Miss Pink Investigates 3

by Gwen Moffat

  Suddenly it seemed that the subject died. They had finished eating (Lois had scarcely touched her sandwich); Chester had filled their glasses, they were silent until Miss Pink said, ‘I don’t think you need me; you seem to have coped with Laddow’s vague threats very well on your own.’

  Chester’s jaw dropped but he didn’t speak. Lois said, ‘He had another theory but that was so way out it was fantasy. Wasn’t it, Chester?’

  ‘Yes, but nasty. Fantasy, of course, like you say.’

  Miss Pink sipped her wine. ‘You tell her, Chester,’ Lois urged. ‘I didn’t take it in properly. I was tired and still in shock, I guess.’

  ‘It was ridiculous,’ he protested. ‘Laddow was saying it was possible Andy never left.’

  Miss Pink, who had not forgotten the first stonefall, the one after the tree fell last Tuesday, before the rain started, looked politely interested, and then saw that Chester was mutely begging for this theory to be refuted. She obliged. ‘If Andy never left, who was driving the Chevy?’

  ‘That’s the point!’ he cried. ‘But suppose it was true: that someone else was driving when Carl and Fleur thought they saw Andy, what’s more natural than that it was someone Gayleen knew, came to pick her up, take her back to Portland: some hippie type from Moon Shell Beach, hitched to Sundown because Gayleen told him she’d be here? Could be her boyfriend, even her pimp.’

  ‘Could be,’ Miss Pink agreed. ‘What makes that so fantastic?’

  Lois grinned. ‘That’s Chester’s theory,’ she pointed out. ‘Laddow figures the driver could have come from here.’

  ‘From right here!’ Chester said heatedly. ‘And he was looking at Lois when he said it. Which is why we need you.’ He regarded Lois fiercely. ‘She won’t have it; she doesn’t care. I can’t persuade her to get legal advice but I did convince her to bring you in. She needs protection.’

  Lois ignored him. Miss Pink objected. ‘What we all need right now,’ she said, ‘is a good night’s sleep.’ She stood up and, taken by surprise, the others followed suit.

  Lois said politely, ‘Thank you very much for coming. We’ll see you tomorrow.’ She made to turn away, remembered her manners and accompanied her guest to the door.

  ‘I’ll walk you home,’ Chester said, and turning to Lois, ‘I’ll not be more than half an hour.’

  ‘Go home, Chester; I’m going to bed.’

  ‘Leave the door open. I’ll sleep in Grace’s room.’

  ‘Dear man.’ She touched his arm before starting up the stairs.

  As the door closed behind them Miss Pink asked, ‘Does she have sleeping pills?’

  ‘Lois! Never took one in her life. Won’t have even an aspirin in the house. You don’t have to bother about her taking a pill on top of alcohol. She’ll be all right once she gets over the shock, and I’ll be there tonight if she needs to talk. It’s this guilt business is the problem, you see that. Neglected her husband in favour of her work, blaming herself because he got involved with unsavoury characters. Believe me, Melinda, that guy was rotten from the start: married her to get himself an easy living, and never gave up his bad old habits.’

  ‘Are you telling me he was a criminal?’

  ‘No, he was a parasite.’

  They were walking along the road, avoiding the potholes by the light of his torch. Miss Pink asked curiously, ‘What do you think happened?’

  He was quiet for a moment. ‘It is difficult,’ he confessed. ‘Either he did come back – Andy, I mean; he killed Gayleen, got back somehow, and maybe spent the night in the cabin without Lois knowing, then went hiking next day and fell – or he didn’t leave at all, and it was someone else drove Gayleen away. And shot her, of course, because the person who was driving the Chevy had to be the murderer. Didn’t he?’ His tone had grown increasingly diffident and now he stopped walking and faced her in the starlight. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I’m not going to be like Laddow and put forward a host of theories. We all need sleep. Truthfully, Chester, I don’t want to consider it at this moment.’

  ‘Will you tomorrow?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Consider it, and help Lois.’

  ‘You think she needs help?’

  ‘She’s in a spot. She’s too close. If Andy killed Gayleen and came back it’s almost certain he touched base, as it were; spent the night in the cabin. Perhaps’ – his voice faded as he turned and looked out to sea – ‘perhaps he did come to her and she’s concealing it. And then again, if he had the accident on the Tuesday, then the guy who drove Gayleen away had to come to the house to pick up the Chevy. No way can Laddow see a guy doing that without Lois knowing. He has no concept of how an author works: retreating into another world.’

  ‘And the stereo going, which would mask the sound of an engine.’

  ‘Exactly. Please help, Melinda. She’s a rich woman, she can pay – but of course she’ll say she doesn’t need you, technically speaking; I’m sure she was very grateful for your company tonight. However, I’m not poor; suppose I – er – engage your services?’

  She smiled in the darkness. ‘Let’s sleep on it. I assure you: I’ll put my oar in if necessary. I’m all for justice.’ Her tone was deliberately light.

  Chapter 12

  Miss Pink rose early and sat on her balcony drinking French Roast and wondering how the police would react to her becoming involved in their investigation. When Leo telephoned, asking if she would join them for another owl-hunt, she had difficulty orientating herself. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not going back there.’

  ‘Not there!’ Leo protested. ‘We don’t have to go near the landslide – well, not the bottom of it.’

  ‘Another time – ’

  ‘What happened? What did Lois want?’

  Miss Pink hesitated. This was bad manners even for the outspoken Leo. ‘I think,’ she said carefully, ‘we need to talk. What time will you be home from your hike?’

  ‘If it’s that important we won’t go.’

  ‘I have things to do. Can I call you this evening?’

  There was an empty silence: Leo had put her hand over the mouthpiece. Suddenly she was back, with a change of tone. ‘This evening will be fine; we’ll be home.’

  Sadie, thought Miss Pink, was a restraining influence.

  As she put the telephone down someone knocked at the door. She opened it to Laddow who greeted her as effusively as if she were his favourite aunt. He accepted her offer of coffee and a seat on the deck but although it was early and he looked fresh (she wondered how much sleep he’d had) he sat down with a sigh and regarded the dazzling stacks as if they were a reward for some arduous task just completed.

  ‘I’ll never forget this place,’ he pronounced, shaking his head in wonder. ‘I could spend the rest of my life here.’

  ‘I don’t think Mr Hammet is so appreciative.’

  ‘Oh, Hammett. He’s away to Portland.’ It was tossed off carelessly but he was waiting for her reaction.

  ‘He’s gone back – to work from the other end?’

  ‘The other end? No, no; just to be present at the autopsy: chain of evidence, you know. He supervised the removal of the body so he has to accompany it to the morgue.’

  ‘I’m sorry for him. And for the pathologist.’

  ‘What? Oh, yes. Terrible, wasn’t it? I can do without aged cadavers. In such an environment too!’

  They were silent, sipping their coffee, waiting each other out until she wearied of the game. ‘So, after a night’s sleep, which theory do you favour, Mr Laddow?’

  Expressions flitted across the mobile features: surprise, amusement, respect. ‘Mrs Keller summoned you after I left?’

  ‘Not to say “summoned”.’

  ‘No, that was impertinent. Which theory do you favour?’

  She studied his face which now appeared totally ingenuous. ‘I wouldn’t like to form an opinion from the facts as they stand,’ she said. ‘And who’s to say they are facts? Where is the gun and Andy Keller’s
Stetson?’

  A change of expression was, by now, predictable, but before his brows rose and his eyes widened, she had seen a spark of genuine surprise and knew that, behind the mask of astonishment, he was watching her carefully and, no doubt, catching every nuance in her voice.

  ‘We haven’t found them yet. Why do you attach importance to the hat?’

  ‘Because it hasn’t been found? I’m not sure. Did the drug addict mention it?’

  ‘This came up before. No, ma’am; we went back to him. He swears there was no Stetson in the car. Why should he lie? You’re thinking someone else wore it, maybe?’

  ‘You suggested it.’ She was equable. ‘Don’t you have a theory that Keller never left Sundown and someone else drove the Chevy away?’

  ‘I think you arrived at that theory independently. Who was driving?’

  She blinked at him, her lips parted.

  ‘Who was driving the Chevy?’ he elaborated.

  ‘The murderer, presumably.’

  He smiled. ‘You could be a lot of assistance to me.’ The tone was silky. He was, of course, employing a double bluff, but behind it she scented a triple stage, and two could play that game.

  ‘These people are my friends,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘Even if one is a murderer?’

  ‘Why couldn’t it have been Andy Keller?’

  ‘Several reasons.’ He was serious. ‘One: he couldn’t have covered the distance from Moon Shell Beach to the landslide in the time. Remember, he had to – fall, before the rain stopped. Two: that type don’t commit suicide. Anyways, there was no weapon near the body— ’

  ‘That could be there: under the rocks.’

  His eyes sharpened. ‘We’re looking for it. Three: the man was fit, strong, a hiker. Do hikers fall off trails? I don’t know; that’s your department.’

  ‘It happens all the time. It’s not fitness or experience that count but lack of concentration. Anyone could fall off that trail.’

  ‘OK. Now suppose he did come back: where’s his billfold and his Stetson? No, ma’am; Keller never left Sundown. Someone else was driving that Chevy: wearing his hat and shades – someone Gayleen knew. That person could say: “There’s Fleur; wave to her. There’s Carl from the Tattler; give him a wave.” It was someone she trusted, someone she’d obey automatically, like her boyfriend’s wife.’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ Shocked, she lapsed into the American idiom. ‘Gayleen trusted her boyfriend’s wife? You’re not listening to what you’re saying.’

  ‘But they were on excellent terms! Everyone knows that.’

  ‘So why kill her?’

  ‘Yes. Why kill her?’ The silence lengthened. ‘Why?’ he repeated. ‘Who wanted Gayleen dead?’ He looked at her without expression. ‘You got to have a very strong motive to kill someone.’

  She moved impatiently, wanting to deny it, refusing to do so, knowing that she could well implicate someone she didn’t want implicated. She didn’t like the significance of that. She said, ‘This hypothetical driver: did he leave fingerprints? Silly question. I mean, are there fingerprints on the car that shouldn’t be there?’

  He grinned. It was still a silly question. Nevertheless he responded seriously. ‘The only prints were those of the girl who was driving in Portland, the prostitute, and those of her pimp, the drug addict who stole it originally and the crooked dealer.’

  ‘No others at all?’

  ‘No others on the steering wheel and none elsewhere although you’d expect Andy’s and Gayleen’s. No, before the addict stole that car, it had been wiped clean: doors and trunk, everything, but there were smudges too, like someone wore gloves. In August?’ She absorbed this, staring at the cove without seeing it. ‘You could help us,’ he repeated quietly. ‘You know them; like you said: they’re your friends. Don’t you want to clear them of suspicion?’ The tone indicated that she could accept it as a joke – a sick joke in the circumstances – but there was the tacit acceptance that, should she take him seriously, there were no witnesses to the conversation. Laddow, as Lois pointed out, was a fisherman.

  ‘A glorious day,’ Eve Linquist agreed, lowering herself to a chair in the window of the Tattler’s sun-room. ‘All right for some,’ she added serenely, nodding towards Fin Whale Head.

  ‘What’s he after?’ Miss Pink asked.

  ‘Snapper. He’ll bake it for dinner if he catches one. Can we tempt you?’

  ‘I’d be delighted.’ She thought quickly. ‘Maybe Sadie and Leo will come.’

  ‘Why not? They’ll be birding, nice day like this, no fog. Sadie will be glad of someone else to cook dinner for her. I should go for a walk myself, get some exercise. That’ll be the day. And there’s that other guy: diving into his little shed again, working on his masterpiece. Lot of exercise he gets.’

  Miss Pink was just in time to catch sight of Boligard Sykes disappearing into his cabin.

  ‘Clever guy,’ Eve said. ‘Driven.’

  Miss Pink regarded the round innocent face, the braided hair, the pale eyes that met her own. ‘Driven?’

  ‘“Driven by demons”: his own expression.’

  ‘I see. What is he working on now?’

  ‘I don’t know. An ocean epic, no doubt; like some old guy fishing below Fin Whale Head and hooking a great white shark. No, that’s been done; a wolf-eel then.’ She smiled placidly.

  ‘You don’t think he has talent?’

  ‘Oh, he’ll have talent. Is that sufficient? He has enormous application – concentration for all I know; look at him now: he’ll be in that shed till dark, except for lunch – Mabel insists he go home for lunch – but where’s the end-product?’ She didn’t sound interested. ‘Who cares?’ she added. ‘It gets him out from under Mabel’s feet.’

  ‘Well-trained,’ murmured Miss Pink.

  ‘If you’re going to live with them you gotta make sure they’re occupied. You’re not married so you never had the problem, but everyone here ’cept Sadie and Leo – and they don’t count – they’ve had to work something out.’

  ‘So your husband cooks and fishes,’ Miss Pink mused. ‘Boligard pens epics, Jason has his bookstore. Miriam, being a widow, doesn’t have the problem. Lois?’

  ‘Miriam would have the problem eventually except that Oliver will go before he’s thrown out. Lois was kinda similar. Andy left. You say they’re doing the autopsy this morning. When will they know the result?’

  ‘That depends on the damage. It will be interesting to see if he was shot with the same calibre weapon as the one used on Gayleen.’

  ‘Which was the same as the one Lois – what!’ Eve gasped. ‘Andy was shot?’

  ‘Didn’t you realise?’ Miss Pink was all innocence. ‘That he comm— he could have committed suicide?’

  Eve looked away, biting her lip. ‘I see,’ she said softly, her eyes straying to the headland. ‘He killed Gayleen and then himself. With a .22, you said: a revolver.’

  ‘They recovered the bullet that killed Gayleen. They will say only that it’s a .22. But it wasn’t a rifle.’

  ‘Oh, no, not a rifle.’ Now they both stared at the rocks below Fin Whale Head.

  ‘Who else owns a firearm?’ Miss Pink asked.

  ‘I don’t know who has a .22. Leo Brant has a .45, Boligard’s got a shotgun, my old man has a deer rifle; Miriam – I don’t know anything about Miriam’s firearms, if she has any. Are the police asking everyone if they have a gun?’

  ‘They won’t trouble. If someone said Carl owns a rifle, they wouldn’t come to you.’

  ‘You mean they question people about their neighbours?’

  ‘Naturally, that’s how they get a lot of information.’

  ‘But that’s monstrous! They believe what people say? Suppose there’s someone has it in for you, for his neighbour: tells lies, vindictive folk, like that?’

  ‘You mean, someone might say you had a .22 revolver, or owned one at some time, or that Carl was seen with Gayleen one evening?’

  ‘That’s gross
. Someone said that?’

  ‘Just a scenario demonstrating spite. That was what you meant, surely?’

  Eve turned troubled eyes on Miss Pink. ‘I did mean that kind of thing but I hadn’t followed through. Does this have anything to do with Carl being the last person to see them?’

  ‘Andy and Gayleen?’

  ‘Of course. It wasn’t as if he saw them here; it was on the road, for heaven’s sake! The Highways people at the roadworks must have seen them after Carl did – and then Andy had to come back here because that’s his body in the landslip.’

  ‘Yes, that’s his body – evidently; there’s the key of the motel – ’

  Eve’s lip curled. ‘Isn’t that just like the guy: shacking up with a prostitute.’ She stiffened. ‘I hadn’t thought of that: he’d be living on her earnings. Disgusting. You know what he was before he married Lois? He came from some scrappy old ranch over in the east: Wallowa, Stinking Water, wherever: the boondocks.’

  ‘How did they meet?’

  ‘At some writing seminar Lois was helping out with at Eugene. Andy had worked his way through school – he had all his wits about him, you know; he wasn’t dumb. He called himself a screen-writer but he never sold anything till he married Lois. It was her had the contacts; she had the money and the nice home too. You know something: when Andy first come here, he was like Gayleen at that party, didn’t know ought from somp’n – as they say. Kept his hat on indoors – like he did the other day, remember? Lois broke him off of that but he reverts when he wants to annoy, like ordering beer with his dinner, and that day: keeping his hat on to shock, so’s that whore would see him as the local playboy.’

  She stopped speaking and Miss Pink stared blandly at the ocean, wondering how her companion would recover poise unbalanced by rage and sloppy grammar.

  ‘He was a farm boy,’ Eve said heavily. ‘And Lois is a pushover where a handsome face is concerned.’

  Carl came plodding along the sand in his waders, carrying two large fish.

  ‘Snapper?’ Miss Pink asked eagerly. ‘Eve told me to come down to dinner. Aren’t they magnificent?’