by Gwen Moffat
‘I didn’t!’ Rose was indignant, looking from him to Charlotte. ‘I thought it was like the police said originally: Vogel killed Timothy, and a gang killed Vogel, no connection between the two. I never thought you were serious.’ She glared at Lovejoy. ‘I thought you were just kicking an idea around.’
Lovejoy shrugged and turned back to Charlotte. ‘Did you realise that Timothy was killed on July twentieth?’
‘No, I didn’t.’ She was amazed. ‘How did you work that out?’ He explained about the birthday party. ‘I’d forgotten that,’ she said. ‘We weren’t invited.’ She turned to Miss Pink. ‘So it was the twentieth? Fascinating.’ She was being polite.
‘His publisher wanted to know.’
‘Of course. He would.’ Charlotte sipped her martini. ‘So you agree with the police.’ She was lightly teasing.
‘Well, actually –’ Miss Pink was flustered, ‘– we could all be wrong; I only just thought of it – when I remembered the bandage. Of course it was obvious that the shot didn’t kill Timothy, at least not immediately. I’ve had a feeling all along that the shooting could be an accident, something to do with a quarrel, a struggle involving a gun. From what people tell me, Joanne seems to have been a very volatile person. Suppose the gun was accidentally discharged, she could have bandaged him, then panicked and run, or rather driven away. On the other hand she could have thought Timothy was dead and she cleared out immediately, and Vogel came home within a day or two, found Timothy still alive and it was he who put the bandage on.’
‘And he had to bury the body when Timothy died.’ Charlotte was thoughtful. ‘You mean, he guessed Joanne shot Timothy, or Timothy said she had, and Vogel was protecting her?’
‘And with his record he didn’t want the police around.’ Miss Pink smiled, the picture of diffidence. ‘Of course, it’s all speculation.’
Lovejoy snorted. ‘Like Julius’s wild idea about Vogel having killed Joanne. All the same, it was –’
‘Oh, no,’ Miss Pink interrupted. ‘Not Vogel; he’d come to accept –’
The screen door opened again and Julius Semple came in. The light transformed him as it did his wife. He was wearing a wide-brimmed hat and his ravaged good looks were further set off by a black bandana at his throat. ‘High noon,’ murmured Rose, but not loud enough for him to hear. He crossed the room, nodding to the occupants, and stood close to his wife. They made an extremely handsome couple of a certain age and Miss Pink reflected that, with those looks and a certain amount of team-work, they would make a success of any enterprise that might involve an element of showmanship, such as the museum.
‘What had he come to accept?’ Lovejoy asked of Miss Pink. ‘We’re talking about Vogel,’ he told Semple. ‘Miss Pink is giving us the rundown on how Timothy came to be shot, poor guy.’
Semple looked blank. ‘Go on,’ Charlotte urged. ‘This is intriguing, even though you say it’s all speculation.’
‘I was going to say that he’d come to accept Joanne’s promiscuity,’ Miss Pink explained. ‘And he had no more reason to murder her, I should say considerably less reason, than any other man who was her lover.’
‘OK,’ Rose said sulkily, ‘but she didn’t have – I mean –’ she looked round the circle, ‘– when she was here she was serious with only one guy: Timothy, right?’ No one spoke. ‘Wasn’t she?’ she asked doubtfully.
‘Don’t look at me!’ protested Lovejoy.
‘Well, wasn’t she?’ Rose asked of Charlotte.
Semple’s expression was flinty. ‘Give me a bourbon,’ he growled at Lovejoy.
‘I don’t think Joanne was serious in the way you imply with anyone,’ Charlotte said. ‘Least of all Timothy. She was taking him for all she could get, and the only reason she was going off with him was because she thought he could get her a job in movies.’
‘She had the looks for it,’ Rose said, ignoring the rest of the comments.
Lovejoy said: ‘That’s a load of garbage, Charlotte! Joanne’s a lovely girl, and completely innocent –’
‘Innocent!’ Charlotte glared at him, then softened as quickly. ‘Innocent like an animal,’ she amended. ‘She was totally immoral –’
‘She was loyal and loving and generous –’ Lovejoy shouted.
The kitchen door opened behind him. ‘You can say that again,’ Blair said.
‘What?’ Lovejoy swung round.
‘She was generous all right.’
‘Now don’t you start –’
‘She was a walking bomb,’ Charlotte said. ‘In these days, with all the information pumped into us about Aids –’
Her tone was softly reasonable and Lovejoy’s interruption cut through it like a rattler’s hiss: ‘So where was your old man on the night of the twentieth?’
There was an appalled silence. Semple gaped at him. Charlotte’s eyes widened in shock, and Lovejoy took a step back so that he came up against the shelves of the bar. Blair looked frightened, Rose said weakly: ‘That was gross, Earl.’ Miss Pink’s glasses flashed as she looked round them calmly.
Charlotte shook her head. ‘Run that one past me again, Earl.’
Blair licked his lips. Lovejoy was embarrassed. ‘Only a joke,’ he muttered, moving forward.
‘Sick joke.’ Rose glanced at the Semples unhappily.
‘Yes,’ Charlotte said. ‘I was getting there. It was a bit sick, Earl.’ She glanced at her husband. ‘Tell them, sweetie.’
He sighed. ‘There’s nothing to tell. I mean, hell, you steer clear of a woman like that – if you can.’ He grinned shamefacedly. ‘There isn’t far you can go in Dogtown; I couldn’t hardly jump in the pick-up and head for the back-country when I saw her coming, could I? I blame Vogel; he should have looked after her. Of course, I wasn’t the only one –’ he glanced at his wife, ‘– she was after anything in pants.’
‘Difficult.’ Charlotte sounded like an echo. ‘She literally couldn’t keep her hands off a man – even with me standing there! It was a compulsion, you know? A desperate need for physical contact, always having to touch people.’
‘Even you?’ Rose asked sweetly.
Charlotte’s lips thinned. ‘Whores are often lesbians,’ she said coldly.
Rose gasped. Lovejoy opened his mouth to intercede but Miss Pink was there before him. ‘When did Vogel come back?’ she asked.
They were dumbfounded at the sudden change of subject. Rose recovered first. ‘Some time after the twenty-first,’ she said. ‘After Joanne’s birthday, must have been; they wouldn’t have planned the party if he was going to be here. He didn’t show in Dogtown for a while after, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t at the ranch. He could go and come without anyone knowing: over Breakneck, down past Dogtown. You can’t see the road from here.’
‘You can see headlights at night,’ Blair said.
‘Only if you’re looking.’
Miss Pink said absently, as if following a train of thought: ‘On the night of the twentieth was there anything about, a truck or car – did you hear one – that you didn’t recognise?’
They looked at each other. ‘Not at night,’ Charlotte said. ‘We’d remember. On summer days there’s usually tourists about: family parties, kids, like that –’
‘They come over here,’ Blair put in. ‘We do hamburgers and hot dogs in the daytime.’ He made a face.
Rose said: ‘Everyone leaves the town by six, around there, when the museum closes – unless they eat here.’
‘No one ate here on the twentieth,’ Blair said. ‘I was preparing for the party next day. I’d remember if I’d had to break off and cook for casuals.’
‘We must have closed at six,’ Charlotte said. ‘We always do. I don’t remember any strange cars after that, but then if someone was on the canyon road, we wouldn’t see headlights if we were indoors – and I don’t see where else we could be. There’s not a lot to do in Dogtown. Maybe we came over for a drink.’
‘You didn’t,’ Rose said. ‘But I did. I remember because Joann
e had been down that afternoon and Earl and I were talking about her and the party next day: we were laughing about the menu she’d chosen: clam chowder, lobster salad and chocolate mousse – a kid’s menu. Verne was making petits fours and I went in the kitchen to watch. I remember the night because it was all, like, preparations for the big event. And Charlotte was watching television when I went home and Julius was in the museum. I could see him through the windows. You were working at a bench,’ she told him, ‘so you’re in the clear.’ She stopped short. People looked at each other and as quickly looked away. The tension that had eased somewhat returned in force. Semple asked tentatively: ‘What motive would they have had for shooting Timothy?’
‘They?’ Miss Pink looked bewildered.
‘Well, anyone. You’re considering everyone, aren’t you?’ He shuffled his feet, embarrassed.
‘Miss Pink is,’ Charlotte said drily. ‘The stuff about strange trucks is a blind. You may as well come right out with it, say their names.’ She looked meaningly at Miss Pink. ‘We’re all thinking the same thing. But Asa Fortune has never been violent – and Hiram?’ She shrugged. ‘Easy come, easy go.’
‘Meaning he didn’t care that much for Joanne?’ Miss Pink asked innocently while Rose and the partners stared, and Semple looked sullen.
‘Well, hardly a matter of caring.’ Charlotte said. ‘And so far as Asa is concerned, it’s an enormous jump from robbing bodies to shooting people. Besides, if Asa’d suddenly come into a lot of money, wouldn’t he spend it? You can be sure the sheriff’s been asking in Endeavor did Asa buy a lot of luxuries in the last few weeks.’ A pause as they digested this. ‘Hiram?’ she continued, still looking at Miss Pink. ‘How did he react when you found Timothy’s body?’
‘I wasn’t watching him but he had his hands full with the dog.’
‘He could go up Danger Canyon without anyone knowing,’ Semple said. ‘Lorraine would know, of course –’
Rose said: ‘If he told Lorraine he was in all evening on July twentieth watching TV, she’d say so, and she’d believe it. Lorraine’s a zombie.’
‘She’s not as bad as that,’ Lovejoy protested, ‘but she could be brainwashed.’
‘That would be what attracted Hiram to Joanne,’ Charlotte mused: ‘a girl with abundant energy – and there was the added thrill that she belonged to someone else –’
‘She belonged to no one!’ Rose flushed with indignation. ‘You’re talking like – like a Mormon! She was her own woman. Hell, you don’t belong to Julius!’
‘So what do you reckon?’ Rose asked as they stood outside the Grand Imperial enjoying the stars. ‘Do you still think it was one gang killed both guys, or do you think someone else fired that shot at Timothy?’
‘Who would you think was responsible for Timothy’s death?’
‘Of the men in Dogtown? You’re serious?’ Rose turned away. ‘There’s a shooting star, it’s fallen on the Argus Range. Asa? He steals but I don’t see Asa shooting anyone – unless, of course, they were cruel to animals, but Timothy wasn’t. Hiram? He had all the opportunity in the world and he was the kind of guy would be driven up the wall by a girl like Joanne. Julius. Well … ’
‘Yes.’ Miss Pink too was thoughtful. The night was very quiet. They could hear the murmur of the Semples’ television set.
‘I did see him on the night of the twentieth,’ Rose insisted. ‘I wasn’t lying. He was working at a bench in the museum.’
They moved back from the hotel and looked up the street. There were lights in the museum. ‘They’re careless about electricity,’ Rose said. ‘They always leave the lights on. But I saw him; he was working on something with straps, like a bridle.’
‘I believe you.’
‘And you saw how he was terrified. You never met Joanne but she was one hell of a woman; if she did decide she wanted him, poor Julius wouldn’t know what hit him.’
Chapter 16
Lorraine Wolf was painting her nails. She stared helplessly as Miss Pink tendered a fifty-dollar bill in payment for petrol. ‘No hurry,’ Miss Pink said cheerfully, leaning against the counter to chat. ‘Is Hiram about?’
‘He’s on the school bus. He’s never here when you want him.’
‘I didn’t know he drove the school bus.’
‘He don’t. The driver’s off sick so Wolf’s standing in.’ She spread her fingers and regarded her nails critically.
‘That’s an unusual colour,’ Miss Pink said in admiration. ‘Very fetching.’
Lorraine blinked and picked up the bottle. Her lips moved soundlessly. ‘I can’t read it.’
‘Amaranth Lustre. It’s good teamed with white.’ Lorraine was wearing a white blouse with a plunging cleavage. Her eyes lit up and she gave Miss Pink a ravishing smile.
‘You really think so? You’re not just saying that? I didn’t know whether I could wear it: purple and white. I liked it in the book –’ she gestured to a magazine beside the cash register, ‘– but I don’t have the looks.’
‘Rubbish,’ said Miss Pink lightly, and continued in the same tone: ‘A nasty shock for your husband: finding Timothy’s body.’
Lorraine showed no surprise at this. ‘He didn’t say much, just it looked bad for Brett Vogel. But Brett were dead then.’
‘He’d be wanting to spare your feelings.’
‘I dunno about that. He said the animals had been there.’
‘What happened on July the twentieth?’ asked Miss Pink in the same kind of tone that she might have asked what was on television that day.
‘July twentieth?’ Lorraine shook her head in amazement. ‘That’s two months back! How would I remember that long ago?’
‘It was the night Timothy Argent was shot.’
‘It was? So why ask me if you knew?’
‘I put it badly. What I should have said was: did they call here for gas? or –’ she glanced out of the window, ‘– did they turn off on the Dogtown road?’
‘Who?’
‘The people who killed Timothy. It wasn’t Vogel.’
‘Wolf said it was. So does the police.’
‘Was Wolf here on July the twentieth?’
‘I don’t expect so. He’s out most nights. Wolf likes a drink.’
‘In Dogtown?’
‘You’re joking! That place don’t have a proper bar, and he’s got no time for – He don’t care for the Queen. He goes to Endeavor. Oh, sorry, you want to pay for the gas.’
She made out a receipt and Miss Pink took her change. ‘Is that your pick-up outside?’
‘It’s Wolf’s. Why?’
‘Should he leave a rifle in an open truck?’ It was in a rack at the back of the cab.
‘I don’t expect it’s loaded, and I keeps my eye on it.’
‘I don’t like seeing guns lying around in full view. There are strange people about.’
‘That’s why you gotta have a gun; you never know when you’re going to need it, particularly out here.’
Turning away, Miss Pink checked. ‘You mean that personally? You can handle a rifle too?’
‘Of course, everybody out here does. Plenty of times a girl’s on her own with her man off someplace till all hours. I keep the gun in the house at night – and I keep it loaded.’
‘That one?’
‘We only got the one.’
‘Every night? Then that means Wolf is on the roads in the dark without a gun.’
‘So what? He can lock the truck doors and he’s a man anyways. It’s me needs the gun on my own in this place. I bring the dog in too but she don’t even bark. The gun kills, don’t it?’
‘I was talking to Lorraine,’ Miss Pink said. ‘And she told me that the Wolfs have only one rifle and she keeps it in the house at night. So Hiram is out doing whatever he does unarmed.’
‘Why you telling me this?’ Asa Fortune was more interested in a white-headed woodpecker exploring a tree-trunk.
‘If she’s telling the truth it couldn’t have been Hiram who shot Timothy.�
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‘What made you think it was?’
‘Timothy was shot by mistake.’ When he didn’t react, she went on: ‘The killer saw a shadow behind a screen in a lighted room. He didn’t see the Jeep outside because Timothy had parked it above the cabin. He didn’t care one way or the other about Timothy; it was Joanne he was after.’
He sketched a nod. ‘So you worked it out. That wasn’t difficult.’
‘How many men would want Joanne to die slowly?’
‘Or want her dead?’ Now she had his interest. ‘Why do you put it like that: dying slowly?’
‘Someone hated her so much that when he thought she was in the crashed Jeep he made no attempt to go down into the creek and pull her out. She could have been alive and terribly injured.’
‘You’re guessing. There’s no way of knowing what happened.’
She ignored this. ‘Suppose Hiram did have a rifle that night and he did shoot Timothy, is he capable of leaving Joanne to die?’
‘Hiram Wolf.’ He chewed his moustache. A doe stepped out from behind a tree and regarded them gravely, its moist nose twitching. Fortune saw the deer and his voice softened. ‘He can kill,’ he said, ‘but so do I; I go away from here where I don’t know them. I kill strange beasts –’ his eyes sharpened but his voice stayed low, ‘– difficult to say whether it’s the same with people. It could work the other way round; it may be easier to kill folks as is close to you.’
‘And she wasn’t a stranger to him,’ she said quietly.
‘But she didn’t care for him.’
‘Did he care for her?’
‘How would I know?’
‘You might have been able to tell from his behaviour.’ Without a pause or a change in tone she went on: ‘In the tack-room, when you found the snake, the rosy boa, who was it came down out of the forest in Vogel’s pick-up?’
He looked away and the deer, which had started to browse, jerked her head and stared at him, poised to run. ‘Couldn’t tell,’ he said. ‘I just saw headlights.’
‘It was Vogel’s pick-up,’ she emphasised. ‘The killer used Vogel’s own truck to carry the body, even killed him with his own shovel.’
