“I know it was Joan.” Ellen said softly.
“So do I. But for a moment there...”
“It’s a creepy idea that it could have been someone else. I knew she dyed her hair, Jay. She was just clever about keeping it from you.”
He decided not to argue the point. It bad been a time of emotional tension for Ellen. She was mistaken. That was clear.
“Perhaps,” he said, but he could not completely drive it out of his mind. This was an intelligent woman. Intelligent and observing. It didn’t make sense.
“There’s still no starting place,” he said.
“Except one, maybe.”
He turned and looked at her. “Wait a minute, Ellen. Remember? You’re the Duchess. I want to hear what you started to tell me, but I want to know where you fit. This isn’t exactly keeping yourself to yourself.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“I don’t even know that I can explain it, Jay. I spent a lot of time alone. I did a lot of thinking. My mind kept going around and around in the same tired old pattern. Joan used to try to snap me out of it. You see, I was taking myself too seriously. You can’t help doing that. I guess, when you stay alone too much and think too much. When she died, it shocked me. It sort of woke me up. It made me realize I couldn’t spend the rest of my life doing my living on the inside. And it made me feel ashamed and somehow guilty. If I hadn’t been so wound up over myself, I would have been aware that Joan was in some sort of trouble, and I would have made her tell me what it was, and maybe this wouldn’t have happened. I’ve got to start living on the outside again. I’ve got to close some doors in my mind and lock them. I want to help, because... well, call it a penance, Jay.”
“Will you stay in this all the way?”
“I want to know what happened, maybe as badly as you do.”
“A bargain, then.” He took her hand. It was warm and firm. And on impulse, he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her gently toward him. She resisted, her hand against his chest.
“If you want to, Jay,” she said quietly, “but I’d rather not.”
“I’m sorry. Damn sophomore.”
“Not that. It’s this crazy place.” She smiled at him, her face touched by the glow of the dash lights. “About that starting place, look down there. It’s too far to read the sign, but can you see those yellow neon rings, all interlocked?”
He looked toward the town and saw the six yellow rings high above a building.
“That’s the Golden Sixpence,” she said.
“I saw it when I came into town.”
“Like everything else, Jay, it belongs to Gerald Rice. A lot of the places are leased, but he runs that directly, the same as the Terrace Inn. Joan went there a lot. She dated one of the men who operate the place. I met him one morning when he came riding with us. A sort of dumb, earnest type. Steve McGay. He started to kid her about getting her face slapped the night before at the Golden Sixpence. He kept it up until she got annoyed and told him to kindly shut up. A few days later she started getting nervous and depressed, as I told you. I’m not saying there’s any connection. But there doesn’t seem to be any other starting place.”
“Are you sure you want to come with me, Ellen, and point him out?”
“I told you I’m sure.”
“I’m glad you’re with me.” He started the car, and they drove down toward the tangled neon of Oasis Springs, toward the Golden Sixpence, toward the smell of money.
There was a midway flavor about the main street. He found a parking place across the street from the Golden Sixpence. It was brightly lighted, and from the sidewalk it looked crowded. The cashier had chips and silver dollars. Jay bought twenty silver dollars. The room was large. The dealers were women. Deft women in their thirties and forties, neatly dressed, none of them particularly attractive, all looking a bit like teachers in a large grade school. About a third of the games were idle. Ellen paused near the bird cage. They played for a time. She made seven dollars and he lost three, and she insisted on splitting the stakes, so they each had twelve silver dollars.
She gave him a quick glance, and he followed her as she wandered toward the rear of the room. She went up to a thick-shouldered young man in a tweed jacket. He had a brown brushcut, a pleasant open face.
“Hi there, Steve,” she said.
He smiled at her cheerfully. “Hello, Mrs. Christianson.”
“Steve. I want you to meet John Shell.”
The handshake was firm. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Shell. Hope you take some of our money away.” Though McGay had the pleasant, amiable look of a college athlete, Jay noticed that his eyes made quick sweeps of the room, that he seemed very alert and sure of himself.
“Steve, I haven’t seen you since Joan died.”
The smile went away. “That was a terrible thing,” McGay said. A man at one of the tables started complaining loudly. He had a face like an unhappy baby, and he was in his fifties. “Excuse me.” Steve McGay said quickly, and hurried to the table. Jay heard the man saying, “Would I hit eighteen? Would I? I didn't ask for another card, but she hit me anyway. She deals too fast and...” The man quieted down as McGay soothed him, murmured instructions to the dealer. The game continued, and McGay walked slowly back.
“They get nervous.” he said.
Ellen said, “They’re all still talking about Joan out at the Inn. Have they found out where she went on that trip?” “I haven’t heard anything about it,” Steve said. “How’s the play out there? Is it picking up any?”
Jay, watching the man closely, had the curious impression that the change of subject had come a bit too quickly, that the man felt uneasy talking about Joan. And Jay wondered if it was because of instructions passed along from the top.
“What was it you started to tell me that day, Steve? About Joan’s being slapped?”
“Slapped? I don’t think I remember that.”
“Now, Steve!”
“Really, I don’t, Mrs. Christianson. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I hope you’ll pardon me. I’m getting a call from one of the dealers.” He took a step away and turned and said, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Shell. Good luck.”
Ellen pursed her lips. “Have you got the same feeling I have, Jay?”
“He doesn’t want to talk about her. Orders, maybe.”
“He seemed so uneasy. Of course, he doesn’t know who you are. He might think you’re an investigator or something. I’m going to try to talk to him alone. All right?”
“Go ahead. I’ll try the bird cage again.”
He was exactly even after fifteen minutes of play when she came up beside him and put a dollar on the ace. One showed on the next tumble, and she made a dollar profit. She picked up the money and gave him a sidelong glance, a nod. They walked out of the Golden Sixpence and along the sidewalk.
“He was just as evasive with me,” she said. “It’s very strange.”
“In what way?”
“I got the vague impression he was bothered about it. I asked him to come riding with me tomorrow. He begged off, very nicely, of course, but for a moment after I asked him, he bit his lip as though he might be trying to make up his mind about something — and I wondered if he was wondering whether he should tell me what was bothering him. And decided against it.”