“I guess so. How’s the sunburn?”
“I feel a little warm, but it won’t be sore.”
They walked toward the archway, and she stopped suddenly and said, “Let’s get out of here tonight.”
“Where?”
“Anyplace. It doesn’t really make any difference.”
They went in his rented car. He found a place to park on the main street. The shadows were long and blue, and the first neon was coming on. He remembered the comforting privacy of the booths where he had drunk Mexican beer with Goddard, and he suggested that place. The bar was crowded and the slot machines were busy, but there was an empty booth. She sat across from him. Conversation was aimless and died quickly. She seemed far away from him, and he was amused that his resentment should be so sharp.
“Is something bothering you, Ellen?”
She frowned at him. “No, Jay, I just—”
“You seem pretty remote.”
“I’m sorry. I talked to Amparo today. You know, the little maid who packed up Joan’s things. She’s shy, but she’s really awfully bright. I had a sort of crazy idea and — well it didn’t work, but she said something else that... Jay, does this name mean anything to you? — Lisa Tasher?”
He shook his head slowly. “It doesn’t mean a thing, Ellen. Why?”
“Never mind. It isn’t anything really.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“Please, Jay. But I’ll tell you one thing. Joan’s hair was naturally blonde. Pale blonde.”
“I know. But—”
“Now I’m going to stop being moody, my friend. I’m going to be as gay as birds. And I need one more drink before we get to the steak department.”
She was gay. In a way that was a bit forced. After dinner in a place with bare wooden tables called the Chuck Wagon, after steaks and a green salad and coffee, he asked her if she would have a brandy. She did not answer. He looked at her. She was staring down into her empty cup with an odd fixity.
“Hey!” he said softly.
She looked up. “What? Brandy? No, thank you. Jay. But you have one. Will you wait for me here?”
“Of course. But where—”
“I want to ask Steve something. Steve McGay.”
“What is it all about?”
“I’ll tell you later, Jay. Really I will.”
He barely had time to get to his feet before she was gone. He ordered more coffee. He drank it slowly. When it was gone, he ordered a brandy, and made it last. When a full hour was gone, so was his patience. He paid the check and walked up the bright night street to the Golden Sixpence. Play was heavier than the last time he had been in. McGay was watching a roulette table where a flushed woman who giggled nervously was pushing large stacks of golden chips onto the red. The wheel spun. The ball whirled, clacked, teetered, dropped onto a black number. The kibitzers groaned and McGay turned away, expressionless, as the rake pulled the chips toward the house.
“Mr. McGay?”
“What can I do for you?”
“I met you the other day. I was with Mrs. Christianson. My name is Shell.”
“I remember now. What can I do for you?”
“Have you seen Mrs. Christianson?”
“Tonight? I don’t remember her. Maybe she was in. Why?”
“She came here to see you.”
“Did she? She hasn’t yet. You’re free to look around. She may be upstairs.”
“She didn’t speak to you?”
McGay’s square, muscular face was a bit too expressionless. “No. she didn’t,” he said, and turned away. Jay walked away from him. He paused near the door and looked back across the room, the crowded room where the warm hunger-sweat for money was almost tangible, like the heat ripples on a highway ahead of the speeding car. In that instant, McGay looked toward him. Their eyes met, and something twisted McGay’s face as though he were suddenly ill.
Jay walked slowly to his car. He went to the Chuck Wagon. She was not there. He wondered if she was ill, had gone back to the Inn. He drove there, driving too fast. Her room was dark. She was not the sort of woman who would leave him in that manner. She was not thoughtless, not rude.
He drove back to town and looked in the Chuck Wagon again. He walked slowly down the street. He saw the drugstore, remembered the name. Hollister. He went in. A girl in slacks sat at the counter drinking a Coke. A fat man stood by the magazine rack leafing through a comic book. Hollister was behind the counter. Jay took a stool as far from the slack-clad girl as he could get. Hollister came over, smiling.
Jay kept his voice low. “Mr. Hollister, I don’t know what’s going on. Mrs. Christianson went to the Golden Sixpence. She said she wanted to ask McGay something. She said she would come back. That was two hours ago. I talked to McGay. He claims he hasn’t seen her. She isn’t at the Inn. I just — I don’t know what to do next.”
Hollister avoided Jay’s eyes. “Why come here?”
“I thought you’d try to help.”
Hollister flushed. “Go to the police. Go somewhere. Don’t come to me.” The girl put down her empty Coke glass and turned, stared at them. Hollister went over, picked up her quarter, rang it up, put the change in front of her. She took it and went out slowly, a bit reluctantly, staring at Jay.
“McGay says he didn’t see her. Does your sister know her by sight?”
“No.”
“I could describe how she was dressed. Maybe your sister would recall if she was there. That’s all I want to know.”
Hollister looked at his watch. His mouth tightened. “I don’t want any part of this.”
“I know, but—”
“Take the last booth back there. Dolly gets a fifteen-minute break soon. She usually comes over.”
“I don’t know how to—”
“Just go sit in the last booth. Go sit down, for heaven’s sake.”
Jay walked away. It was nearly fifteen minutes before the woman came back and gave him an inquiring look and sat opposite him. She was plump, and her hair was dingy red.
“My brother said I was to answer any questions you want to ask.”
“I just want to know if you noticed a woman come in and talk to McGay a little before eight-thirty. A tall woman with dark hair. Pretty. She had on a fuzzy pink skirt, a black top, and a black stole with silver threads in it.”
Dolly looked at him flatly. “She talked to him upstairs near my table. He took her over in the corner. They talked about ten minutes. Then he let her go down the back stairs. I thought that was strange. They don’t like customers using the back stairs.”
“Where did they go?”
“Down to Mr. Rice’s office, but he wasn’t there then, I don’t think. At any rate, I hadn’t heard he’d come in, and he likes to use the front. He’s got a private entrance in the back, but he always likes to come in the front. Maybe on account of the trouble, maybe on account of that girl getting killed, he wanted to use the back tonight. I don’t know. He usually comes in. Maybe he was there. Maybe he wasn’t.”
“But she did talk to McGay.”
“For about ten minutes, and that was around eight-thirty, maybe a little later. I was getting a heavy play on my table. The only reason I noticed her special was on account of the skirt. That’s Orlon. I’m thinking of making one like that, and I wondered how it washed. Then Steve unlocked the staircase door for her. Floor managers carry keys to that door. I thought you were going to ask something I wouldn’t want to answer the way my brother acted. But that isn’t much of a question. I saw her.”
“McGay told me he didn’t talk to her.”
“Then on account of my job, you don’t tell McGay what I said, will you?”
“No.”
“I got to get back,” she said tonelessly. She stood up, and he thanked her, and she left.
Jay waited a moment and then went to the front of the store. Hollister said, “She’ll claim she didn’t talk to you. So will I.”