“Or do you just imagine you do?” Sheila sipped her coffee.
“That’s my business, and not yours.”
“I didn’t want to bring this up,” Franklin said, “but your husband has every reason and evidence to divorce you.”
Sheila’s face hardened. “Interesting.” There was a long pause while she stared around the restaurant.
“Every reason and evidence to divorce you,” Franklin repeated. “Now, please do what I suggest. I will drive you to the airport tomorrow. Go home.” Sheila finished her coffee and stood up.
“I’m going to bed. You will drive me to Perry’s lodge tomorrow. If you don’t, I will find a way to reach him. Thank you for an excellent dinner. Shall we say midday tomorrow?”
“I wonder if you realize, Sheila, that you are behaving like a selfish, spoilt brat,” Franklin said quietly, looking up at her.
“Those were almost the same words my father used to say to me when he couldn’t get his own way.” Sheila smiled. “On second thoughts, I intend to find my own way to Perry’s lodge. I will be leaving early, so don’t wait for me. Is that understood?”
Franklin shrugged, “I can’t stop you. I do assure you, Sheila, Perry won’t want a spoilt, selfish brat around when he is working.”
“We’ll see.” Sheila leaned forward. “I’ll return the compliment, Mr Franklin. In spite of your good looks and your charm, you are a toady. You are frightened of Silas S. Hart. I’m sorry for you. I am not frightened of him. Goodnight,” and, turning, she walked out of the restaurant.
Chapter 8
Using the Ross’s spare bedroom, Hank Hollis slept until 10:00, knowing he would probably be up all night. After a shave and a shower, wearing his uniform, he came to the living room.
“I heard you moving around,” Mary called from the kitchen. “Breakfast is ready. Sit down.”
Hollis sat at the laid table, and Mary brought in a pile of waffles which she set before him.
“You eat that. Eggs to follow,” she said, and returned to the kitchen.
Ten minutes later, she returned with a plate of three eggs and two thick slices of grilled ham.
She sat down opposite Hollis.
“How’s the Sheriff?” he asked, pushing aside a few remaining waffles and starting in on the eggs.
“Hank, he’s not getting any younger,” Mary said quietly. “He’s a big worry to me. He’s been on the telephone since eight o’clock. He told me what you plan to do. He’s worried. I’m worried. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive himself about Tom. Do you really think this man could be hiding in Mr Weston’s lodge?”
“Look, Mrs Ross, this is police work. I’ve been trained to check out possibilities. There is a chance he could be there. I don’t know.”
She nodded. “Yes, I understand. Jeff wants to go with you, He keeps saying if he had gone with Tom, Tom might still be alive.”
“Frankly, Mrs Ross, I don’t want him with me. He’s not as young as I am. I’ve dealt with situations like this before, he hasn’t. You relax — he will be much more useful staying right here.”
She put her clasped hands on the table and looked directly at him. “I told him that.”
Hollis finished one slice of ham and started on the other. “I’ll spell it out to him, too. You cook a great breakfast, Mrs Ross.”
“Hank, you will be careful?” He grinned at her.
“Sure.” He looked out of the window. “Well, the rain’s let up and it looks as if the sun might come out.” He finished his breakfast, then pushed his plate aside.
“That was great.”
I’ve prepared food for you to take,” Mary said. “There’s half a cooked chicken and lots of sandwiches. Jeff thinks you could be in the forest for quite a while.”
“That’s terrific! Many thanks.” Hank grinned. “I’ll go talk to the Sheriff now.”
“You really will be careful, won’t you, Hank?”
“I’ll be careful.”
He found Ross at his desk. “Hi, Sheriff,” he said as he came in. “Any news?”
“Sleep well? Mary fed you?” Ross asked, turning in his chair.
“Sure. What’s the news?”
“Negative. I’ve talked to Jenner and Jacklin, there’s no sign of Logan. I’ve called all the farmers — nothing there. It looks to me like Logan did get away before the roadblocks were set up.”
“Unless he’s holed up with Weston.”
“Yes.” Ross pulled at his moustache. “Jacklin tells me he now has two hundred armed men on the hunt. Do you still think this man could be hiding with Weston?”
“As I said last night, I don’t know — it’s a hunch. I want to check.”
“I don’t like you doing this on your own, Hank. I should be coming with you.”
“Don’t let’s go over this again, Sheriff. This is my thing. Maybe nothing will come of it. I plan to close in on Weston’s place and sit and wait. Leave it to me. I’ll keep in touch.”
With a frustrated sigh, Ross nodded. “I guess you’re right. Well, okay, it’s worth a try.” He got to his feet. “I’ve checked your rifle. There’s a walkie-talkie and a good pair of field glasses. Mary said she would provide food. What else do you want?”
Hollis stared at him for a long moment, then he said, “I want to treat Logan as I once treated a murderous Vietnamese sniper. If I see Logan, I want to shoot him. How do I stand?”
Ross shifted uneasily. “That would be illegal, Hank.”
“I know, but who’s going to prove he didn’t shoot first?”
Ross rubbed his chin. He thought of the vicious murders of the Loss family. He thought of Tom Mason.
“So he shot first,” he said looking directly at Hollis. “Okay. You spot him, then kill him. You have my backing all the way.”
Hollis grinned. “That’s all I want to know.” He moved over to where the rifle, the walkie-talkie and the field glasses were lying. “Then I guess I’ll get off. Will you drive me to that turn-off road to Weston’s place? From there on, I’ll be on my own.”
Ross got to his feet. “Let’s go then.” He put his hand on Hollis’s shoulder. “For God’s sake, Hank, take no risks. I don’t want you to go the way Tom went.”
“I don’t want that either,” Hollis said. His smile was grim. “If I get a clear shot, I’ll fix him, Sheriff. If I spot him and can’t get a shot, I’ll alert you, then we’ll have to think how to get at him.”
Mary came in carrying the plastic sack of food. “You’re off, Hank?” Her plump face was strained and anxious.
“Many thanks, Mrs Ross.” Hollis patted her arm. “Please don’t worry. It’ll work out.”
The two men went out into the steamy sunshine and got in the patrol car.
At 9:00 A.M., Sheila, dressed and packed, leaving her suitcase in the motel lobby, crossed the street to Cab Calhoun’s outfitting store.
She had passed a restless night, and found the steamy heat from the early morning sun unpleasant. Slight mist was rising from the sodden street. She entered the store, surprised at its size and its range of merchandise, from fishing tackle and sporting guns to clothes and footwear.
From behind a long counter, a tall, black man with a grizzled beard came to her, smiling.
“Morning, ma’m,” he said. “I’m Cab Calhoun. Thank you for calling. What can I do for you?”
Sheila regarded this man and liked the look of him. “You have quite a place here, Mr Calhoun.”
“I guess. It’s taken me forty years to build it up. It’s as good, if not better, than any other store you’ll find in Jacksonville.”
“Congratulations.” A pause, then Sheila said, “I am Mrs Perry Weston. Perry Weston is my husband.”