by Gwen Moffat
The door had not been closed. The person reappeared with a bucket. It was Bunny Kraus.
She was terrified and almost incoherent. She stood in the yard, hugging herself (although it was not cold) and shouting at Miss Pink to go, he would kill her if he came back, he would kill Miss Pink, they would get her like they got Donna, she thought she was safe, she was safe if only, please, if only Miss Pink would go quickly, get out of sight before he came back from town.
Miss Pink did not enlighten her. Instead she said: ‘I can fly you out from Sweetwater. Fly you back to Kentucky.’
Bunny clapped her hand over her mouth, a wild hope in her eyes. ‘Mr Nielsen wouldn’t let you.’
‘He will.’ Miss Pink was definite. ‘Get your things.’
‘Oh, if only I could!’
Miss Pink left the car and walked towards the cabin. She stopped suddenly. ‘Never mind your things. Come as you are.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Can you really fly me out?’
‘I said so. What do you want to take?’
Bunny pushed past her and went into the cabin. Miss Pink stood in the doorway and looked up the track, biting her lip. She glanced over her shoulder. Bunny was throwing clothes into an old fibre suit-case. She saw a double bed, unmade, shelves of tins and packets, old anoraks and unidentifiable clothes hanging on the wooden walls. Bunny snapped the case shut.
‘Is that all you had? No handbag?’
‘It’s inside.’
When they reached the car the girl went to throw the suit-case on the rear seat but Miss Pink stopped her and put it in the boot.
The car bucketed down the track and turned on to the Sweetwater road. Silently Miss Pink cursed the marks her tyres were leaving. In the passenger seat Bunny lit a cigarette with trembling hands. She inhaled deeply and went into a paroxysm of coughing, fumbling to get the window down. Dusk was closing in fast. Miss Pink drove carefully and it was a while before either of them spoke, then it was the girl.
‘You sure Mr Nielsen will let me go in his plane?’
‘Certain. If I invite you of course he will.’
‘Oh, Jeez, you don’t know what you done for me.’
‘I can guess.’
‘It wasn’t Wayne.’
‘Wasn’t it?’
‘No. I was free to go at any time. He was protecting me, gave me a place to hole up. We were going to get away, soon’s we could, me and him. He was winding things up here.’
‘What sort of things?’
‘Business.’
‘So you weren’t terrified of Wayne. Who is frightening you?’ There was a mumble which she couldn’t catch. ‘Say that again.’
‘I said: you know what happened to Donna.’
‘Yes, I know. Who was the other person in the car?’
‘Some hitch-hiker. Must have been.’
‘Why did Donna go without you?’
‘She didn’t go without me! She was coming back.’ She was defiant.
‘Of course she meant to.’ Miss Pink was soothing. ‘When did you see her last?’
‘Monday morning.’ Bunny sounded miserable. ‘She went into town: that was when I saw her last.’
‘She went to Calcine? And never came back.’
Bunny accepted the statement as a question. ‘She came back but I didn’t see her. She came back that night but I was out here, at Wayne’s place.’
‘How did you know that she had come back then?’
‘Because I went back. To the motel. I didn’t mean I was staying with Wayne, not then. I just came out for—to cook him a meal like, have some drinks. He took me back to the motel before it got light. I often come over and cooked for him.’
‘He drove you to the motel?’
‘No. What he did, he always dropped me outside town and I walked the rest of the way.’
‘Was your car there when you reached the motel?’
‘Donna’s. It was her car but she let me say it was ours.’ Bunny’s voice shook. ‘No, the car wasn’t there.’
‘What made you think she’d come back?’
There was no answer. Miss Pink risked a glance sideways and saw that the girl was staring rigidly ahead.
‘Bunny.’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you sure she came back?’
‘’Course I am. She’d taken all her stuff.’
‘Her clothes? Toothbrush, creams, lotions? Brush and comb?’
‘She took my toothbrush!’ It was a wail of despair. ‘Why? Hers was new. All Donna’s things was nicer than mine. Except my Helena Rubinstein shampoo and she gave me that. Hardly used, and she took it back! Took it with her, I mean. That shampoo cost three ninety-five. And the hand lotion she took. She gave me that too but we shared it. All she left me was a few things in the bottoms of jars and such, not worth taking. Even took my toothpaste.’
‘Did she take your clothes?’
‘No. She wouldn’t be seen dead in my things. I hardly had anything anyway.’
‘Did she take her own toothbrush and shampoo and so on as well as yours?’
‘I don’t know. Her room was locked and she’d gone off with the key. We both had keys to my room, what we called the living room, but there was only one to hers. Hey! D’you think she lost her key and took my stuff because she couldn’t get at her own? But why in hell did she take my toothbrush? It was wore out. Would you believe Donna would use someone else’s old toothbrush when she had enough money to buy a new car?’
‘How did she get that money?’
‘Why, she went to Vegas. She won—’ Bunny stopped.
‘It’s burned now so it doesn’t matter how much it was. You can tell me. I’m interested.’
‘It won’t be burned.’ The tone was grim. ‘It was nearly ten grand.’
‘Grand?’
‘Thousand. Near ten thousand dollars.’
‘Did she give you any of it?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, it was her money.’
‘She seemed so generous,’ Miss Pink mused.
‘She was generous. Wayne wouldn’t believe it neither when I said she gave me none.’
‘How did he know she had won a lot of money?’
‘’Cause she paid the rent. But he didn’t know how much she’d got; just a few hundred, she told him. Webber didn’t know neither. She kept it in the bottom of her bag: the big notes; just had a few C’s in her billfold.’
‘And you think the Mob took it?’
‘Who else?’ Bunny decided to tell the truth. ‘That’s why I split. Soon’s I saw Donna had taken her clothes, I knew she’d run. Not even waited for me to come back. So I threw some things in a case and I walked back to Wayne’s. I was scared.’
‘Does anyone else in Molten know you were hiding out there? Mrs Webber, for example.’
‘Hell, no. He trusts her like you trust a skunk. Well, I mean, she’d have told the police. They were out at the cabin yesterday, seeing Wayne, but he’d took me to one of the old mines soon’s he heard they’d sealed up our rooms the night before. They was all over the place yesterday for a time, then they took off. Didn’t stay interested long, did they?’
‘What does Wayne think happened: from when Donna came back to the motel?’
‘What he thinks is that she had to split because the Mob were after her: close, I mean. Probably saw her in Vegas, he says, or someone saw her and contacted the Mob back where she came from.’
‘Why do you say that’s what he thinks?’
‘Because we weren’t telling him we were going to split, were we? We could have gone on the Sunday night when she got back from Vegas with the money but we had a few drinks and she said we weren’t going to drive in that state, and we needed a new car anyway. So Monday she went to Calcine to buy one.’
‘Why didn’t you take off Monday morning: both of you?’
‘Because old Webber would have seen us going, taking our stuff out to
the car. She’d have raced up to Wayne and he’d have come after us.’
‘You could have left your stuff.’
‘I never thought of that. Besides, Donna had some nice clothes. It wasn’t long to wait, just till Monday or Tuesday night.’
Miss Pink switched on her lights and all the irregularities of the road leapt into prominence. They were on top now, easing down towards the hanging ravine before the main pass.
‘Donna didn’t buy a new car in Calcine,’ she said thoughtfully.
‘She didn’t say definitely she would; she said she’d see what there was, we might get something better in L.A.’
‘I thought you were afraid to drive to L.A. in an old car that could break down anytime.’
‘It don’t matter when you got money.’
Miss Pink didn’t comment on that. Instead she asked: ‘Why didn’t you wait at the motel for Donna Monday night? She could have wanted to leave as soon as she came back from Calcine.’
‘Wayne come and wanted me to go to his place. I couldn’t refuse. We could wait till Tuesday; it didn’t make any difference. Besides, she wasn’t back by nine so I figured she’d been held up in Calcine; might have stayed there all night for what I knew.’
‘What did Wayne say when you got back to his cabin?’
‘He reckoned she’d split.’
‘With the money.’
‘No; I said she didn’t tell him about the money.’
‘And when the car was found?’
‘First he figured she’d run off the road and she was drunk, then when Webber told him the police had said she was murdered, he said the Mob had caught up with her.’
‘Who did he think was the second person in the car?’
‘Why, that had to be a hitch-hiker. Who else?’
‘How did he think they’d been murdered?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What did he say about her taking your toothbrush and so on?’
‘I didn’t tell him that. Nothing to do with him if she took my things. I said she took her clothes, is all.’
‘Are you sure he didn’t say how Donna was killed?’
Bunny shivered. ‘Probably shot. I think he said they was shot and the car pushed off the road. The police would have told Webber.’ Her tone changed; her slow mind had at last seen a motive—one motive—for the questions. ‘Wayne’s not mixed up in this; he was with me Monday night.’
‘Bunny, why were the Mob after Donna?’
‘She didn’t tell me. She said it was better I didn’t know. I talk too much. But something happened back east some place: Detroit or somewheres, I dunno. I didn’t push it. If she wanted to tell me, she’d have told me.’
‘Did Wayne know?’
‘If he did, he never said.’
They crossed the wash in the bottom of the ravine and started the long climb to the pass. There were drops of moisture on the windscreen. Miss Pink flicked the wipers and smeared the glass with mud. She stopped, found the washers and cleaned the windscreen. She drove on.
‘Is it possible that Donna came back with someone?’ she asked quietly. ‘Was there any sign that someone besides herself had been in the room?’
‘I didn’t notice any.’
‘Does the name Janice mean anything to you?’
‘Janice what?’
Miss Pink pretended to be concentrating on the road and didn’t answer. Beside her Bunny said: ‘Janice? No, I don’t know any Janice.’
‘Janice Fraser.’
‘It’s Karen, not Janice.’
‘She has a sister called Janice.’
‘I didn’t know.’
‘Did you ever see a girl about Molten whom you didn’t know?’
‘Lots. No, not lots. A few in the store, buying gas, even one or two at the motel.’
The road steepened, requiring great care. Bunny didn’t seem bothered, but then she was a country girl, or she was trusting the driver. Miss Pink reckoned they must be about halfway to the pass when they ran into mist and she had to dip her lights. She crept forward in her lowest gear, grateful that she knew the road: one long diagonal, two hairpins and another diagonal.
The hairpins were the easiest part: wide and well-graded. The Toyota took them effortlessly, its lights diffused by the mist. The rain became heavier. The car emerged from the last hairpin and they were climbing through a claustrophobic world of cloud rendered more, not less, alien by the rain. It was like Scotland, yet how unlike; the knowledge of what lay beyond the cloud was daunting. Not only the drop (Miss Pink wondered if Bunny thought of cars overturning, of fire) but the ambiance. There was no Highland glen below with heather and a burn, no gentle valley on the other side of the pass, but a canyon with walls three thousand feet high. She heard the rain drumming on the roof and thought of flash floods. Bunny was silent. It occurred to Miss Pink that the girl did not know the road. She was thankful for that. She peered through the windscreen. The rain was brighter so the cloud must be lifting. How strange, when they were gaining altitude. Then she saw that the drops were falling less heavily, almost floating. They were floating; in the poor glow of her headlamps she had not noticed the transition from rain to sleet, and now they were in snow. She thought it odd that snow should fall when it was so warm, until she remembered that they had pulled various knobs when looking for the windscreen washers; they must have activated the heater.
The snow was not settling except right on top of the pass but she was taking no risks and edged down the western side in bottom gear, round the steep and stony hairpins until the road straightened and she knew they had reached the high basin. Suddenly the headlights were stark beams showing bright stones, clumps of desert holly gleaming wet, boulders. They were below cloud level and it was no longer raining.
‘Are you tired?’ came Bunny’s voice.
‘A little. Why?
‘You sound tired. You sighed.’
‘Driving slowly is tiring. There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask. Did your men friends tell you their names?’
‘Not their last names. We knew some of the truckers, but most of the guys in cars were strangers.’
‘And you knew all the local people.’
There was a sharp movement from the passenger seat. A match flared.
‘Yeah, we knew all the local people. I thought you meant like guys who we—had parties with.’
‘Customers, I meant. Tricks.’
‘Jeez! You sound funny, saying that.’
‘You knew the men at Sweetwater?’
‘No.’
‘What about the Indians?’
‘Never! I mean, I’m not racist, stuff like that; but Indians haven’t got any money. Is them the Sweetwater lights?’
‘What? What lights?’
‘Way ahead. I thought I saw a light. It’s gone now.’
‘The moon’s coming up.’
‘Moon comes up behind us. This was in front. Never mind. Are we near Sweetwater?’
‘It’s a little—’
‘There it is again. See?’
Miss Pink slowed and dipped her beams. ‘I see. But it can’t be a car; this is a one-way road. Oh, of course, Mr Nielsen wouldn’t bother about that. He’s come out to look for me; they’ll be worried because of the bad weather.’
The glow of light swept across the slopes and turned towards them: not twin headlamps but one bright eye.
Bunny gasped. ‘It’s Wayne!’
Miss Pink stifled a contradiction. ‘How do you know?’
‘He’s got one lamp broke.’
‘Anyone can break a lamp.’ But Nielsen wouldn’t bring or send a defective vehicle up the canyon and across the pass on such a night. On any night. He’d take another
Bunny was gabbling about being killed. ‘Stop it.’ Miss Pink was sharp. ‘Keep your head.’
‘Stop the car! Let me get out!’
‘I will. Just wait until we lose sight of him. He mustn’t know I’ve stopped. Leave your suit-case; it’s hidden i
n the boot. When I stop, jump out and get away as far as you can; find a rock or a hole: any place where you can’t be seen from the road. Make sure of that. You’ve got plenty of time; he’s still a mile away.’
‘What’ll you do?’
‘I’ll drive on and meet him. He’s not going to bother me. Don’t dare to come after me until you’ve seen his tail-lights reach the pass. I’ll wait for you in the canyon with my lights out.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Just follow the road down. There are some boulders coming up. I’ll stop this side of them. Wait. Give me your cigarettes and matches. Light one.’
‘Why?’
‘The car stinks of smoke’
‘I thought you didn’t mind—’
‘Light a cigarette!’
The boulders loomed, blocking out the approaching light. Miss Pink braked, the door was flung open and slammed shut. She drove on.
The two vehicles drew parallel and stopped. Neither driver put on an interior light. Miss Pink removed the cigarette from her mouth and shouted good-naturedly: ‘There was no need to send out a search party; the pass is clear. Don’t tell me you’re searching my whole route.’
‘Could be,’ someone said. There was movement in the pick-up’s cab. She covered her chest with arm and hand, drawing on her cigarette. A powerful torch was shone in her eyes. She gasped and flinched and tried to start swearing before she finished coughing. She had dropped the cigarette.
The beam of the torch was lighting up her rear seat. There was a crash as she flung open her door and hit the pick-up. ‘Shine it here,’ she ordered. ‘Down here between the seat and the door! Or is it caught—Here, shine it on me!’
‘There it is,’ he said laconically. The cigarette had fallen out of a fold in her skirt. She rubbed at the scorched hole and ground the butt under her heel. He had doused the light and put the torch away.
‘Why were you asking questions at the motel?’ he asked.
