The Dust of Death

Chapter 22

"Mrs. Lime," Flix said, trying to keep his voice calm and even as he talked over the phone, "it's pointless to keep following your husband. I feel like I am taking your money and giving you nothing in return."

"But you must stay on the case, Mr. Flix. You must," said Mrs. Lime. "I understand that you have turned up nothing so far, but keep at it. It is my money to waste if I so choose."

"But, Mrs. Lime," Flix said.

"No buts Mr. Flix. Good day."

Flix stared at the dead telephone receiver.

"I should have met her face to face. At least then, she couldn't have hung up on me."

He replaced the heavy receiver back into the cradle.

*****

Phalen decided to drive out to Tom's hometown. It would only take a couple of hours, and he had all day. The trip was uneventful, and he made good time.

A few miles from town, he pulled the Stutz into a small roadside station for gasoline.

The sign was bigger than the building.

Try HOUR Gas! HOUR Gas Is Better!

One pump with a glass ball advertising 'Visible HOUR Gas' stood in front of the small wooden building. The shed had only one door and no windows. A couple of buckets rested on a simple wooden bench. Behind the station was a railroad overpass. It must have been a noisy coexistence for the station owner, Phalen thought.

A hand-painted sign advertised motor oil and gasoline and open nights.

Phalen killed the motor as a slouched-shouldered man in a dark blue shirt and pants walked out of the hut.

"Howdy," he greeted Phalen.

"Good day," Phalen said.

"Fill'er up?"

"Yeah."

The man took off his grease-stained cap and looked up at the sky.

"Been mighty dry," he said.

"Yes, it has. We could use some rain," Phalen said.

"Yep, sir. We sure could. Name's Edell Deaks," he said, smiling a smile that was missing about every other tooth.

"Pleasure, Mr. Deaks," Phalen said.

Phalen shook the hand that had probably never seen a cake of soap in years.

"You from these parts?" Phalen asked.

"Yep, sir. I'se borned and raised right down the road. Lived here all my life. That 'ull be seventy-three cents," he said.

Phalen paid the man and went on his way. He stopped at a roadside diner and asked directions to the Thomas family home. He hoped that Father Tom's aunt would be there.

He knocked on the door. A lacy curtain parted. The door opened, and Phalen faced an older version of the girl from Tom's photograph. A few streaks of gray were starting to paint her auburn hair, and a few wrinkles had set in about her eyes, but her beauty, though fading, was still apparent.

"Hello," Phalen began. "My name is Phalen Archer. I am a friend of Father Tom. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?"

"Ask all you like," the lady said. "You've come on my property unsolicited. As far as I'm concerned, you're trespassing."

With that, the lady slammed the door. The glass rattled, and the lacy curtains shuttered.

Phalen returned to his car. There was nothing left to do but turn around and head home. He had wasted his day, but, at least, the scenery was beautiful.