“Will that be long?” Forrest asked.
“I don’t think so,” the senior deputy answered. “He doesn’t know this area the way we do, but he should be here inside a half hour.”
“Meanwhile, then, come up to the house and have some coffee. It’s ready-it always is.” He motioned toward the pathway.
“Somebody will have to stay with the body.”
The ambulance driver, who had remained silently in the background, raised his right hand shoulder high to volunteer and sank into one of the aluminum deck chairs. Forrest led the rest of the small party through the grove and toward the residence on the other side. Linda fell in beside the man in charge, whose uniform already showed dark marks of perspiration under the armpits.
“Who’s Virgil?” she asked.
The deputy looked at her a moment before he replied. “In Virgil’s case it might be best to wait until you meet him. Then you’ll know.”
chapter 3
Forrest Nunn held the door open to the big bright kitchen, where his wife, who had seen them coming, was already setting out the coffee cups. It was characteristic of her that she counted her guests first and then took time to wonder what was going on. “Please sit down, gentlemen,” she invited. “The coffee is ready and I’ll have sweet rolls for you in a moment.”
The deputy in charge, who was at once fully aware that his hostess was wearing a coverall type of apron and nothing more, regarded it as one more curiosity in the line of duty and took it in his stride. “Bill Morrissey, ma’am,” he introduced himself. A little gingerly he walked past her and stood waiting at the table. The other deputy, who was much younger and considerably less self-possessed, mumbled his name and hurried to join his partner, his eyes toward the floor. The back of his neck was red and he shifted his weight slightly from one foot to the other.
The young doctor was close to being rude. He introduced himself then stood stiffly to one side. Emily Nunn realized immediately that he wanted her to see his disapproval, and just as quickly decided to let him stew. It was doubtful if he had turned thirty yet. She noted that and thought he had a good deal to learn about people before he could be a real success in his profession.
“Please sit down.” She indicated the waiting table. “Linda, will you serve the rolls while I pour the coffee?”
Forrest took his place at the head of the table and motioned Morrissey to a chair beside him. The deputy eased himself down slowly with the air of a man who can fit himself in anywhere. The other deputy took his chair nervously and, for something to do, looked carefully into his empty coffee cup apparently to see if it was clean. It was.
Emily picked up an oversize electric percolator and, beginning with the senior deputy, filled the cups. She poured one at a vacant place and, turning brightly to the doctor, asked, “Do you take cream, sugar, or both?”
“Black,” the doctor answered tersely. It was a moment before he realized he had been trapped; since he had specified how he would like his coffee, he would now have to drink it. With the corners of his mouth held tight he came to the table and reluctantly sat down. Linda did not ask if he would like one of the freshly baked rolls; she put one on his plate.
As Emily turned to set the large percolator on the table within easy reach of everyone, Bill Morrissey reconfirmed that the big apron she was wearing did not reach completely around her body. He picked up a spoon and stirred his coffee.
Forrest broke his roll and asked Morrissey for the butter. “During the summer we have a lot of your people in and out of the park,” he commented. “Joe Thompson, Mike Marino, Ed Meyers, but I think this is the first time you’ve been here.”
“That’s right,” Morrissey admitted easily. “I usually stay at the station and answer the complaints. Heard a lot about your place, of course.” He sipped his coffee and made a small decision. “About the only resort around here where we’ve never had a squawk.”
“That’s nice to hear,” Forrest acknowledged. “We don’t have a bar, of course, and that has its benefits. Also we’re pretty selective about our membership.”
Emily, her guests served, sat down at the end of the table and motioned her daughter to sit beside her. “Have you ever been in a nudist park before, doctor?” she asked pleasantly.
“No, I have not.” He bit the words off at the edge of courtesy.
“We get a lot of our people through medical advice, you know. It’s too bad you’re not married; otherwise we’d like to have you and your wife come out for the weekend as our guests.”
The doctor looked at her clinically. “How do you know about me?” he asked.
Emily smiled. “Single men are quite easy to spot-at least we find it so. Let me warm your coffee.”
As the doctor drew breath to decline, the gate phone rang. Linda rose quickly to answer it.
“This is Mr. Tibbs,” the voice on the line said. “I took the liberty of walking in past your chain to use the phone. This is the nudist camp, I believe?”
“This is the nudist resort,” Linda corrected. “Are you a member of any other nudist organization, here or abroad?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Are you married, sir?”
“No, not yet. I still have hopes.”
“I’ll be right out.” Linda hung up the phone. “Another single,” she reported to her father. “Is he behind the times! He called this a nudist camp.”
“At least he didn’t call it a colony,” Emily said gently.
“Well, he’s a cottontail at any rate. I’ll go take care of him.”
“Did he give his name?” Deputy Morrissey asked.
“Tibbs,” Linda said.
“Now that I know what that word means, I can tell you he isn’t a cottontail.”
Linda looked at him for a moment, waiting for him to go on. When he gave no sign of further comment, she shrugged her shoulders slightly and confidently went out the door. As she started across the big lawn for the second time that morning, she recalled how many single men had applied at the gate, some of them very nice, others clearly not. Worst of all were the occasional cars filled with four or five men, all professing interest, all carrying cameras, and all with families that had been carefully left behind. But she had handled many would-be sightseers, and none of them frightened her. When she went to meet people at the gate, she knew that if she did not reappear or call in within five minutes, her father would be out immediately, to take over if need be.
When she reached the entrance, there was a plain black Ford sedan pulled up in front of the chain; standing beside it, a man was waiting.
Linda saw many things quickly. She saw that he was probably in his early thirties, that he was of medium height, rather slender, and dressed in a quiet business suit. But these were secondary impressions. The thing that she saw first, and which overshadowed everything else, was the fact that he was a Negro.
For an instant her confidence fled; she had never met a Negro applicant at the gate before, and she had no Negro friends. As a rule, if a single man presented himself unintroduced, she would automatically and courteously turn him away; it was the lodge policy. But if she did that now, the man might think it was because of his race, which wouldn’t be true.
Without knowing how, she sensed that he understood her embarrassment. He came forward a few steps and then stopped, meeting her halfway.
“My name is Virgil Tibbs,” he said. “The sheriff’s office asked me to stop by. I’m a police officer.”
Linda’s first sensation was relief-she would not have to turn him away. So this was Virgil! At that moment she remembered Deputy Morrissey’s remark that he was not a cottontail. Morrissey had been right; the joke was on her. As she unhooked the chain, she made up her mind that in a nice way she would get even with Morrissey. He could have told her what to expect.