He had so far stopped at eight resorts without success. He was not disappointed, as he had expected nothing. In police work, he knew, much time and effort had to be futilely spent. It was part of his responsibility to do his share.
He pulled into the gravel driveway of one of the more elaborate spots, shut the car door firmly, and went inside. He was back out again shortly-negative. He noted the name of the place on his report sheet, slipped the car into gear, and moved smoothly on.
A half mile more brought him to the next place, which was small but neat and attractive. The drive was packed earth this time, with a scattering of pine needles from the tree branches overhead; the pattern of light and shade across the entrance was exactly right for the kind of place it was. Dick Mooney, who did not live in the immediate area, decided that this would be a nice spot for a short vacation sometime. It would be certain to please his wife, Elaine. From the outside, at least, it was just the sort of place she liked. He pulled his car to a stop, got out, and walked to the door.
A slender girl met him behind the desk. She matched the place perfectly, subdued but appealing. She wore a simple dress and very little makeup. Her light-chestnut hair had a natural look that suggested that all she had to do was brush and comb it in the morning and it would look fine all day.
Dick Mooney took off his uniform cap and let his face show that this was an official, but not necessarily unpleasant, errand. “Good morning, Miss,” he said with some formality. “I’m making a routine check through the area.”
“Are we in any trouble?” the girl asked.
“Not that I know of,” he reassured her. “I only want to ask you a question about reservations. I presume you take them here?”
“Yes, we do,” she answered. “Most of our guests-at least during the season-come by reservation. Some make them a full year ahead.”
Mooney put his cap down on the counter for a moment and consulted the clipboard in his hand. “Within the last two weeks has any guest who had a reservation failed to appear? In particular, a man of about fifty or so who may have been coming in from overseas, but not necessarily so.”
The girl shook her head. “No,” she answered. “Everyone who had reservations is here with the exception of the Hacketts; they phoned and canceled. They are quite young-in their late twenties or early thirties, at the most.”
Dick wrote down the name of the resort on his report sheet. “Thank you,” he said. “They wouldn’t be the people.”
Because his manner was pleasant and because she wanted to be sure of his continued good will, the girl saw him to the door. “We have a very quiet place here,” she explained. “Most of our guests come back to us year after year. They aren’t usually the kind who get into trouble.”
The anxiety in her voice caused him to say, “It isn’t that. We’re looking for someone who is missing, that’s all.” It wasn’t the exact truth, he knew, but it was easier said that way.
The girl let her shoulders drop a trifle to indicate that she was no longer concerned. “Well, everyone we expected is here apart from the Hacketts, as I told you, and none of our guests would fit your description except Uncle Albert, and we’re never sure when we’ll see him.”
“Thank you for your trouble,” he concluded, and got back into his car. It was the last stop and he turned back toward the station.
He reported in briefly. “All negative.”
It was the expected answer and the duty man nodded. Mooney took the sheet off his clipboard and turned it in; that finished the job and he was free of it.
“Nothing at all in the whole area,” the duty man told him. That was expected, too, but usually the men working on something like to know the outcome. It would have stopped there forever if he had not added “Not even a nibble” for the sake of something to say.
That touched a slight recent memory in Mooney’s mind. “A girl at Pine Shadows Lodge said something about expecting an uncle who fitted the description, but she didn’t know when to look for him.” His conscience was clearer for having put in this bit of added information.
Later in the day, the duty man reported back to Pasadena. “A full check of the area was negative,” he advised. He debated the idea of saying any more; it would probably do nothing but give somebody extra trouble. But because he was proud of the efficiency of his unit and basically liked to talk, he added, “We have one place that might be expecting someone who fits your description, but there’s no ETA on him.”
“O.K. Thank you.”
The full report, including the fragmentary comment, was passed on to Bob Nakamura, who was correlating the incoming information for Tibbs. When Virgil at last came in, foot-weary, at six, Bob was there to give him the report. “Practically everything is in,” he said. “All negative. One small place up in the mountains is expecting someone who fits the description, but no definite time of arrival.”
“From overseas?” Tibbs asked.
“I gathered so. There weren’t any details.”
“What was the name of the place?”
In the fresh coolness of the next morning the girl sat quietly at her small desk beside a half-open screened window and carefully filled in the figures on the week’s expense record. The light wind stirred the pine branches overhead just enough to give a sense of something moving in an otherwise static world. With business-like care she sorted the bills she had before her; after each bill had been entered, she turned it upside down to keep them in sequence. When a chime sounded indicating that someone had crossed the electric doormat at the front entrance, she finished the entry she was making and rose to meet her visitor.
As she stepped through the doorway into the small lobby, she saw that the caller was a well-dressed, rather slim Negro. Her first thought was that he was looking for work. Whatever his errand, she took her place behind the counter and said “Good morning” with exactly the right degree of restraint.
“Good morning,” the Negro answered, and those two words revealed that he had been educated. “I didn’t see your sign. Is this Pine Shadows Lodge?”
He was not, therefore, casually looking for work. “Yes, it is,” she replied. “I’m sorry about the sign. Apparently a car knocked it down last night. It was on a post by the gate and we haven’t had time to put it back up.”
The Negro took out his wallet, extracted a small white card, and laid it on the desk before her. She looked down at it, and her mind moved forward rapidly. He was from the Pasadena Police Department, but Pasadena was many miles away. In any problem involving the lodge, the sheriff would be in charge. The only reasonable assumption, then, was a solicitation for some police-sponsored benefit. If so, the Pasadena people were ranging very far indeed from their normal area. It occurred to her that they had deliberately sent a Negro to make turning him down slightly more embarrassing. The accounts that she had been working on told her the state of the lodge’s finances; she would give him a dollar and conclude the matter.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Tibbs?” she asked politely.
“I would like to ask you a few questions, if I may,” he answered. “Would you give me your name?”
At that the girl tensed a bit. Her prognosis had clearly been wrong and she did not know what to expect. She was the kind of person who liked to do things calmly and in proper order.
“I am Ellen Boardman.” It was all he had asked, and it was all she answered.
He glanced at her left hand, which was devoid of jewelry. “Are you an employee of the lodge, Miss Boardman?” His voice was courteous, but she did not like the question; it was an invasion of her private life, which she preferred to keep to herself.