TRUSTED LIKE THE FOX

chapter 20

But I wasn't worried.

The next morning, Caleb was his old self again. I realised he had been disappointed that I had turned down his Mexican emigrant idea, but having slept on it, he seemed to have put it out of his mind.

We played Gin in the evening, and we kidded each other about his winnings, and we talked about this and that, but we didn't talk about hover planes nor about quick, easy money.

I was relieved, not only because he was back in form but also because Delphina was slowly thawing out. She had spoken to me once or twice during the day: strictly business, but at least she was speaking.

Around ten o'clock that evening, she came out on the veranda and watched us playing Gin.

"Why not join us?" I said. "I'll get another chair."

"Cards are a waste of time," she said. "I'm going to bed. I have to be up early. I have a lot of stuff to get from town tomorrow. Which of you is coming to give me a hand?"

Up to now, she had always managed on her own when shopping in town. Her request startled me. While I was hesitating, Caleb said, "If you don't want to go, John, I'd be glad to. I haven't been off the place since I've been here. There are things I want to buy. Okay?"

I felt a sudden stab of suspicion. I looked at him. He was lighting a cigarette, and his face, lit by the flame of the lighter, was casual.

"Why, sure," I said. "You'll be back by lunchtime. I can manage until then."

"I'll be leaving at eight," Delphina said. "Good night," and she walked away towards the house.

"I've got to get me some shirts and a pair of shoes," Caleb said as he picked up his cards.

My suspicions died down. It was true he hadn't left this since he had been here. It was reasonable that he should want some new clothes, but I wished he wasn't going with Delphina. That bothered me. I was sure she would get to work on him. A twenty mile drive into town and back was too long for them to be alone together.

"Relax, pea brain," Caleb said and reaching out. He slapped me on the knee. "I know what you're thinking—let her try. She'll cut no ice with me."

"I'm not worrying," I said.

But when I saw them go off together the following morning, I felt lonely and uneasy. To get my mind off them, I began to take down the engine of the Station wagon, but even working on a job I liked, I kept thinking and wondering and worrying.

A car pulled up. The driver was a thickset, elderly man. His blond hair was shot with white, and his red, heavy face was shaded by a hat.

While I walked over to him, he climbed down from the cab, wiping his face with a grimy handkerchief.

"You're new around here, aren't you?" he said, looking curiously at me.

"Where's Perry?"

I spotted he was a Swede, and that warned me he might be a friend of Perry's. I gave him the story that Perry was in Cuba.

For some reason, that seemed to bother him. I saw his face tighten, and his staring eyes hardened.

"I've never known him to leave the country. It must be the influence of the new wife of his, that ratchet," he said. "I've been through here off and on for the past twenty years, and I've always found him here. Cuba, huh? Are you going to open a new filling station? Does that mean he isn't coming back?"

"He'll be back to clear up."

"Did he take his wife with him?"

"She's running this place while he's away. I'm just helping out."