Miss Pink Investigates series Box Set Part Two

by Gwen Moffat

  ‘Come on out,’ she called. ‘I’m alone and I’m on your side. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.’ There was no response. ‘Simon’s confessed to the murders,’ she said clearly. ‘And they have capital punishment in this state.’

  A bit jangled as the mare threw up her head. A figure stepped out from the trees and came towards the fire, wearing a bulky jacket and carrying a small object that gleamed dully.

  ‘Who did you think I was?’ Miss Pink asked, but the question was ignored.

  ‘Simon confessed?’ Emma asked. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘Well, he’s shielding you, isn’t he? Have you anything to eat? I’ve had nothing since breakfast.’

  ‘Why of course. There’s no one behind you?’

  ‘No, I really am alone. Why are you carrying a gun?’

  ‘For protection.’ She put it down and produced a packet of sandwiches in Cling Wrap.

  ‘You don’t need protection from me,’ Miss Pink said. ‘Where’s the water?’

  ‘How did you find me?’ Emma asked as they stood beside the mare while she drank.

  ‘Myron was able to show me which way you’d gone. Who are you afraid of?’

  ‘Oh, God! Everyone.’

  ‘Not everyone. But someone hates you enough to frame you for murder.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She was intense and bitter and unsurprised. They walked back to the clearing and Miss Pink tied the mare to a tree. Emma pushed logs into the fire. Sparks flew through the foliage and the horses pivoted, startled.

  They sat on the ground eating from the packet between them. ‘Do you have a sleeping bag?’ Miss Pink asked.

  ‘Just the blanket. I took it from the bunk-house.’

  ‘What did you tell the boys?’

  ‘They weren’t there.’

  ‘You should have brought a sleeping bag if you were intending to stay out all night.’

  ‘I don’t know what I was intending. I—left in a hurry. No, I didn’t. I remember going out on the terrace, following Susie who was carrying the tea things and then I just took the food and walked out. I didn’t come to any decision; things—happened. I grabbed my sheepskin from the hall closet and I took a kid’s bicycle and went down to the corral and saddled up. I wasn’t really thinking except to know the night would be cool so I took the blanket from the bunk-house. That was just a trick to get me to come out, wasn’t it: about Simon confessing? I mean, it’s wild.’

  ‘The frame-up is wild.’

  ‘Did he tell you—What did he tell you?’

  ‘He told me about the money.’

  ‘Hell! We discussed it endlessly. What would I want with a few hundred dollars? And as for the gun—’ She stopped suddenly.

  ‘Yes, he told me about the gun too.’

  ‘He’s told you everything, hasn’t he? Well, the gun’s a kid’s trick. It’s too ridiculous. They weren’t shot; they were strangled.’

  ‘The gun is a bit puzzling. The money part is simple: someone sneaked into your flat and planted the bills—where?’

  ‘They were in a drawer, under my nighties. Simon put the bills in his sports jacket.’

  ‘Why didn’t he tell Jack?’

  Emma pressed her hands against her eyes.

  ‘Because,’ Miss Pink said, ‘he guessed who might have put them there?’ When Emma still refused to answer, she went on: ‘How could she have come down to the ranch and up to your rooms without being seen by someone?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Bertha Fraser.’ Miss Pink was brisk. ‘And now we can stop talking in circles and try to get this thing worked out. Simon is too involved; let’s see what a fresh view-point can do.’

  ‘He told you?’

  ‘He confirmed it. You started it. Remember, that night in the palm grove: you said that perhaps the Nielsens were in love too?’

  ‘So? Oh, you realized—’

  ‘Not immediately. Later. And why should Bertha send the mobsters to find you? And did it never occur to you that he knew she’d sent them?’

  ‘No! He couldn’t have known.’

  ‘He couldn’t have stopped them once they’d left for Sweetwater, but he could have telephoned to warn you.’

  ‘He’d never have called me. He was much too discreet.’

  ‘With a couple of mobsters after you? Discretion?’

  ‘Well, he’s afraid of her. She’s a monster.’

  ‘She’s a wife and a mother and she’s got her back to the wall. You were a threat to her family and she was trying to cancel the threat.’

  ‘You said you were on my side.’

  ‘I am, but I understand Bertha Fraser’s motives—and his. How did you meet, by the way?’

  ‘At the gas station. Where else?’

  ‘Good gracious. It started like that: getting petrol?’

  ‘It can start any way. It starts with a look, it starts by accident, and it’s mutual. The first time may just leave a memory, a question: what happened? That’s how it was with me, not with him; he knew what was happening. I went back a few days later out of curiosity and it was like a bomb: one great big wonderful explosion.’ She nodded at the fire and her thoughts. ‘You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you? I can see what you mean about her, though, with her back to the wall. I would have died for him; I’d have killed for him.’

  ‘Would have?’

  The girl jerked her head as if a scorpion had stung her. ‘He’s going, isn’t he? He’s leaving.’

  ‘Yes, he’s leaving.’

  ‘So what did she want to put the money in my chest of drawers for? She’s got her way. Does she want revenge?’

  ‘Didn’t you discuss that with Simon?’

  ‘Discuss it? We had a flaming row.’

  ‘But that was over Orville. Your affair with him was an entirely different matter from his wife trying to frame you for murder.’

  ‘Don’t you see? She framed me because she hated me. I wouldn’t discuss it.’

  ‘What was the row about?’

  ‘Because I’d had an affair! Can’t you understand that?’

  ‘We’re at cross purposes. I agree that Bertha hated you but she couldn’t have put that money in your room. I think that someone else did that. Surely Simon’s intelligent enough to realize how unlikely it is that Bertha could have come all the way from Molten, enter the house, go through it and up to your room without being seen by anyone?’

  ‘Well, no one seems to have known that Orville and I met.’

  Miss Pink was pulled up short. ‘Where did you meet?’

  ‘In the mountains. I’d ride, he’d come in his truck.’

  ‘What excuse did he make to Bertha?’

  ‘She’d be in Calcine. He’d close the garage and take off with a gun, pretending he was hunting.’

  ‘Wasn’t anyone suspicious about his closing the garage?’

  ‘Of course. And she found out, and she got the truth out of him. He’s no good at lying.’ There was a pause. ‘We only met three times.’

  ‘Oh, Emma!’

  ‘I told you what it was like: right from the start.’

  ‘It couldn’t have lasted. Something as grand as that. It was too intense.’

  ‘It’s lasted with me,’ Emma said simply.

  After a while Miss Pink observed: ‘So your quarrel with Simon was too heated for either of you to give proper thought to how the money got into your drawer, or rather, who put it there. People who frame you are enemies. Bertha was an enemy therefore she put it there. Is that how you were thinking?’

  ‘We just never got round to that. I guess we did assume that Bertha came down while we were at dinner and hid it there—because, you see, Simon knew why she’d sent the mobsters. It sort of tied in with that.’

  ‘Did Simon know all along that you were having an affair?’

  ‘He guessed. He had to know. I was happy. In a way. And then I was miserable too. Naturally.’

  ‘Did he know who the man was?’

  �
�He knew after the mobsters came.’

  ‘But before that?’

  ‘He never said. ’Fact, I didn’t know he suspected until we had the row.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Yesterday morning. That’s when he found the money.’

  ‘How did he find it?’

  ‘He said the drawer was open and the bills were visible. What really happened was he was searching through my things.’

  ‘Not necessarily. Whoever put the money there, would want him to find it, not you. The inference is that you were involved in Donna’s murder.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that. I’ve had a long time here on my own. I lit the fire because of those damn coyotes—they scare me stiff—and then I got to looking at the flames and thinking about that car set on fire, you know? And I wondered who I was supposed to be working with because, you see, if Bertha had put the money in my drawer, she wouldn’t want to frame her own husband, would she? Yet two people murdered that girl, those girls. And that’s another point: Orville didn’t kill his own daughter. So who was my partner—accomplice, it’s called, isn’t it? Or didn’t it matter just so long as I was implicated?’

  Miss Pink pushed a log into the fire. ‘I think there was more to it than that. This frame-up was carefully thought out. I’d make a guess that your hypothetical partner would also be framed. After all, where’s the rest of the money? There were between nine and ten thousand dollars.’

  ‘What you’re saying is that the killer framed me and another person?’

  ‘He had to. No good framing one, because the killing was a partnership. Two cars were involved. What about Tony Doyle?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘As your accomplice.’

  Emma shrugged. ‘Why not Simon? He’s the obvious one. Christ! A husband-and-wife killing team. It’s obscene.’

  ‘The murders were obscene. And if Simon suspected you were having an affair, so could anyone else. So the killer might have framed a person with whom you were having an affair.’

  ‘But Orville couldn’t be framed: not for the murder of his daughter.’

  ‘There are other men. The killer didn’t have to know the identity of your lover. He could have picked Hal or Tony.’

  ‘Tony more likely than Hal. We had no time for each other, Hal and me. He tried to make me once but I can’t stand him. Tony’s all right but he’s only a kid. All the same he watches me.… They could have picked on Tony. Now I see what you’re getting at. Did he find some bills in his gear at the bunk-house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So someone’s got it in for Tony too. Who is it?’

  ‘I don’t know. Tell me about the gun. It’s a Walther, isn’t it? Is it loaded?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You brought it for protection. Against whom?’

  ‘I didn’t know what was going on.’

  Miss Pink let that pass. ‘You can use it?’

  ‘Everyone at Sweetwater can use a gun. It’s odd about this one. Simon kept it in a drawer; not loaded, of course. Then suddenly it turns up under my pillow! This morning. I went to make the bed and there it was. I flipped. And Simon said he knew nothing about it and accused me of putting it there; well, as good as. So we had another row. It went on all day on and off and it got worse and finally I left. That’s why I’m here really, because of this bloody gun. And it’s loaded, did I say that?’

  ‘Was it loaded when you found it under the pillow?’

  ‘Two shots had been fired. It’s wild! Can you see why we had a row?’

  It was Miss Pink’s turn to be silent. Emma said quietly: ‘Melinda?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Do you know something about this gun?’

  ‘I have a question for you. Where were you yesterday afternoon?’

  ‘Why, I was riding.’

  ‘You were late back.’

  ‘What’s happened? Something’s happened, hasn’t it?’ She was quiet, evidently reviewing the people at Sweetwater. ‘Has someone been shot? Who’s missing?’

  ‘Tony.’

  ‘Tony Doyle. Oh yes, his horse came back. He’s been shot?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, my God! When?’

  ‘Some time yesterday afternoon—’

  ‘And the gun was put under my pillow. What—he was shot with a Walther?’

  ‘He was shot twice with a handgun.’ Miss Pink was suddenly cheerful. ‘You’ve been framed for three murders. So where were you yesterday afternoon?’

  ‘Here, in this canyon. I liked it, so I came back tonight.’ Miss Pink said nothing, allowing the silence to stretch. At last Emma said: ‘Tony was in Bighorn Basin. Yesterday I rode up this canyon to where the trail goes over a divide. Guess what’s on the other side.’ Miss Pink didn’t speak. ‘Bighorn Basin. And you’re going to tell me that Tony was shot there.’

  ‘He was in the Stone Cabin.’

  ‘But why? Why did he have to be killed?’

  ‘If I could answer that I think I’d have the key to the whole business, even Janice’s death.’

  ‘I think you know but you won’t raise my hopes. It’s all wrapped up, isn’t it? That’s why Simon confessed: because of the gun and me being back late yesterday evening, and I told him where I’d been. He thinks I’m a killer. Did you come to take me back? How courageous of you.’

  ‘You can’t have it both ways: suggesting I know the identity of the murderer and then saying I think it’s you. I came here to make sure you didn’t go back; we’re going on: until we reach people who can protect you. As soon as you tell your story you’re safe. You can surely prove where you were at certain times, and where you were not, at least so far as the first two murders were concerned. And no one’s going to convince me there are three murderers in this valley.’

  ‘Tony could have proved himself in the clear too, I expect. And he was shot.’

  ‘He was a long way from help and he didn’t know the kind of danger he was in. We’re fore-warned. We’ll put the fire out now and ride on. Only an Indian could track us in the dark.’

  Chapter 16

  The cat had not come home. She had searched until nightfall and fallen asleep exhausted. She was wakened by a faint mew. ‘Jet,’ she gasped and sat up. ‘Jet, where are you?’ Through tree trunks she could see the paling sky—but the view from her bedroom window was westward to the sea, and Jet had been dead for fifteen years.

  ‘You must have been flat out,’ came Emma’s voice. ‘I tried to wake you twice.’

  Her mind cleared. ‘You didn’t put any more wood on the fire?’

  ‘No. You just keeled over so I covered you with the blanket and went to sleep myself. I was tired too. Who’s Jet?’

  ‘A cat. I was dreaming about a lost cat.’

  ‘There’s a cat about. There’s an old mine up here and some of the prospectors kept them, for company I suppose, and for the mice. They’ll have gone wild when the mine was abandoned.’

  Miss Pink had got up and was untying her horse. ‘How will the horses manage without food?’

  ‘They’d have had full stomachs when we started out. They’ll go for a while yet so long as we can find water for them. Do you think someone’s going to follow us?’

  ‘I want to put as much distance as possible between us and Sweetwater before the sun gets up.’

  ‘There’s the cat again. It sounds lost.’

  Miss Pink listened as they stood by the drinking horses and heard a long wail. She smiled. ‘The prospectors didn’t spay their cats. That sounds just like old Jet looking for a tom. I’m surprised they’ve survived in coyote country.’

  She tightened her cinch and watched Emma fasten the bags behind her saddle. ‘Where are you putting the gun?’

  ‘In a saddle bag.’ She tied the blanket with thongs. ‘All set. Let’s go.’

  Miss Pink thought she sounded, not exactly cheerful, but eager. She wondered if the other had deliberately allowed her to sleep, and cursed her own fatigue.

/>   The trail was narrow so there could be no conversation. Emma led the way, the mare stepping out briskly to keep up. The other horse had a fast walk. Behind them there were streaks of colour in the sky.

  They emerged from the cottonwoods to see Lonesome Peak was quite close, naked in the cold light of dawn, pinyon pines a fringe on its ridges. Miss Pink wanted to know how high the divide was but she didn’t call out to ask. There was only one way to go.

  The pale ground of the headwall turned brown below an opal sky that was washed with the faintest rose. She glanced back and saw that the east was a blaze of red and gold. She bit her lip and eyed Emma’s saddle bag.

  A molten sliver appeared above the mountains and their shadows showed pale on the dust then darkened as the sun rose. A breeze rustled the dry sage and lifted the horses’ manes. The cat called with a long howl. Miss Pink looked in the direction of the sound. The ground was open here: tumbled rock and scree sloping up to a band of cliffs interspersed with gullies. She could see no cat and yet it appeared to be following them for the sound seemed to be as close as it was when they were at the spring. She must be carrying the smell of Miss Ginny’s Kermit on her clothes.

  Emma turned at a right angle and crossed the dry creek bed. High on the mountain there was a small spoil heap, neat and triangular in that wilderness of stone.

  ‘We go past the mine,’ the girl called. ‘It’s a steep climb.’

  ‘Keep going.’ Miss Pink frowned at the urgency in her own voice. Emma smiled.

  The pack trail was still good, graded in sweeping zig-zags, but the gradient was steep and Miss Pink no light weight. The distance between the riders increased.

  As they gained altitude more and more of the canyon floor was revealed below until, pausing at the spoil heap to give the horses a blow, they could see the tops of the cottonwoods at the spring.

  ‘How far is it to the divide?’ Miss Pink asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never come up here before because it’s too rough for an ordinary ride.’

  ‘How do you know there’s a trail?’

  ‘I can’t remember. Maybe Jack said there was a way over from this mine into Bighorn Basin.’