‘The nylon stuff is mine,’ she said, smiling.
‘Thanks,’ I told her. ‘And where do you keep your handbag?’
The smile dropped from her face. I could feel the gears clicking inside her head for just about two seconds, and then the smile came back and she said, ‘I must have left it in the car.’
I turned to Carlisle. ‘And where’s the car?’
‘I parked it up near the office.’
‘The Caddy?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you didn’t pull in more than a half-hour ago.’
‘You’re mistaken,’ he said. ‘We checked in at eight.’
‘Do you plan on staying long?’
‘Just... a few days.’
‘We came for the fishing,’ Stephanie put in.
‘Is that why the two dresses in the closet are cocktail gowns?’
‘Well...’ she started, and I turned to Carlisle again.
‘You going to fish in your brown worsted suit, Joe?’
‘I told you,’ he said, ‘I travel light. I usually travel with only what I’m wearing.’
‘No blue jeans? No old flannel shirt? You mean you’re going to fish in a good suit? You’re going to...?’
His face turned hard. ‘I’ll fish in whatever I like,’ he said.
‘Except troubled waters.’
Barter smiled. ‘Think we can let these people get back to sleep now?’ he asked.
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘And you can take me around to your other cabins, Barter.’
‘I run a business, you know,’ he said. ‘It don’t help business to go around waking up people in the middle of the night.’
‘I don’t imagine it does,’ I said dryly. ‘Come on.’
Carlisle remembered to be indignant again as we were leaving. ‘You’ve got a lot of nerve barging in here like this,’ he said.
‘Go to hell,’ I told him.
Barter and Hez were waiting for me at the foot of the steps. ‘Where do you want to start?’ Barter asked.
‘With number one. And then right down the line.’
‘Suit yourself. Most of the cabins is empty anyhow.’
‘Then why were you so worried about waking up guests?’
‘Well, some of them’s got guests,’ he mumbled, and then he led me in a semi-circle around number 13 and to the string of cabins thrown onto the hillside. The first two cabins were empty.
Number 3, the cabin Blanche said she’d occupied, was dark when we approached it.
Barter knocked.
‘Who Is it?’ a man’s voice answered.
‘Me,’ Barter said. ‘Mike Barter.’
‘Oh. Just a second.’ A light went on, and someone cursed, and then we waited a few minutes, and then footsteps approached the door. The door opened. The man standing in the doorframe was in his undershorts. They were gaily patterned shorts, a wolfs head making up the main motif. The wolves all over the shorts were baying. They were baying at shapely female legs which formed the secondary theme of the pattern. The man wearing the shorts may or may not have been a wolf. He looked more like a den mother.
He was at least sixty, and his head was bald, and his eyes were red-rimmed, and the paunch he carried hung over some of the wolves which is probably why they were baying.
The first thing he said was, ‘Where’s...’ and then he saw me and shut up.
‘Where’s who?’ I said.
The red-rimmed eyes flicked with intelligence. The old man grinned. ‘Not who,’ he said, ‘but what! I was asking Mr Barter where the towels he promised me were.’
‘Shucks, clean slipped my mind,’ Barter said, snapping his fingers. ‘Mind if we come in, sir?’
‘If you don’t mind my greeting you in my underwear,’ he said.
He stepped aside, and we all trotted into the cabin. My eyes went to the bed. There were two pillows on it, and both had been slept on. I went into the bathroom and looked at the towels. One of them had a lipstick smear.
‘Let’s check the other cabins,’ I said.
On the way out, Barter turned to the old man. ‘I’ll get you those clean towels,’ he promised.
Cabins 4, 5 and 6 were empty. A dark-haired girl opened the door to number 7. She wore a blue bathrobe, and she seemed surprised to see Barter. She also seemed about to say something until she saw me. She kept her silence instead, looking to Barter questioningly.
‘Sorry to disturb you and your husband, ma’am,’ Barter said. ‘I wonder if we might come in?’
The girl studied Barter, and then her eyes darted to me. She didn’t ask, ‘What for?’ or ‘What the hell do you mean?’ or anything else you’d expect from a surprised housewife at a motel being awakened in the middle of the night. She simply stepped aside and let us pass.
‘Where’s your husband?’ I asked.
She looked into the room as if she’d temporarily misplaced him.
‘Must be in the John.’ She paused. ‘Want me to get him?’
‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘Come on, Barter.’
We left the girl. She stared after us as we went down the path. Then she closed the door.
‘Rest of the cabins is empty,’ Barter said. ‘Want to see them?’
‘You’ve been right about everything so far, haven’t you?’ I said.
‘Sure.’
‘Then why bother looking at them?’
‘Just the way I feel about it,’ Barter said. ‘Why don’t you go back to your own cabin and get a good night’s sleep? You’ll see, in the morning you’ll wake up feeling better.’
‘Um-huh,’ I said, and I started for my car. ‘Except there’s one thing I’ve got to do first.’
‘What’s that?’ Barter asked, smiling.
‘I’ve got to go get the police,’ I told him.
Chapter seven
The Cadillac Carlisle had arrived in was still parked up near the office. I was half tempted to open the door and look for Stephanie’s handbag, but I hardly thought it necessary. There arc some things you sense instinctively in detective work, some things you automatically know. I’m a new detective, and my nose isn’t as sensitive as the noses of guys like Burry O’Hare or Tony Mitchell who have been plying their trade for quite some time. Burry or Tony can simply look at a man and tell you whether or not he’s honest. I can’t do that yet. It comes from being around thieves, I guess, and it’s only natural. Crime detection is a line of work, the same as any other line of work. When a jeweler’s been handling gems long enough, he doesn’t have to put in his eyepiece to differentiate the real from the phony. He can tell from the feel of the gem, and the sheen and the glitter. Thieves glitter, too.
Maybe Stephanie’s handbag was in that Cadillac.
Maybe I only imagined putting Ann in cabin number 13. Maybe I was nuts and everybody else was telling the truth. Maybe Carlisle did travel light, and maybe he and his wife checked into number 13 at eight o’clock. And maybe the sun rises in the west.
But a woman’s handbag is like a man’s wallet. You take it with you. When you’re getting out of a car, it’s the first thing you reach for. It contains all the paraphernalia of a woman’s trade. It’s as essential to her as her left breast.
I put the convertible into reverse and backed up around the Caddy. My headlights picked up Barter walking toward the office. I don’t know what he was thinking, but he was walking very fast with his head down, Hezckiah following behind him like an elongated shadow.
I headed directly for the log cabin of Justice Oliver Handy. I could have called the police by telephone, I suppose, but it was close to 4.00 a.m., and only God knew where I’d find a telephone booth.