After I left T.C. I called the number in the 510 area code that Cammie Charles had left with her friend Verna. On the third ring, a familiar voice picked up.
“Cammie? Sharon McCone, the private investigator-”
“I know who you are. Who gave you this number?”
I ignored the question. “I found Bud Smith’s SUV in Toiyabe yesterday. And today the sheriff’s department found his body.”
“Oh, God. When we saw the Subaru I recognized it. I told Rich we should report it.”
“And he didn’t want to get involved.”
“No. Rich, there was some problem between him and Bud. He said it looked like Bud had been killed and he didn’t want anything to do with the cops. I told him we couldn’t just walk away from this… thing. But we did.”
“Why didn’t you report it?”
Silence.
“Because Rich said not to?”
“… Yeah. I didn’t want him to get in trouble.”
“But you left him.”
“I thought if I did, he’d shape up, take responsibility for his life, and then we’d get back together.”
Verna had been right about Cammie’s motives. “So what was this problem between Rich and Bud?”
“I don’t know. You’d better ask Rich.”
“I’ll do that. Any message you want me to pass along?”
“… No. Well, yes. Just tell him I love him.”
I drove to Elk Lake, but Rich Three Wings wasn’t there. Finally I caught up with him at Hobo’s around eight o’clock that evening. He was sitting at the bar, the two stools to either side of him vacant, as if the other patrons feared the aura of gloom he exuded might be contagious. I sat down to his right.
“Rich, I spoke with Cammie tonight.”
He started, his eyes jerking toward me. “Jesus! You scared me.”
“Sorry. As I said-”
“You talked to Cammie. Where is she?”
“Some friends’ house in the East Bay.”
“That would be Kendall and Dan Clark. They visited up here a couple of times. How’d you get their number?”
“Verna, from the flower shop.”
“Is Cammie okay?”
“Yes. She asked me to tell you she loves you. I think she’s waiting for you to call and make nice.”
“Yeah, that’s her style. She knows I’ve got the phone number.”
“Are you going to?”
He considered, turning his glass between his hands. The bartender looked questioningly at me, but I shook my head.
“I don’t think so,” Rich finally said. “Cammie’s better off without me. I’m an asshole.”
“Because of what happened in Toiyabe?”
Silence.
“She told me about it.”
“Then you know why she’s better off. Bud Smith was probably out there struggling to survive, and I didn’t want to get involved. What kind of a shit does that make me?”
“It makes you human. And you couldn’t’ve done anything for Bud; he was long dead by then. The sheriff’s search party found his body today; he’d been shot in the back, probably somewhere else.”
“Jesus, all this killing.” He shook his head. “Why would somebody shoot Bud?”
“Well, there was trouble between the two of you. What was that about?”
“… We got into an argument in here a few years ago. One of those pushing and shoving things. Nothing unusual, but people in this town have long memories.”
“What was the argument about?”
“Miri wrote a letter to Hayley and asked Bud to hold it for her, in case she ever came home. Bud said he hadn’t read it, was keeping it in his office safe. But I could tell he was lying.”
“How did you know about the letter?”
“Miri got drunk in here a lot. When she drank, she couldn’t hold her tongue; she talked about the letter, but she never would say what was in it. About that she wouldn’t say a word.”
“And why would she entrust something that important to Bud?”
“Miri had a small insurance policy with him. When it was going to lapse because she couldn’t make the payments, Bud took them over. He was nice to her in other ways. She said he never judged her.”
Well, that fit with what I knew about Miri’s rape and Bud covering for his brother. Guilt, plain and simple. “So you asked Bud about the letter and that led to this pushing and shoving.”
“Yeah. Another example of what an asshole I am. I mean, Hayley wasn’t any of my business any more. We were divorced. I’d made a new life for myself. But I couldn’t let it rest.”
“As far as you know, when Hayley came back to town, did Bud give her Miri’s letter?”
“I didn’t even know Hayley was here till she was killed.”
“She took out an insurance policy with Amy as beneficiary. Do you think Bud would’ve passed on the letter then?”
“Probably. He knew Hayley would never go see her mother. She hated her. Once told me she wished she’d die.”
After eleven. I pushed Tom Mathers’ log book aside and rubbed my eyes. I’d come back and answered my business messages, then called Ma, and finally Hy, who was in Chicago “cleaning house.” Which meant that, as part of his reorganization plan, he was firing and hiring personnel for RI’s most inept and corrupt branch office. He was tired, frustrated, and disappointed that he couldn’t get back for the weekend. I told him no worries, my case was coming to a conclusion, and I’d probably be in San Francisco when he arrived next week.
I sounded more confident than I felt.
I microwaved myself some mac and cheese, and then, feeling guilty about my recent poor eating habits, made a small salad. Ate while watching an old episode of All in the Family on TV. The show held up, even in this tumultuous first decade of the twenty-first century. Come to think of it, not much had really changed since the nineteen-seventies; technological advances, yes, but not matters of the human conscience and heart.
The rest of the evening I devoted to Mathers’ log. T.C. was right: there were no notations to indicate trouble on any of the trips. I jotted down names and addresses of the clients for searches to make after I got back from Inyo County tomorrow.
Now, even as tired as I was, I got some carrots from the fridge and took them out to King Lear. The horse whickered when he heard my footsteps, nuzzled my hand as he took his treats. I stood petting him for a while, then said, “You know what? We’ve got to get you a companion. Being an only horse is not a good thing.”
Friday
There was frost everywhere when I looked out the kitchen window in the morning. Frost so heavy it mimicked the snowcapped peaks of the mountains. I was glad Lark and I weren’t due at the Inyo County jail till two, when the day would have warmed some; cold-weather flying is something I prefer to leave to Hy.
I called the agency. Ted told me he’d taken matters into his own hands and was researching copy machines. He was fed up with calling the repairman for our present one, and had been lobbying for a replacement for months.
“I’m getting to know the repair guy so well, I feel like I should invite him to Thanksgiving dinner,” he added. “Speaking of which, are you and Hy gonna make it this year?”
Ted’s annual Thanksgiving party. God, I’d forgotten all about it! I glanced at the calendar on the wall by the fridge; I hadn’t changed it from October.
“Uh, when is Thanksgiving?”
Ted let out a despairing sigh. “Next week. What planet are you living on?”
“A very strange one. Count us in.” Even if I had to fly back for just the one day.
“Good. Is it okay to go ahead with the new copier?”
“Yes. But don’t finalize the sale till you okay the price with me. And now let me talk to Patrick, please.”
Patrick sounded tense. “Six new clients yesterday, Shar. All corporate. Derek and Thelia and I have split them up among us, but there’re other cases that’re backlogged. What with Mick in rehab…”