Heat by Stuart Woods Page B

live?”
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    Back on Main Street Jesse was waiting to cross at what was apparently the town’s only traffic light when a patrol car pulled up next to him, and Pat Casey got out. “How’s it going, Jesse?”
    â€œNot bad. This is a real pretty town you’ve got here.”
    â€œGlad you think so. Thinking of sticking around?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Jesse replied, looking up and down the street. “You sure this isn’t a movie set?”
    Casey laughed. “We like it that way. You stick around, and you’ll get to like it, too.”
    â€œI sure like the soda fountain down at the drugstore,” Jesse said. “I haven’t seen one since I was a kid.”
    â€œYeah, and Norm whips up a mean milk shake or banana split.”
    â€œMmmmm,” Jesse moaned.
    â€œI spoke to your sheriff back in Toccoa, Georgia,” Casey said.
    Jesse let his eyebrows rise. “You’re a thorough man, Pat.”
    â€œI am that.”
    â€œHow is old Tom?” Jesse asked.
    â€œHe seemed well. Had a good opinion of you.”
    â€œHe sort of spanked me once, a long time ago. We got along pretty good after that.”
    â€œThat’s what he said. You interested in some work?”
    â€œMight be.”
    â€œYou make up your mind, you drive out the road there about a mile, and you’ll come to St. Clair Wood Products, our local industry. Ask for Herman Muller; tell him I sent you.”
    â€œThanks, Pat, I’ll keep it in mind.”
    Casey took a small notebook from his shirt pocket, scribbled something on a page and tore it out. “The motel gets expensive after a while. If you want a nice room and home cooking, try this lady, and—”
    â€œTell her you sent me?” Jesse laughed.
    â€œJust part of the service,” Casey said, then got back into his car and drove away.
    Jesse read the notebook page. “Mrs. Weather by, 11 Elm Street,” it said. The street where Andy Hardy used to live.
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    Jesse pulled the pickup into a large parking lot, got out and surveyed St. Clair Wood Products. A long, low building sat fifty yards from the highway, and the noise of machinery could be heard from inside. Jesse found an entrance that said “Offices” and went in.
    â€œCan I help you?” a middle-aged woman behind a desk asked.
    â€œI wonder if I could see Mr. Herman Muller?” Jesse asked. “It’s about a job. Chief Casey sent me.”
    She looked at him a moment without reacting, then said, “Have a seat; I’ll see if Mr. Muller’s available.”
    Jesse sat down and watched as she walked into an adjoining, glass-enclosed office and spoke to an elderly man who was sitting at a large, rolltop desk. He nodded and said something to her, then she returned.
    She took a sheet of paper from her desk and handed it to Jesse with a pen. “Fill this out, please, then Mr. Muller will see you.”
    Jesse filled out the application, taking time to describe his new job background, then he was shown into Herman Muller’s office.
    Muller stood up to greet him, a lean, tan seventy-year-old, Jesse figured. Muller shook his hand and waved him to a sturdy oak chair. He took the application and read it slowly before he spoke. “Nice to meet you, Jesse,” he said when he had finished.
    â€œThank you, sir,” Jesse replied. “It’s nice to meet you. Pat Casey said there might be some work going here.”
    â€œMight be,” Muller replied. “I see you’ve been in the construction business.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Jesse said. “Had my own business until the recession came along.”
    â€œWe’ve been lucky around here; in fact, we just got a nice new contract for chipboard.”
    â€œI read about it in the local paper,” Jesse said.
    â€œWere you good at running a business?” Muller asked.
    â€œI think I was,” Jesse said. “I