomy. Grandma tips the scales at two-fifty.”
    “Oh, my!” She gave it one of those shocked, Zasu Pitts readings that evidently she thought was kind of clever. Then she dropped into a chair.
    As soon as she did that, I had a hunch if I wanted her I could have her along with the cabin at no additional cost. People usually don't sit down when they're renting cabins, unless they're tired or want to get acquainted. This dame wasn't tired. But I didn't want her. Man, I was so worn out from worrying and driving that if the most beautiful woman in the world had climbed into my bed, I would have shoved her out and gone back to sleep. And this little number, not bad really, was certainly not the most beautiful woman in the world. Then, too, there was Sue to think about.
    The two times I had been unfaithful to her were months ago. With luck I'd see her in a day or two and I didn't want this on my conscience.
    “All right. No bed bugs, eh?”
    She looked hurt.
    “Then it'll do. How much?”
    “Only three.”
    “Come again?”
    She was a little peeved that I wasn't following her lead on the chair angle. It showed all over her face. Her voice got flat.
    “I said three dollars for the night.”
    I shook my head. “You've got me wrong, sister. I don't want to buy the place.”
    I turned to walk out. I know how those places are run. They charge you according to the car you're driving. If I had pulled in with an old wreck, probably she wouldn't have asked more than a deuce. Mileage isn't the only disadvantage in owning a big bus. However, I really had no intention of leaving The Morning Glory Tourist Rest. I decided if she didn't call me back before I reached the car, I'd pay her price, even if it was a fin. I was so tired, I doubt if I would have been able to turn the ignition switch.
    “All right, then. Two and a half.”
    “It's a deal.”
    I put the suit-case back on the bed, peeled off two singles, fished out four-bits and she left without a word. I felt rather ashamed of myself then. She had only tried to be nice and I had treated her rotten. It might have been a different story if I hadn't been so dead....
    But I was. And don't let any more of these novel-writers tell you that when a man is in trouble or has something on his mind he has nightmares or can't sleep and goes haywire and runs to the cops to confess. That's bunk. I slept like a top for almost eighteen hours and, as far as I know, I was too busy sleeping to dream about a thing.
    When I awoke it was three the following morning. I had been too groggy the night before to unpack Haskell's grip, so I had piled into bed wearing my shorts. The first thing I did was rip them off and hop into the shower. The Morning Glory must have been run