“Did you find it, whatever it was?”
“I’m not sure.”
She’ll tell me when she’s ready, he thought. I can’t rush her.
“I didn’t hear your motor. Or see you.”
“I was using the oars. And staying way back.”
“Did you hear those explosions? Just before they shot at me the first time?”
She nodded.
“You have any idea at all what they were?”
“No. It sounded like dynamite, but rather muffled.”
“That’s right,” he said. “I’m almost certain they were I set off under water. But you don’t know who could have done it? Or why?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head in bewilderment. “I was hoping to find out, the same as you were. But apparently whoever was doing it had other ideas.”
“It doesn’t make any sense.”
She stared at him. “I’ve noticed that about a number of things around here.” Then she added, “But I think we’d better go on. I’d like to change clothes, and put some iodine on this scratch.”
“Oh.” He reached back to start the motor. “I’m sorry. Does it hurt?”
“Not much. But I’d like to attend to it.”
When they pulled up at the float there was no one around. Shadows were lengthening now, and dark tranquil water mirrored the timber along the other shore. She stepped out and started to turn toward the path while he made the skiff fast. Then she paused.
He looked up. The brown eyes were regarding him with a disconcerting levelness. “I almost forgot,” she said quietly. “There was something I wanted to tell you.”
“What?”
“That good-time floozie you were so humorous about this morning—”
It caught him off guard. He could only stare.
“I thought you might like to know. She turned herself in to the police today.” Swinging about, she started up the path.
“Wait,” he called. But she was gone.
He caught her as she was passing his cabin. “I’ve got to talk to you.”
“Yes?” she said coolly.
“Yes. It’s important.”
She relented then. “All right. In about a half hour.”
He changed into dry clothing and shaved without knowing what he did. His thoughts ran futilely after a hundred questions at once. If she had gone to the police maybe that would take the pressure off Vickie. Wouldn’t that explode their so-called motive? Couldn’t they see it? But why had she waited all these days? It was obvious she had wanted to before this. And what about the trailer? And Easter? Who was she, and what was she looking for? She’ll tell me; she’ll clear it up.
When she came out of her cabin the short curls had been restored to their casual symmetry and to the dull gleam of polished ebony. She had changed to a white cotton dress and gilt sandals, but the smooth tanned legs were stockingless. She was fresh and sweet and very disturbing as she stepped down from the porch. She did not smile, however; the large eyes were quite serious.
He helped her into the car and got behind the wheel. “Would you go up past the Counselor?” she asked as they came out onto the highway. “I’d like to show you something.”
They went past it. She said nothing. A quarter mile beyond, as they neared a dirt road leading off to the right, she nodded, and he turned into it, wondering. The only thing in this direction was the ship channel, and there wouldn’t be a bridge—not on this road. In a few minutes they came to the end of it. There was only a field, off to their left, and the dark line of trees along the waterway. He stopped, and it was not until then that he saw, the scars of torn limbs and trunks that disfigured a pair of huge live oaks directly ahead over the edge of the water.
He turned and looked at her. “This was where it was?” It was as if the thing he had sensed before was now a certainty—that there was some dark link between her and that boat explosion.
“Yes,” she said simply.
He handed her a cigarette and lit it. She had turned a little on the seat and was facing him. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked.
Instead of answering his question, she asked quietly, “Mr. McHugh was a friend of yours, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” he said. Something told him that everything had to be out in the open between him and this girl now and from this time onward. “He was the best friend I ever had. And Vickie Shane’s my sister.”
She nodded. “I should have guessed it before, I suppose. This morning, when you—”
“I’m sorry about that,” he interrupted. “But, you see, it was an act. I was fishing. I thought you might be the girl, but I still wasn’t sure.”
“Yes. I sensed that somehow, but it hit home anyway, because I deserved it. I know it’s a little late now to tell you this, but the only thing I can say in my defense is that I had no intention at all of leaving the country until I had gone, to the District Attorney and told him. But I was praying for time. I was desperate for just a few more days.”
“You don’t have to explain,” Reno said grimly. “I know what you mean. As soon as word got out that you were connected with McHugh in any way, or even knew him, time would be something you might run out of in a hurry.”
Her face was unhappy. “That’s it. Mr. McHugh believed—and I did, too—that there was some strange connection between the disappearances, some terrible thing we hadn’t even guessed—”
“Wait,” Reno broke in, his head jerking erect at her use of the plural. “You mean there was another one? Besides Conway?”
“Yes.” She took a puff on the cigarette and turned to look out across the blasted trees and the ship channel. “There was another one.” There was an infinite weariness in her tone.
Then she appeared to gather herself up, and went on, “But I’m trying to show you why I kept putting off going to the District Attorney. I was terrified. Suppose there was some connection, that it was all part of something terrible that we didn’t know about? He’d been killed, and if I went to the police it might get in the papers. I’d be exposed, with no place to hide; and even if the same man didn’t kill me, I’d never find out what I was trying to. Don’t you see, Mr. Reno?”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I see, all right. And, incidentally, my name is Pete.” Then he added, “But you did go to the police today. Why?”
“I don’t know, actually. I guess I just couldn’t stand it any longer. I mean, knowing what Miss Shane was going through there all alone and that I was withholding the little help I could give her.”
“I don’t know whether you sit up nights worrying about my opinion,” he said. “But you’re all right, in my book.” Then he asked, “What happened? Today, I mean.”
“I went to the police first,” she said. “And talked to Lieutenant Wayland. He took me in to see the District Attorney. I told them about calling Mr. McHugh at his hotel that night and how he had met me in the lobby. I had something to tell him, so we walked around for a while, and then we sat on a bench over in the park for about an hour, talking about it—”
“Just a minute,” Reno interrupted. “What was it you told McHugh?”
“That I’d just come from the library, from looking up something in the back copies of the paper, and that I’d found out the ship this man Conway came back from Italy on had gone up the channel—”
“Just before Griffin’s boat blew up,” Reno finished softly.
She looked at him, startled. “How did you know?”
“I looked it up too. There’s one thing about all this mess—sooner or later you always get back to Counsel. But never mind that,” he went on quickly. “What did the District Attorney say? Maybe this will change their tune.”
She shook her head with regret. “I’m sorry, Pete. I’m not sure they even believed me.”
“Didn’t believe you?” he asked angrily. “Don’t they know you’ll make the same statement on the stand? And that if Vickie knew who you were and why you were there, what they call a motive is nothing but eyewash?”