Miss Pink Investigates 3

by Gwen Moffat

  Chapter 11

  Not a light showed on the scarp of the Sierras when Miss Pink turned off the highway and took the road through the Rattlesnake Hills. As she approached Dogtown her sense of frustration, increasing as she flew westward, became overwhelming. She knew the cause; so far as Timothy was concerned she felt that Vogel could at least point her in the right direction, but at worst she didn’t want him to. The same fate might overtake her as had overtaken Timothy, and who knew what had happened to him? To tackle Vogel on her own was out of the question, and if she were to ask someone from Dogtown to accompany her when she did so, what right did she have to put other people at risk? Nevertheless she was playing with the idea of a suitable candidate when the lights of Dogtown appeared through the trees.

  There was something odd about the ghost town tonight, something about the lights. She peered through the windscreen; how could lights be different? And then she realised that there were more of them, and the increased illumination came from lights on tall poles at the back of the Red Queen where there was a car park, or rather, a stretch of desert, hitherto unlit because no one used it. Now, like new houses erected overnight, white walls gleamed where two RVs – recreational vehicles the size of coaches – were drawn up side by side. She glimpsed Jeeps, and a strange Toyota was parked in front of the restaurant.

  The Grand Imperial’s foyer was dimly lit and there was no sign of Rose. She left the Cherokee outside her cabin and walked to the Red Queen. She was extraordinarily tired and her mind was still involved with the problem of forcing Vogel to reveal what he knew of Timothy’s movements. Because of her preoccupation she was momentarily bewildered at the transformation of the restaurant. There were so many people inside and they were so lively that no one noticed her entrance. It wasn’t until Lovejoy saw her and shouted a welcome that the other occupants were aware of her arrival.

  The bar was crowded. There was Rose asking if she’d had a good time, and Lovejoy, wielding a cocktail shaker and calling: ‘You look as if you could do with one of these, ma’am!’

  Full of joie de vivre Rose performed the introductions. There were three strange couples. Miss Pink had an impression of tall beaming men and wives with smooth skins and immaculate coiffures. The names passed her by, except one, Granville Green: a broad-shouldered, well-proportioned fellow whose frame had become comfortably padded in middle age, and small wonder. Lovejoy was filling glasses and to judge by their gaiety it was by no means for the first time. Miss Pink found one in her hand and tasted it warily. It was delicious.

  ‘We’ve gone all sophisticated,’ Rose said, eyeing her. ‘The circus has come to town. Didn’t you have a sidecar before?’

  ‘Is that what it is? I haven’t. Is it Cointreau?’

  ‘Cointreau, brandy, lemon,’ Green informed her. ‘So you’re the lady is writing a book about the Joplins.’

  ‘That’s the idea. Did you meet my predecessor, Timothy Argent?’

  ‘No, we just arrived. Rose has been telling us all about it. So you figure he’s holed up with that gorgeous lady somewhere on the coast?’

  She hesitated, and a man with keen eyes behind aviator spectacles asked: ‘What’s the position now? Will the publishers take him to court to recover their advance?’

  ‘My husband writes,’ explained a blonde in a slubbed-cotton pants suit. ‘Graves Along the Oregon Trail by Gene Bader?’

  ‘Really? Fascinating. In practice I never heard of publishers suing in such circumstances.’ Miss Pink smiled, feeling the sidecar start to soften muscles that had been stiff with strain. ‘I always meet my deadlines,’ she went on, ‘so it’s something I’m not familiar with. The publisher covered his options: getting me to take over the Joplin book.’ A thought struck her, the kind of enlightened flash that occurs when the first drink stimulates the brain and before a second overwhelms it. ‘Which canyon are you going up?’ she asked Green.

  ‘Someone will be in each one, but me, I’m concentrating on Breakneck. That’s the crucial one.’

  ‘Danger Canyon,’ intoned the third man, the only person there who wasn’t overweight. He was bald, with an egg-shaped skull and a stubbly white beard that did little more than follow the line of his jaw and chin.

  ‘I’m not arguing, Marsh,’ Green said, as if this was an old bone of contention. ‘We got plenty of time; we’ll try ’em all, even Crazy Mule.’

  ‘We’ll have to watch out for Asa,’ someone said.

  ‘Asa’s all right. Wait till he sees what we brought him. We bring him a few delicacies and some clothes always,’ he told Miss Pink.

  ‘How do you travel in the mountains?’ she asked. ‘Those are your RVs out there? Don’t you own the ranch house in Danger Canyon?’

  ‘The RVs belong to these.’ Green indicated the other couples. ‘Lucy and me, we came in a Land Cruiser: the Toyota that’s outside. We enjoyed their hospitality all the way from the Missouri, now they can use my place. On the trail, like here in the mountains, we use four-wheel drives. These guys towed Jeeps behind their RVs. Rose says you been everywhere, ma’am, on horseback too.’

  ‘Well, not up to Deadboy.’ She was diffident. ‘There’s a locked gate.’

  ‘You can go up that trail any time you want. Brett Vogel would have given you the key if you’d asked.’

  ‘I’ll take you up to Deadboy Pass,’ said the bald man, Marsh – Beck? ‘Rose’ll rent us a coupla horses.’

  ‘Did you figure out how the Joplins went from Breakneck?’ Green asked Miss Pink, treating her as an equal.

  ‘No. When you’re alone, you’re concerned not to get lost, so although I’ve been all the way to Credit, I was paying more attention to my own safety than to the Joplins’ route. In this kind of country I prefer company. There’s not much you can do on your own.’

  ‘You must join us.’ Green was expansive. ‘It’s not right, a lady travelling alone. Of course, that’s if you have no objection.’ It was plain he didn’t expect any.

  ‘Oh, not at all. How kind. I’d be delighted.’

  ‘That’s settled then. How about another round of drinks, Earl?’

  Miss Pink’s eyes widened, only fractionally, but Lucy Green caught the look and said quietly: ‘It’s all right, we’re not going up the canyon tonight. We’re staying with Gene and Carol. The Baders,’ she added kindly. ‘You won’t have caught all our names.’

  Miss Pink saw that she was going to be treated like a fragile old soul but she’d asked for it. She made an attempt to capitalise on it before Lucy should recall that she’d been in the Sierras alone, and on horseback. She said wistfully: ‘If I had a house in one of these canyons, particularly one like yours, I couldn’t wait to get to it.’

  ‘It’s difficult to heat. It’s a big place inside and it’s not properly insulated, not how we insulate homes in the Midwest. We called Brett from Denver but he’s not there – either that or he’s not answering the phone. The beds will be cold and damp. I wanted him to turn the heating up, make sure the water’s running. Granville’s hopping mad. We don’t expect them both to be there all the time, but the reason we employed two people was there’d always be one of them around, particularly this time of year, hunting season coming up. But no way am I walking into that cold house tonight; we’ll go up tomorrow, get the place properly aired out and the heating going, have a nice cosy evening by a wood fire.’

  ‘I suppose in the usual way Joanne would be there if Vogel was away,’ Miss Pink observed.

  ‘I told you, didn’t I?’ Carol Bader broke in, addressing Lucy. ‘Didn’t I tell you when you said you’d employed a young couple not even married: you got no security there, I said; one of them’s going to split eventually if they don’t go off together – and what are they going to take with them? You’ve got some nice things in that house, Lucy; there’s two Navajo blankets for a start.’

  ‘Not things I’m fond of – and don’t tell me, tell Granville; he picked them up, he engaged them. I never knew anything till he came back from El Paso tha
t time, said he’d sent them to the ranch as caretakers. I said then, didn’t they have references, but you know Granville, said the guy was all right.’ She turned to Miss Pink. ‘Just because he was an officer in the Marines, he thinks he knows men.’

  ‘Vogel might have been all right in the normal way,’ Miss Pink mused, ‘but losing his girlfriend in that fashion could have knocked him sideways. How did your husband run into them?’

  ‘He was in El Paso in April and he came home through New Mexico, stayed a night at Carlsbad. That’s where he met Brett and Joanne. He took a shine to them.’ Her tone sharpened. ‘I never saw her, but he said Joanne was a very striking lady, didn’t you, hon?’

  ‘What’s that, sweetie?’

  ‘Joanne Emmett. Beautiful, you said.’

  ‘Very beautiful. Very young. Too young for an old man.’ He grinned and moved towards them.

  ‘Tell Miss Pink how you met them.’

  ‘How? Nothing to it. Met them when I was having a drink after dinner in Carlsbad someplace – the Ramada, was it? Holiday Inn, whatever. We got talking and they were looking for work and I wanted someone to look after the ranch until we move in next year; too much of a temptation for vandals, poachers, people like that.’

  Miss Pink looked shocked. ‘I can’t imagine anyone in England engaging a couple to caretake a nice house without asking to see their references first.’

  ‘I had a long talk with the guy. He’s a Vietnam vet, had a bad war, couldn’t settle since he came home, you know how it is, your soldiers have problems too, I hear, like in Ireland? I felt I’d like to give him a chance and –’ he looked at the women with a kind of helplessness, ‘– she, well, you’d have had to see her. You couldn’t say no to Joanne.’

  ‘Really.’ Lucy’s eyebrows rose in a travesty of astonishment. She turned to Miss Pink. ‘Did you meet this paragon?’

  ‘No. I’m hoping to. She sounds too good to be true.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it.’ Rose approached nursing a full cocktail glass. ‘Femme fatale, that’s what Joanne is. Do you notice how men who associate with her disappear?’

  ‘Not my man,’ Lucy said firmly, slipping her arm through her husband’s. ‘In any case, she’s disappeared too.’

  ‘And Brett hasn’t disappeared,’ Green said. ‘He’s just not there at the moment.’

  The kitchen door opened to admit Verne Blair who seemed to take real pleasure at seeing Miss Pink again. ‘You were away,’ he said, as if he’d forgotten.

  ‘Problems, problems,’ she murmured. ‘I had to stay overnight. Timothy left a troubled wake behind him. Taking over someone else’s book isn’t easy. However, I’ve got my business done –’ she was talking fast to forestall questions and was glad to see no one was interested in where she was last night. ‘What do you propose to do tomorrow?’ she asked Green brightly.

  ‘I’ll leave Lucy to open the house and I’m going up Breakneck. I need to work out how the trail went from the pass to Credit.’

  ‘Are you working solely from Permelia’s diary or has something new come to light?’

  Several people started to talk at once and the conversation became heated. She listened with apparent interest but increasing fatigue and after a while, pleading the need for an early night, she slipped away to her cabin.

  ⋆

  She slept for nine hours and, judging by the golden silence enveloping Dogtown when she crossed the road for breakfast next morning, she and Lovejoy were the only people out of their beds. ‘What time did the party break up?’ she asked as he served her waffles.

  ‘We didn’t get to bed till late. Charlotte and Julius came over after you left. They were asking after you, wanting to know where you were night before last.’

  ‘I warned Rose I’d probably spend the night at Endeavor.’

  ‘Charlotte was worried you could have met with an accident when you didn’t show. You can’t blame her with what’s been happening here, and the places you go alone. I’m glad you’ve decided to go with Granville and the rest of them. They’ll take care of you.’

  She was on her third cup of coffee when Green came in, looking raddled in the morning light but sounding hearty enough. The men were going up to the house, he told her; was she ready? She collected a packed lunch from the kitchen and, driving her own vehicle, followed the big Toyota out of Dogtown.

  It was another glorious day, with a nip in the air where the sun had not yet penetrated. Fallen leaves were outlined with frost and some of the cottonwoods were starting to turn yellow. It was an exciting morning with a hint of danger: the night had been cold and winter was on the way. Miss Pink, not troubling to keep up with the Toyota, was aware of an odd resistance in herself, as if she were refusing to become involved with natural forces. Could this be because it was essential that her mind be blank in preparation for the confrontation ahead, a confrontation that might resolve the problems that had occupied her last evening? For the basic problem – of how to approach Brett Vogel – had been solved. Even if he were away from the ranch he would be back within a day or two; he always was. She could wait, exploring with the trail buffs, and the hiatus could be of benefit, or so she rationalised. She needed time to explain, to take Green into her confidence. He should know what she was about when she questioned Vogel, for question him she would; she had slept on it and now there was no doubt in her mind that he’d had a hand in Timothy’s disappearance.

  She crossed the cattle-grid and the meadow opened before her, the huge chestnut-coloured house commanding the approach. The Toyota was at the back of the building, beside a pick-up which she regarded without expression; Vogel was back.

  Bader and Beck were standing by the Toyota. She climbed down as Green emerged from the cabin. ‘He doesn’t mean to be away long,’ he said. ‘There’s food in the fridge.’

  ‘He’s not away.’ Miss Pink was bewildered. ‘He wouldn’t go away on foot.’ She indicated the pick-up.

  ‘That’s not his truck.’

  ‘It’s the one he’s been driving.’

  ‘OK, so he’s re-licensed it; he had Texas plates when I met him.’ Green looked more closely. ‘Not the same truck either. He had a Chevy at Carlsbad too, but it was in better shape than this heap. Funny thing, exchange for something not so good.’

  ‘Perhaps he didn’t have a lot of choice, and maybe he needed California plates in a hurry.’

  He looked at her sharply. Bader said: ‘He has to be somewhere close if this is his vehicle.’

  Green walked away a few steps and bawled: ‘Vogel!’

  ‘He’d have heard us arrive,’ Beck pointed out, but he leaned in the pick-up and sounded the horn.

  ‘May I go inside his cabin?’ Miss Pink asked.

  ‘Do,’ Green told her. ‘But there’s no clue as to – What’s on your mind?’

  ‘Nothing. My mind is blank, except –’ as he followed her through the door, ‘– except to wonder which is more likely: that he left on foot, or someone called for him?’ Or that he’s still around? was a third question, unvoiced.

  She surveyed the cabin which at first sight held nothing remarkable. There was no sign of a woman’s presence but there were signs of recent occupation. A chair was pushed back from the table, on the surface of which was a mug half full of a greyish liquid, and a copy of the magazine Guns and Ammo – open as if someone had been reading an article, had pushed his chair back and walked away. Beside the magazine was a cheap table lamp and a telephone.

  The kitchen alcove was in a corner, with plates, mugs, cutlery and saucepans, all clean, drained dry, on a plastic tray. The refrigerator contained two quarts of milk, one part-used, butter, eggs, bacon, bread, ground coffee in a tin and a parcel of ground beef. There were two television dinners in the freezer compartment.

  ‘The bed’s not been slept in,’ Bader said, emerging from the bedroom.

  Beck said, licking his finger warily: ‘That’s coffee in the mug. Know what this reminds me of? That ship they found floating in the middl
e of the ocean someplace, the Marie Celeste.’

  ‘Mary,’ Green said. ‘It was the Mary Celeste. People always get it wrong.’

  Miss Pink moved past him and entered the bedroom. There was a double bed with pillows side by side. She peeled back the tufted blue quilt to reveal fleecy blankets and sheets that, if not freshly laundered, were no worse than one might expect to find in bachelor quarters.

  ‘Hell!’ Green exclaimed behind her. ‘This must be Joanne’s stuff.’ He’d pulled back a curtain to expose jeans on hangers, and a number of blouses that looked limp and tawdry without a body to fill them out, more like abandoned rags than adornment for what everyone agreed was a lovely girl. There was an Afghan coat of the type that was in fashion in the seventies, and two shabby pairs of running shoes.

  ‘No wonder she didn’t take this lot with her,’ Green said, with mild contempt. ‘Brett’s a bit better off. Two new chamois shirts here – er – do you think you should –?’ Miss Pink had pulled out the top drawer in a chest of drawers.

  Inside there was clean underwear: bras and silk camisoles; there was make-up – and a two-ounce flaçon, almost full, of Chanel No 19.

  ‘She left in a hurry,’ Beck said at her elbow.