“It’s a young woman named Anne Meyer. I have a picture of her here.”
She squinted at the snapshot of the laughing girl on the beach. “Yep,” she said. “I thought so. I knew she wasn’t up to any good.”
“You’ve seen her?”
“Plenty of times. She used to come up here with that fourflusher that married Katie Craig.”
“Kerrigan.”
“That’s the one. A fourflusher and a womanizer if I ever saw one.” Her mouth was tight and grim. “Did Katie finally decide to divorce him?”
“You’re a good guesser.” Not good enough, but good.
“I’d say it’s about time. I’ve known Katie Craig since she was knee-high. She was as bright and sweet a kid as you could ask for, only somehow she never learned to look out for herself. I don’t mean to criticize the old Judge. He was a wonderful man, and it wasn’t his fault. I guess it wasn’t anybody’s fault. She was engaged to marry Talley Raymond from San Francisco, then he got killed in the war and it knocked Katie for a loop, you might say. She married the wrong man, you can take my word for it. I know what it is to marry a wrong ’un myself.” Her heavy neck flushed streakily. “When I think of the waste of a girl like that marrying a man like Kerrigan, it makes me heartsick. And then he had to come up here and turn the Judge’s summer residence into a – a nest of concubines, that’s what it is.” The slow flush mounted her face under the tan. “I’m talking too much.” She stared down intently at the snapshot in her hand, as if to focus her emotions on it.
“When did you see this woman last?”
“Monday, I guess it was. She spent the weekend up here, her first for a long time. I think it was the only time this summer. I was surprised to see her.”
“Why?”
“Mr. Kerrigan had a new girl, that’s why.” She threw an intolerant glance in the general direction of the Inn. “Last summer it was different. This biddy used to drive up with him practically every weekend, bold as brass. I often used to wonder if Katie knew about it. I was tempted to write her a anonymous letter, but I never did.”
“I’m interested in this last weekend,” I said.
“Well, she came in here on Saturday afternoon, asked me for water. Her radiator was boiling. Mine boiled, too, when I saw her. I had half a mind to tell her that there was plenty of water in the lake and she could take a running jump in it. But Ralph wouldn’t have liked that. He was here, and he tells me I got to maintain good public relations. That’s the way Ralph talks.”
“What kind of a car was she driving?”
“Black Chrysler convertible. Lord knows where she got the money to pay for it. The Devil knows, anyways.”
“Was she alone?”
“For a change she was. But she was all prissied up and dressed to kill, and I said to myself at the time: ‘You’re meeting a man and you don’t have to try the innocent act on me.’ She was, too.”
“Did Kerrigan show up later?”
“She didn’t come up to spend the weekend knitting. I saw them together Monday. For all I know he was in the cabin with her the whole weekend. I had better things to do over the weekend than spy on him and his hussy. But Monday afternoon I was coming back from fishing and I passed them on the road. They were headed toward the Inn.”
“Both of them? Kerrigan and Anne Meyer?”
“If that’s her name. Leastwise, he had a woman with him. I didn’t see her face – she had a hat on – but it must of been her.”
“Would you swear to it?”
She looked a little flustered for a moment. “Sure I would, if Katie needs it for her divorce.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t Mrs. Kerrigan herself?”
“Naw. I’d know Katie if she had a potato sack over her head. It wasn’t her. It was this one.” She flourished the picture.
I took it out of her hand. “Was she driving?”
“No, he was. She was leaning back in the seat with her face sort of turned into the corner. Which is why I didn’t get a decent look at her. Not that I was missing much.”
I said: “Mrs. Devore – do I have your name right?”
“Yep.”
“This woman you saw in the car with Kerrigan. Are you sure she was alive?”
Her face went ugly with surprise. She looked like a bewildered bulldog. “That’s some question, mister.”
“Can you answer it?”
“Not for sure I can’t. I didn’t see her move or talk, but she certainly didn’t look dead. Is she supposed to be dead?”
“This is Friday. She was last seen Monday, unless you’ve seen her since.”
“Nope, I haven’t seen her. What goes on, anyway?”
“Murder. There’s quite an epidemic of it running in Las Cruces.”
“Holy cow.” Her jaw pushed forward and the lower teeth scraped at the few black hairs on her upper lip. “Maybe Ralph was right at that.”
“Right about what?”
“About this fellow that came here Saturday night. He knocked on the door about ten o’clock, wanted the use of a phone. I told him we didn’t have one – the only phone up here belongs to the forest service. The little whippersnapper didn’t believe me. He got mad and wanted to make a personal issue out of it: something about how he was a Mex and that was why I wouldn’t let him in. I told him, shucks, said I got no feeling against Mexicans. He didn’t believe that either.”
“What did he look like?”
“Well, he looked like a Mex to me, though he didn’t talk like one. He talked pretty good English, just as good as me. But he was dark-complected and he had that dead black hair, sort of curly. And those big black eyes they have. I never seen such eyes in a man’s head. They rolled around in their sockets like he was off his rocker. That’s what Ralph thought, too. Lucky Ralph was here. He practically had to throw him out on his ear.”
“Did you say he was a small man?”
“Compared to you or Ralph he was. Medium-sized. Pretty well built at that, but I almost had to laugh when he wanted to fight with Ralph.”
“What did he say?”
“Something about he had an important telephone call and could he use our phone. I said, sure, if we had one, only we don’t. Then he got sassy, started to call me names. That’s when Ralph stepped in. Ralph grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and marched him out to his car. He was screaming at Ralph in Spanish. Ralph said after, it was just as well I don’t know any Spanish.
“Ralph didn’t think it was very funny, though. He could handle the fellow all right, but he was worried about other people. He said in his opinion the fellow was dangerous. Borderline psychopath, I think he said, something like that. Ralph is a real deep student of psychology. He said you can often tell them by their eyes: they get that vacant look in their eyes like there was nobody home. This one certainly had it. So maybe he’s the one you’re looking for?” Her face was transfigured, bright with curiosity.
“I found him yesterday, if it was the man I think it was.”
“And he committed a murder?”
“He was involved in one.”
“Who is he?”
“His name is Tony Aquista,” I said. “Getting back to Monday afternoon, you said that Kerrigan was driving the woman’s car toward the Inn?”
“Yessir.”
“What about the old man at the Inn?”
“MacGowan, you mean? He’s the caretaker.”
“Did he see them after you did?”
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been talking to him this last month.” Her mouth clamped tight on itself again. “Not since the old rounder let his granddaughter take up with Kerrigan. He’s irresponsible, an old fool, that’s what he is.”