I felt my reaction time slow and I calculated my response. Phyllis must have felt guilty about telling me and blabbed the minute she got home. I thought I better cover so I shrugged it aside. “She said something in passing. I really didn’t pay that much attention.”
“I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression.”
“No problem.”
“Because she attached more to it than was warranted.”
“Ah.”
“Don’t get me wrong. You don’t know the ladies in this town. Nothing escapes their notice and when it turns out to be nothing, they make it into something else. The woman Tom was talking to, that was strictly professional.”
“Not surprising. Everybody tells me he was good at his job. You know her name?”
“I don’t. I never heard it myself. She’s a sheriff’s investigator. I do know that much because I asked him about it later.”
“You happen to know what county?”
He scratched at his chin. “Not offhand. Could be Kern, San Benito, I forget what he said. I could see Phyllis put the hairy eye-ball on the two of them and I pled. Last thing Selma needs is t him. All she has is her memories what’s she got left?”
“I couldn’t agree more. Trust me, I’d never be irresponsible about something like that.”
“That’s good. I’m glad to hear that. People don’t like the notion you’re using up Tom’s money on a wildgoose chase. So what’s your timetable on this?”
“That remains to be seen. If you have any ideas, I hope you’ll let me know.”
Macon shook his head. “I wish I could help, but I realize I’m the wrong one to ask. I know I offered, but this is one of those circumstances where I’m not going to be objective. People admired Tom and I’m not just saying that because I admired him myself. If there was something tacky in his life . . . well, people aren’t going to want to know that about him. You take somebody like Margaret’s husband. I believe you talked to him at Tiny’s. Hatch was a protege of Tom’s, and the other fellow, Wayne, was somebody Tom rescued from a bad foster care situation. See what I mean? You can’t run around asking those fellows what Tom was like. They don’t take to it that well. They’ll be polite, but it’s not going to sit right.”
“I appreciate the warning.”
“I wouldn’t call it a warning. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. It’s just human nature to want to protect the people we care about. All I’m saying is, let’s not be hasty and cause trouble for no reason.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
NINE
I went back to the motel, making a brief detour into the Rainbow Cafe, where I picked up a pack of chips and a can of Pepsi. I was eating for comfort, but I couldn’t help myself. I hadn’t jogged for three weeks and I could feel my ass getting larger with every bite I ate. The young black woman who handled the griddle had paused to follow the weather channel on a small color television at the end of the counter. She was trim and attractive with loopy corkscrew curls jutting out around her head. I saw a frown cross her face when she saw what was coming up. “Hey now. I’m sick of this. Whatever happened to spring?” she asked of no one in particular.
Out in the Pacific, the radar showed the same clustered pattern of color as a CAT scan of the brain, areas of storm activity represented in shades of blue, green, and red. I was hoping to hit the road for home before the bad weather reached the area. March was unpredictable, and a heavy snowstorm could force the mountain passes to close. Nota Lake was technically located out of the reach of such blockades, but the rental car had no chains and I had scant experience driving in hazardous conditions.
Back in the cabin, I finished typing up my notes, translating all the pointless activity into the officioussounding language of a written report. What ended up on paper didn’t add up to anything because I’d neatly omitted the as-yet-unidentified female sheriff’s investigator, who may or may not have been interested in Tom Newquist and he in her. San Benito or Kern County, yeah, right, Macon.
At two, I decided to make a trip to the copy shop in town. I locked the cabin behind me and headed for my car. Cecilia must have been peering out the office window because the minute I walked by, she rapped on the glass and made a beckoning motion. She came to the door, holding a piece of paper aloft. Cecilia was so small she must have been forced to buy her clothes in the children’s department. Today’s outfit consisted of a long red sweatshirt with a teddy bear appliqued on the front worn over white leggings, with a pair of enormous jogging shoes. Her legs looked as spindly as a colt’s, complete with knobby knees. “You had a telephone call. Alice wants you to get in touch. I took the number this time, but in future, she ought to try reaching you at Selma’s. I run a motel here, not an answering service.”
Her aggrieved tone was irritating and inspired a matching complaint. “Oh, hey, now that I’ve got you, do you think I could get some heat? The cabin’s almost unliveable, close to freezing,” I said.
An expression of annoyance flashed across her face. “March first is the cutoff date for heating oil out here. I can’t just whistle up delivery because a couple of short term visitors to the area make a minor fuss.” Her tone suggested she’d been beleaguered with grumbles the better part of the day.
“Well, do what you can. I’d hate to have to complain to Selma when she’s footing the bill.”
Cecilia gave the door a little bang as she withdrew. Good luck to me, getting any other messages. I crossed to the pay phone and stood there, searching for change in the bottom of my handbag. I found a little cache of coins tucked in one corner along with assorted hairs and a ratty tissue. I dropped some money in the slot and dialed. Alice picked up on the fourth ring just about the time I expected her machine to kick in. “Hello?”
“Hello, Alice? Kinsey Millhone. I got your message. Are you at work or home?”
“Home. I’m not due at Tiny’s until four. I was in the process of setting my hair. Hang on a sec while I get the curlers out on this side. Ah, better. Nothing like a set of bristles sticking in your ear. Listen, this might not be helpful, but I thought I’d pass it along. The waitress who works counter over at the Rainbow is a good friend of mine. Her name’s Nancy. I mentioned Tom and told her what you were up to. She says he came in that night about eight-thirty and left just before closing. You can talk to her yourself if you want.”
“Is she the black girl?”
“Nuhn-uhn. That’s Barrett, Rafer LaMott’s daughter. Nancy doubles as a cashier. Brown hair, forties. I’m sure you’ve seen her in there because she’s seen you.”
“What else did she say? Was he alone or with someone?”
“I asked that myself and she says he was alone, at least as far as she could see. Said he had a cheeseburger and fries, drank some coffee, played some tunes on the jukebox, paid his ticket, and left about nine-thirty, just as she was closing out the register. Like I said, it might not mean anything, but she said she’d never known him to come in at that hour. You know the night he was found, he was out on 395, but he was heading toward the mountains instead of home to his place.”
“I remember that,” I said. “The coroner mentioned his having eaten a meal. According to Selma, he was in for the night. He didn’t even leave a note. By the time she got back from church, he was DOA at the local emergency room. Maybe he got a phone call and went to meet someone.”
“Or maybe he just got hungry, hon. Selma’s the type who’d make him eat veggies and brown rice. He could have sneaked out for something decent.” She laughed at herself. “I always said the food out there would kill you. I’ll bet his arteries seized up from all the fat he took in.”
“At least we know where he was in the hour just before he died.”
“Well, that’s hardly news. Nancy says the coroner covered the same ground. Anyways, I told you it wouldn’t count for much. I guess that about says it for my detective career.”
“You never know. Oh, one more thing as long as I have you on the line. You ever hear rumors about Tom and any other woman?”