“Where are we going?”
“We’re going to pay a call on Bevel Harkness,” said Pilot, his eyes on the road.
“Good. Once he takes over, you can give me a lift back to town.” Over his protests, Dr. Putnam had been given the keys to Coltsfoot’s car, and instructed to take the body back to town. Daniel hoped that this fact could be kept from Patricia; trading cars was such a hassle. He realized that Pilot had not responded to his request for a ride to town. “Or I could hitchhike,” he added hopefully.
“’Fraid not,” said Pilot. “Unless Harkness has an outstanding alibi which does not depend on members of his family, you are in it for the duration, son.”
Coltsfoot sighed. He was afraid of that. “Is this Harkness guy a suspect, then?”
“Let’s just say I’m taking no chances.”
Coltsfoot played his last card. “I don’t have any police training, you know.”
“Uh-huh,” nodded Pilot Barnes. “Well, you know those cop shows on the television? “Adam-12” and “Hawaii Five-0,” that kind of thing?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Well, you forget everything you ever saw on them, and don’t do nothing without I tell you to. You’ll get along fine.”
Coltsfoot slumped farther down in his seat, sighing. He wondered if they shot deputies for trying to escape.
Bevel Harkness lived in an old-style log house, gray logs wedged together with concrete, dating from the turn of the century. Its setting, with spreading oaks and wild mountain laurel, would have been impressive but for Harkness’ unfortunate tendency to use the yard as a museum for old farm equipment.
Dummyweed, who drew the line at picturesque clutter, made a face. “Boy, what a slob!”
“Well,” said Pilot mildly, “I don’t know that it’s all his fault. Seems like when the catalogue people started shipping civilization up here to the hills, they forgot to provide us with a modern garbage service. ’Course, some folks manage better than others.”
Another thought struck the new deputy. “You’re not going to arrest this guy, are you?”
“I’m aiming to question him. But if he confesses, I’ll oblige. Let’s go.”
Pilot got out of the patrol car slowly, looking around. He didn’t see anyone in the garden or near the house, so he headed for the front porch, ambling along as if he had no particular urgency in getting there. He waited until he saw an upstairs curtain stir before mounting the steps, motioning Dummyweed to follow. Two light taps on the door brought an unsmiling woman to answer it.
Pilot mopped his forehead, smiling politely. “You’re going to have to water that garden tonight,” he remarked.
“Unless the clouds move in,” the woman replied.
“Is Bevel around? I figured long as I was out this way, I’d stop in and see him.” He sounded very casual. Pilot knew, and the woman knew, that the visit was official, but they kept to the ritual designed to see that no one panicked and no one got hurt.
“He’s out in the pasture,” the woman replied, her face still expressionless. “One of our cows dropped her calf today, and he went a-hunting it.”
“Well, I reckon we’ll walk on out there,” said Pilot. “Might come across it while we’re out looking for him. How long has he been at it?”
The woman hesitated. “An hour. Before that he was on patrol.”
“Where ’bout?” asked Pilot, a shade too interested.
“Ask him,” she shrugged, closing the door.
“What was that all about?” asked Dummyweed, when they were out of earshot.
“Well, he hasn’t been home all day, which is what I needed to know. Now that I’ve got that, I can question him. You let me do the talking, though. One wrong word could cause more trouble than we’re equipped to handle.”
Dummyweed turned pale. “You think he’d shoot us?” he hissed.
“Coltsfoot, if he’s killed two people, I don’t reckon he’d faint at the thought of killing four.”
After this unwelcome pronouncement, Dummyweed lapsed into silence, spending the rest of the walk scouring the hills for smoke signals, machine gun nests-he knew not what. They found Bevel Harkness past the pond and up the side of the hill, searching through bushes for the missing cow. He scowled at them warily, sensing the magnitude of trouble that would bring them out there.
“What is it?” he growled.
“You mind telling me what you did today?” asked Pilot, carefully polite.
“Did my rounds. Why?”
“Anybody see you?”
“Now and then. It was too hot out there for most folks. You want to tell me what this is all about?”
“Directly,” nodded Pilot. “Would you have any objection to coming down to the office and having your fingerprints taken?”
Harkness’ eyes narrowed. “I believe I would.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” said Pilot apologetically. “Because you give me no choice but to suspend you for the course of this investigation. Two murders in Sarvice Valley related to this strip-mining business is more than I can overlook. Unless, of course, you’d agree to a polygraph, or-”
“Get off my land,” said Harkness in the softest of voices.
“On our way!” Dummyweed blurted out. “Have a nice day!”
When they reached the patrol car, Dummyweed asked: “What are you going to do now that you didn’t get his fingerprints?”
Pilot smiled. “Get ’em off his coffee cup at the office.”
“Then why did you come out here and ask for them?”
“I couldn’t lay him off without an excuse, could I? He maneuvered the car down the driveway. “You see, Coltsfoot, the sheriff doesn’t much like the Harknesses, especially since his nephew disappeared about ten years ago after taking on the deputy job in Sarvice Valley. That job had kinda been in their family awhile, and it looked mighty suspicious when Carver Johnson disappeared two weeks after replacing a Harkness.”
“What did they do to him?” asked Coltsfoot hoarsely, realizing who the present Sarvice Valley replacement was.
“Never found him,” grunted Pilot. “No evidence against them. But now that we have two fresh bodies in a situation that Harkess is mixed up in, why, I’ll see if I can’t find a connection.”
“He just disappeared?” murmured Coltsfoot, still thinking of the last non-Cullowhee deputy.
“Without a trace,” said Pilot Barnes solemnly. Catching sight of Dummyweed’s green and anxious face, it was all he could do not to laugh.
“You don’t suppose they’d mind my having skulls in the church do you?” asked Elizabeth, peering into the box.
Jake shrugged. “They were all members, probably.”
“I guess. It was nice of Mr. Barnes to bring them back this morning, wasn’t it? Do you think we should have gone to the inquest?”
“Nope. It’s just a formality, anyway. They’re going to announce that Alex died of a blow to the head, and that it was done by some person unknown. We already know that. I think it’s enough that Milo is representing our group.”
“You’re right.” Elizabeth unwrapped the measuring tools.
“Besides, you’ll have to go to the inquest on Victor since you found the body. You might as well stay and get some work done while you can.”
“Don’t you think someone ought to be with Milo?”
Jake sighed. “I think we ought to leave him alone for a while. I get the feeling that he’s alone even when he’s here.”
“He wants to finish the project. For Alex. I wish I hadn’t made a mess of it.”
Jake stared at her. “Will you snap out of it? You put him behind by maybe one day. That’s not such a big deal. On my first dig, I troweled through three soil layers, two black and one red clay, without noticing the difference.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Are you going to stay up here while I work?” She had decided to stay in the common room to do the measurements so that there would be no distractions from heat or insects.
“I’m not going up to the site alone,” he replied. “In fact, I wish I had told the day crew to come back today. I don’t feel very safe out here with just the two of us.”