“That’s right. The worst of ’em came west and settled in these mountains. What you’re dealing with now are their descendants. You want to watch your step.”
I laughed, uneasily. “What, this is like a Western? I’m being warned off? I have to be out of town by sundown?”
“Not a warning, a suggestion. For your own good,” he said.
I watched him leave the restaurant and realized how dry my mouth had become. I had that feeling I used to get before the first day of school, a low-level dread that acted as an appetite suppressant. Breakfast didn’t sound like such a hot idea. The place had cleared out. The couple by the window were getting up to leave. I saw them pay their check, Barrett taking over the cash register while Nancy hurried in my direction with a coffee pot and menu, all apologies. She handed me the menu. “Sorry it took me so long, but I was brewing a new pot and I could see you and Rafer had your heads together,” she said. She filled my mug with hot coffee. “You have any idea what you want to eat? I don’t mean to rush you. Take your time. I just don’t want to hold you up, you’ve been so patient.”
“I’m not hungry,” I said. “Why don’t I move to the counter so we can talk?”
“Sure thing.”
I picked up my mug and reached for the silverware.
“I’ll get that,” she said. She took the menu and the flatware, moving to the counter where she set a place for me between the griddle and the cash register. Barrett was in the process of cleaning the grill with a flat-edged spatula. Bacon fat and browned particles of pancake and sausage were being pushed into the well. Nancy rinsed a rag and twisted out the excess water, wiping the counter clean. “Alice says you’ve been asking about Pinkie Ritter.”
“You remember him?”
“Every woman in Nota Lake remembers him,” she said, tartly.
“Did he ever bother you?”
“Meaning what, unwanted sexual advances? He attacked me one night when I got off work. He waited in the parking lot and grabbed me by the neck as I was getting in my car. I kicked his ass up between his shoulder blades and that was the last of that. He was convicted of rape twice and that’s just the times he was caught.”
“Did you report it?”
“What for? I took care of it myself. What’s the law going to do, come along afterwards and smack his hand?”
Barrett had now come over to the small sink just below the counter in front of us and she was in the process of rinsing plates and arranging them in the rack for the industrial dishwasher I assumed was in the rear. She had her father’s light eyes and she made no secret of the fact that she was listening to Nancy’s tale and enjoying her attitude.
I caught her attention. “Did he ever come on to you?”
“Uhn-uhn. No way,” she said, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “I was close to jailbait at that point, barely eighteen years old. He knew better than to mess with me.”
I turned to Nancy. “What about other women? Anyone in particular? Earlene or Phyllis?”
Nancy shook her head. “Not that I heard, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t try. Guy like that goes after anyone who seems weak.”
“Could I ask you about something else?”
“Sure.”
“The night Tom Newquist died, he was in here earlier, wasn’t he?”
“That’s right. He came in about nine o’clock. Ordered a cheeseburger and fries, sat around and smoked, cigarettes, like he was killing time. Occasionally he’d look at his watch. I couldn’t figure it out. He never came in at that hour. I figured he was meeting someone, but she never showed up.”
“Why do you say ‘she’? Couldn’t it have been a man?”
Nancy seemed surprised at the idea. “I never thought about that. I just assumed.”
“Did he mention anyone by name?”
“No.”
“Did he use the telephone?”
She shook her head with some uncertainty and then turned to Barrett with a quizzical look. “You remember if Tom Newquist used the phone that night?”
“Not that I saw.”
Again, I directed a question to Barrett. “Did you get the impression he was here to meet someone?”
Barrett shrugged. “I guess.”
Nancy spoke up again. “You know what I think it was? He was freshly shaved. I remember remarking about his cologne or his aftershave. He looked sharp, like he’d gussied himself up. He wouldn’t do that if he were here to meet some guy.”
“You agree with that?” I asked Barrett.
“He did look nice, now you mention it,” she said. “I noticed that myself.”
“Did he seem annoyed or upset, like he’d been stood up?”
“Not a bit of it,” Nancy said. “Nine-thirty, got up, paid his check, and went out to his truck. I never saw him afterwards. I did closing that night so I was stuck in here. Did you see him out there?”
“In the parking lot? Not me.”
“You must have. You took off shortly before he did.”
Barrett thought about it, frowning slightly before she shook her head. “Maybe he was parked around back.”
“Where were you parked that night?” I asked.
“Nowhere. I didn’t have a car. My dad was picking me up.”
“She lives just over there on the other side of that subdivision, but her folks don’t like her walking home at night. They’re real protective, especially her dad.”
Barrett smiled, her dark skin underlined with the pink of her embarrassment. “I could be a preacher’s daughter. That’d be worse.”
We chatted on for a while. The place began to fill with the early church service crowd and I was clearly in the way. I was also hoping to avoid further confrontation with any irate citizens. I hunched into my jacket and went out to the car. Since the parking spot I’d found was around to the rear, I didn’t think I was visible to passing vehicles. I didn’t have the nerve to drive into town just yet. I couldn’t bear the idea of wandering around on my own, risking rudeness and rejection on the basis of floating rumors. People in the cafe had been fine so maybe it was just the service station attendants who’d passed a vote of no confidence.
I saw Macon Newquist pull off the highway and into the parking lot in a pickup truck. He was dressed in a suit that looked as unnatural on him as a bunny costume. I knew if he saw me, he’d start pumping me for information. I torqued myself around, reaching for my briefcase as though otherwise occupied. Along with my case notes, I’d tucked in the packets of index cards. I waited until he disappeared into the cafe before I got out of the car and locked it. I took my briefcase with me as I crunched along the berm to the Nota Lake Cabins.
Out front, the red Vacancy sign was lighted. The office lobby was unlocked and there was a flat plastic clock face hanging on the doorknob with the hands pointing to 11:30. The sign said BACK IN A JIFFY. I went in, crossing to the half-door that opened onto the empty office. “Cecilia? Are you here?”
There was no answer.
I was tempted, as usual, by the sight of all those seductive-looking desk drawers. The Rolodex and the file cabinets fairly begged to be searched, but I couldn’t for the life of me think what purpose it would serve. I sat down in the upholstered chair and opened a pack of index cards. I began to read through my notes, transferring one piece of information to each card with a borrowed ballpoint pen. In some ways, this was busywork. I could feel productive and efficient while sheltered from public scrutiny. Transcribing my notes had the further advantage of diverting my attention from the state of discomfort in which I found myself. Whereas last night I longed for home, I couldn’t picture turning tail and running on the basis of Rafer’s veiled “suggestion” about my personal safety. So what was I doing? Trying to satisfy myself that I’d done what I could. The deal I made with myself was to keep following leads until the trail ran out. If I came up against a blank wall, then I could return home with a clear conscience. In the meantime, I had a job and I was intent on doing it. Yeah, right, you chickenshit, I thought.
I went through a pack and a half of index cards without any startling revelations. I shuffled them twice and laid them out like a hand of solitaire, scanning row after row for telling details. For instance, I’d made a note that Cecilia’d told me she. got home around ten o’clock the night Tom died. She said she’d seen the ambulance, but had no idea it had been summoned for her brother. Could she have seen the woman walking down the road? It occurred to me the woman might have been staying at the Nota Lake Cabins, in which case her stroll might not have had anything to do with Tom. Worth asking, at any rate, just to eliminate the issue.