“I know,” Bill Eldon said sympathetically.
“Matter of fact, I thought there for a minute it was Betty lying dead in the barn. The light’s down at the far end, and what with the shadows in the stall and the body lying sort of half face-down — you can imagine how I felt. Hang it, Bill, Betty is all right. I don’t know what the explanation is, but...”
“Sure, sure,” the sheriff soothed. “You’re getting yourself all worried, Lew. Betty’s all right, but if this Lorraine Calhoun was going to see her tonight, we’d sort of ought to talk with Betty. I haven’t ever met any of these Calhouns. Too bad a thing like this had to happen. Guess the country’s changing, Lew. Must have been fifty little ranches sold to city people. Some of the folks are going to farm, but most of ’em are just using ’em for sort of week-end residences.”
His manner casual, his voice drawling characteristically, the sheriff talked on, steering the conversation away from the gnawing worry that was eating away at Turlock’s mind.
They passed Jim Thornton’s house, rolled on down the dirt road another quarter of a mile and then turned into Mallard’s place.
George Mallard came out to meet them.
The sheriff did the talking, for which Lew Turlock was duly grateful. And the sheriff was diplomatic, asking about the crops, discussing the prospects of early rains, and then casually asking whether Rosemary was home.
“Rose Marie,” Mallard corrected him with a grin. “She’s gone a little highfalutin on us. No, she ain’t home. Someone telephoned to her about three quarters of an hour ago maybe, and she jumped in the car and went tearing out,”
The sheriff was elaborately casual. “Well, that’s all right,” he said. “She’s going to be in that Red Cross play next month, isn’t she?”
“That’s right.”
“She and Betty Turlock.”
“Uh huh.”
“Kind of want to see her about the play,” the sheriff said. “Haven’t any idea where she went, have you, George?”
“No, I haven’t. You know the way youngsters are these days. She came tearing in and grabbed her hat and coat, bounced into the car, and tore out of the driveway. These kids have more on their minds these days than the governor of the state.”
The sheriff started the motor on his car. “Well, I’ll be seeing you, George. I’m kinda busy right now. Tell your daughter just as soon as she comes in to call my house. No, wait a minute... You tell her to jump in the car and come to my office.”
Mallard looked curious. “What is it? Anything...”
The sheriff’s grin was reassuring. “This doggone Red Cross play is going to have us all humping until it comes off I guess. Bet your daughter looks good in it. Can’t tell what will happen one of these days with a good-looking girl like that. She might be on the stage in one of these little local plays and some scout might see her, and next thing you know, she’d be in Hollywood.”
“I don’t want Rose Marie in Hollywood,” George Mallard said positively.
“I know,” the sheriff grinned, “but you just can’t tell.”
He turned the car around and was fifty yards from the house when a car speeding along the paved road slowed so rapidly that the tires screamed a protest and turned into the driveway.
“Reckon this here is Rosemary now,” Bill Eldon said, “and she’s got Betty with her.”
Lew Turlock heaved a sigh of relief.
The sheriff drove slowly, found a place on the side of the dirt road where he could park, and blinked his lights to signal the oncoming car.
“Maybe you’d better do the first part of the talking,” Eldon said to Turlock.
Lew Turlock nodded. He got out of the car, crossed in front of the headlights, and was waiting by the side of the road when Rose Marie drew abreast.
Illumination from the instrument light in the dashboard showed that a beautiful blonde girl with deep blue eyes and smooth, fine-textured skin was at the wheel, alone in the car.
Lew Turlock stepped forward. “Hello,” he said somewhat inanely, his eyes going past Rose Marie to the empty seat beside her.
“Oh,” she said. “It’s... Mr. Turlock... How do you do, Mr. Turlock... Oh, I’m sorry. I hope you didn’t come out here just...”
“Where is Betty?” Turlock asked.
She shifted her position behind the steering wheel. She frowned for a moment, then smiled, and said, “Oh, she’ll be along. She’s right behind me.”
The sheriff slid out from behind the steering wheel. “Hello, Rose Marie,” he said. “Just where is Betty?”
Rose Marie Mallard looked from one man to the other. The deep-blue eyes showed sudden panic. The pathetic attempt at a smile was wiped off her face.
“Where is she?” the sheriff asked, and then added, “Right now. I want to see her.”
Rose Marie’s words were hardly audible above the purr of the idling motor.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve been trying to find her.”
5
The sheriff walked over and put one foot on the running-board. “Now let’s be frank,” he said. “Suppose you tell me all you know about Betty Turlock and...”
“I don’t know a thing. She was to be here... a little later.”
“And spend the night with you?”
“Yes.”
“What time was she supposed to be here?”
“She... well... later.”
“How much later?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know as she did.”
The sheriff said, “There’s been an accident over at Calhoun’s. We’re sort of looking for Betty, and other people are going to be looking for Betty maybe. It’s going to be kind of too bad if no one seems to know right where she is. Particularly because Betty’s mother’s going to say she’s over here working on the Red Cross play.”
“An accident, Sheriff?”
“Lorraine Calhoun’s been killed.”
“Lorraine! Oh, but Betty couldn’t have done anything like that!”
“Like what?”
“Why, killing... You said it was an accident?”
“A horse kicked her, yes.”
Rose Marie’s exclamation was an “Oh!” which indicated great relief.
“Now after you got that telephone call from Lew here,” the sheriff said, “you jumped in your car and went out to try and find Betty, didn’t you?”
There was a moment’s hesitancy, then a reluctant nod.
“Now then,” the sheriff said, “let’s not get into any more trouble, Rose Marie. Where did you go?”
“Out... out along the river road.”
“You were looking for her parked in an automobile?”
“Yes.”
“Whose automobile?”
“Hers... that is, Mr. Turlock’s.”
“And who did you expect would be with her?”
“Why... I was just looking for her.”
There was a note of impatience in the sheriff’s voice. “You tell us the facts,” he said, “and let us do the thinking. We’re all friends of Betty’s and we don’t any one of us want to see a lot of talk get started. Now, you don’t need to try to cover up things from us. You tell us the truth, only tell it to us fast.”
She said, “She was to meet Frank Garwin tonight.”
“Who’s Garwin?” the sheriff asked.
It was Lew Turlock who answered the question. “Friend of the Calhouns,” he said.
The sheriff studied Lew Turlock’s face for a moment and then turned back to Rose Marie Mallard. “You tell us,” he said.
Her voice was thin with fright, but she said readily enough, “When the Calhouns bought the place and moved in, Lorraine was spending the summer up in Maine with friends. She only got back here about three weeks ago. Frank Garwin is a friend of... well, a friend of the family. He... they all sort of like him and... He wanted to be a lawyer and he and Lorraine were going together steady and then... Well, he didn’t have the money for an education and Lorraine loaned him enough to get himself through college and...”