Scenarios - A Collection of Nameless Detective Stories by Bill Pronzini Page B
Authors: Bill Pronzini
Tags: Mystery & Crime
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don't mind. .
"I don't mind. I'll call you later with another report." I glanced at Kerry before I started away. "Enjoy your dinner." She stuck her tongue out at me.
6.
I t was nearly six-thirty when I came down between the cliffs and back into Cooperville . The sun was dropping behind the wooded slopes to the west; evening shadows had begun to gather among the ghost buildings along the creek. The meadow grass had a warm golden sheen. Cooperville was a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't have wanted to live there—not now and especially not after the Munroe Corporation finished with it.
There was a dark green pickup parked alongside the Cooperville Mercantile, which probably meant that Jack Coleclaw and his wife were back from Weaverville. I wasn't interested in talking to Coleclaw , at least not yet, but when I saw the other cars parked over near the cottage I turned in there on impulse. There were five cars altogether, among them Paul Thatcher's jeep and Hugh Penrose's Land Rover. The way it looked, the residents were having some kind of town meeting.
I stopped where I had that afternoon, alongside the gas pump. When I got out of the car, the door to the mercantile opened and Gary Coleclaw came out with a can of Coke in one hand and a half-eaten sandwich in the other. As soon as he saw me he did an about-face and went right back in again. There was no sign of the fat brown-and-white dog. And nobody else came out of the store.
I was not about to go over to the cottage; facing the entire population of Cooperville was something I had no desire to do. I started to get back inside the car—and a man came hurrying around the far corner of the mercantile, from the direction of the cottage. He was alone, and he was somebody I had never seen before.
He stopped two feet away, put his hands on his hips, and stared at me with eyes as cold as winter frost. He was about my age, mid-fifties; dark- complected , powerfully built, with not much neck and not much chin. Running to fat, though. You couldn't see the belt buckle of his Levi's because of the paunch that hung over it.
"You're the insurance detective," he said.
"More or less. And you?"
"Jack Coleclaw . If you're here to talk to me, you wasted the trip. I've got nothing to say to you."
"Nobody seems to have anything to say to me. Why is that, Mr. Coleclaw ?"
"You're trying to make out one of us killed that Munroe man in Redding, that's why. No one here had anything to do with Randall's death, mister; no one here started any fires. Now suppose you just get back in your car and get the hell out of Cooperville . And don't come back, if you know what's good for you."
"Is that a threat, Mr. Coleclaw ?"
"Nobody's threatening you."
"Two people this afternoon made a pretty good imitation of it."
"Feelings run high around here where Munroe is concerned," he said. "All we want is to be left alone. If we're not…"He didn't finish the sentence.
"Suppose I go to the county law and tell them I'm being harassed? Do you want that kind of trouble?"
"You can't prove it. Besides, we cooperated with the county cops when they made their investigation. They didn't find anything; there wasn't anything they could find. The sheriff's department doesn't worry us, mister."
"Then why should I?"
"You don't."
"No? How come the summit meeting, then?"
He scowled. "What?"
"It looks like you're entertaining everybody in town tonight," I said. "I figure that's because of me. Or do you all get together regularly for coffee and cake?"
"What we do of an evening is none of your business," Coleclaw said. "You keep coming around here, you'll get the same you got today—and more of it. Now that's all I got to say. You've been warned."
I watched him stalk off the way he'd come and disappear around the far corner of the store. I did not like the feeling I had now: bad vibes, a sense that there was more to this business than the idea I had developed back in the motel bar in Weaverville. There
"I don't mind. I'll call you later with another report." I glanced at Kerry before I started away. "Enjoy your dinner." She stuck her tongue out at me.
6.
I t was nearly six-thirty when I came down between the cliffs and back into Cooperville . The sun was dropping behind the wooded slopes to the west; evening shadows had begun to gather among the ghost buildings along the creek. The meadow grass had a warm golden sheen. Cooperville was a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't have wanted to live there—not now and especially not after the Munroe Corporation finished with it.
There was a dark green pickup parked alongside the Cooperville Mercantile, which probably meant that Jack Coleclaw and his wife were back from Weaverville. I wasn't interested in talking to Coleclaw , at least not yet, but when I saw the other cars parked over near the cottage I turned in there on impulse. There were five cars altogether, among them Paul Thatcher's jeep and Hugh Penrose's Land Rover. The way it looked, the residents were having some kind of town meeting.
I stopped where I had that afternoon, alongside the gas pump. When I got out of the car, the door to the mercantile opened and Gary Coleclaw came out with a can of Coke in one hand and a half-eaten sandwich in the other. As soon as he saw me he did an about-face and went right back in again. There was no sign of the fat brown-and-white dog. And nobody else came out of the store.
I was not about to go over to the cottage; facing the entire population of Cooperville was something I had no desire to do. I started to get back inside the car—and a man came hurrying around the far corner of the mercantile, from the direction of the cottage. He was alone, and he was somebody I had never seen before.
He stopped two feet away, put his hands on his hips, and stared at me with eyes as cold as winter frost. He was about my age, mid-fifties; dark- complected , powerfully built, with not much neck and not much chin. Running to fat, though. You couldn't see the belt buckle of his Levi's because of the paunch that hung over it.
"You're the insurance detective," he said.
"More or less. And you?"
"Jack Coleclaw . If you're here to talk to me, you wasted the trip. I've got nothing to say to you."
"Nobody seems to have anything to say to me. Why is that, Mr. Coleclaw ?"
"You're trying to make out one of us killed that Munroe man in Redding, that's why. No one here had anything to do with Randall's death, mister; no one here started any fires. Now suppose you just get back in your car and get the hell out of Cooperville . And don't come back, if you know what's good for you."
"Is that a threat, Mr. Coleclaw ?"
"Nobody's threatening you."
"Two people this afternoon made a pretty good imitation of it."
"Feelings run high around here where Munroe is concerned," he said. "All we want is to be left alone. If we're not…"He didn't finish the sentence.
"Suppose I go to the county law and tell them I'm being harassed? Do you want that kind of trouble?"
"You can't prove it. Besides, we cooperated with the county cops when they made their investigation. They didn't find anything; there wasn't anything they could find. The sheriff's department doesn't worry us, mister."
"Then why should I?"
"You don't."
"No? How come the summit meeting, then?"
He scowled. "What?"
"It looks like you're entertaining everybody in town tonight," I said. "I figure that's because of me. Or do you all get together regularly for coffee and cake?"
"What we do of an evening is none of your business," Coleclaw said. "You keep coming around here, you'll get the same you got today—and more of it. Now that's all I got to say. You've been warned."
I watched him stalk off the way he'd come and disappear around the far corner of the store. I did not like the feeling I had now: bad vibes, a sense that there was more to this business than the idea I had developed back in the motel bar in Weaverville. There
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