Cozy (Stanley Hastings Mystery, #14)

by Parnell Hall

  We were all having a perfectly good time until the Mclnnernys walked up.

  “There you are,” Johnny said. “Better late than never. Did I tell you, or what? Is this clear, or is this clear?”

  “It’s clear,” I said.

  “You’d better believe it’s clear,” Johnny said. He pointed. “You know, that’s Canada up there. That last range of mountains is Canada.”

  Exactly what I thought. Though, somehow all the joy went out of it when he said so.

  “You see,” I said. “I told you that was Canada.”

  “That’s right,” Johnny said. “And over there’s Vermont. And New York State as well. And over there’s Connecticut and Massachusetts.”

  “Well, now you can’t see Connecticut,” Mrs. Mclnnerny said.

  “You can today,” Johnny said. “It’s probably the only day of the year you can.”

  “Well, now how would you know?” his wife said. “It’s not like they had borders on the states. Like here’s Massachusetts, here’s Connecticut. How would you know, Johnny Mclnnerny, which was which?”

  “Didn’t you hear what our driver said?”

  “I heard what he said. And I also heard him say to get back in the van.”

  “They’re not gonna leave without us.”

  “No, they’re just gonna get mad. You want all the other passengers to get mad?”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sakes,” Johnny said, but they were already walking back toward the parking lot.

  “Check out the Summit Building,” Johnny called over his shoulder. “Nifty souvenirs.”

  The Summit Building was a combination restaurant/souvenir shop, which also housed a publicly funded, nonprofit observatory, not to mention rest rooms and telephones. Jean and Joan went to check it out.

  I forestalled Alice.

  “Let’s take a stroll around the summit first,” I said. Alice looked at me quizzically. We had not been alone together since our talks with Pinehurst. “I think we’d better compare notes.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Chief Pinehurst seems to have a new theory of the case.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You wouldn’t believe.”

  I told Alice what Pinehurst had told me. She listened with an ironic deadpan.

  “That’s his theory of the case?” she said. “That I killed her in a fit of jealous rage?”

  “Or coolly and deliberately to eliminate a rival.”

  “That’s hardly any better.”

  “Actually, it’s worse. It shows premeditation. The heat-of-passion defense doesn’t work.”

  “But he’s not serious.”

  “He sounds serious.”

  “Stanley, don’t be dumb. The man’s compulsive; he questions everything. That doesn’t mean he believes it.”

  “Yes, but he does make good points.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you withheld it during your first interrogation.”

  “Withheld it? Talking to Jean and Joan? Would you mind telling me why I should have remembered that?”

  “Didn’t he ask you?”

  “If I talked to Jean and Joan? He most certainly did not. He asked me if I left the room. I didn’t leave the room. End of story.”

  “You didn’t remember you got up?”

  “Stanley, it wasn’t important I got up. When he asked me if I got up, I told him I got up. It wasn’t important until he asked me.”

  “Uh-huh. And the reason you went over to talk to Jean and Joan?”

  “They’re friends.”

  “Yes, but at that particular moment—why did you want to talk to them then?”

  “Why are you asking me this?”

  “Because Pinehurst did. Trying to make something of it.”

  “Well, that’s stupid.”

  “But the man doesn’t know you, so he’s trying to make a case. His point is, the way he sees it, the reason you went over to talk to Jean and Joan was because of the girl.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “No, it’s true. Here’s how he figures: You saw Randy serving them drinks. From where our table was, you couldn’t see into the booth. You wanted to see into the booth. So you went over to talk to Jean and Joan so you’d pass by the booth and would be able to look in.”

  Alice frowned. “That’s hardly fair.”

  “Fair? Alice, it’s not a question of what’s fair, it’s a question of what’s true.”

  “Yes, of course. But there’s degrees of everything. I mean, how could I walk past that booth without seeing in?”

  “What did you see?”

  “Nothing. Randy was serving them drinks. Neither one of them was paying any particular attention to him.”

  “Which was interesting in itself, right? If she’s involved with him and is elaborately pretending not to notice?”

  “Uh-huh,” Alice said. “Anyway, that’s all it was. No big deal.”

  “What about on your way back?”

  “What about it?”

  “What did you see then?”

  “Nothing. Randy was gone. The two of them were just sitting there together.”

  “Sipping their drinks?”

  “Not when I went by.”

  “So what were they doing?”

  “I think they were talking. But I couldn’t really see. I couldn’t hear, either. I told all this to the cop.”

  “The second time around.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s given him a reason to suspect you.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sakes. He doesn’t really suspect me. It’s just the way he is.”

  “I know. But the problem is, you give him ammunition. He’s able to say, Why didn’t she tell me this the first time? And he’s able to say, She got up to talk to the women because of what was going on in the booth. And when I ask you, it was because of what’s going on in the booth. You wanted to talk to them about that, and you wanted to get a better look.”

  “Is that a crime?”

  “Not at all. But this cop has an overactive imagination, and—”

  “You want to discuss this with Jean and Joan?”

  “No.”

  “Well, here they are.”

  “The train’s coming,” the plumper of the two said.

  The thinner one pointed. “Around the other side.”

  We walked over to where we could see the train track. A puff of smoke was coming from the valley below. I took out my binoculars, located the train. It was a short little affair, with an engine and open passenger car. The car was full. I wondered if that was normal, or due to the exceptionally clear day.

  I passed the binoculars around, but soon there was no need. The train came chuffing up the track, slow and steady, The Little Engine That Could. It clanked to a stop, and the passengers got out.

  I scanned the faces getting off the train, looking for people I knew. Not expecting to find any, of course.

  To my surprise I did. The family with the little girl, of TV-watching fame. She and her parents got off the train and went into the Summit House.

  I continued to watch, though the chance of seeing someone else I knew seemed positively nil.

  I didn’t, but Alice did.

  She nudged me in the ribs, said, “Look at that.”

  I looked at the man getting off the train, a large man in a parka and fur hat. The clothes were somewhat excessive—it wasn’t that cold. Still, it hardly seemed worthy of notice.

  “So?” I said.

  “So?” Alice said. “You know who that is?”

  “No.”

  “Take off the hat.”

  “Huh?”

  “Imagine him without a hat.”

  I stared at him.

  Blinked.

  My eyes widened.

  It was the bald, overweight hiker from Champney Falls.

  22.

  I FOUND A pay phone in the Summit House, called the Blue Frog Ponds.

  “Louise, it’
s Stanley Hastings. I need to talk to Chief Pinehurst.”

  “Oh, he left.”

  “Left?”

  “Yeah. About a half hour ago. I saw him getting into his car.”

  “Where’d he go?”

  “I have no idea. He didn’t say anything, he just took off.”

  “I need to reach him. It’s important.”

  “Well, he probably went back to the police station. You want the number?”

  “Please.”

  Louise gave me the number. I didn’t have a pencil to write it down, but I repeated it to Alice, who dialed it for me once I got off the phone with Louise.

  I got a busy signal.

  A busy signal?

  No way.

  The police station only has one line?

  I hung up the phone.

  “What’s the matter?” Alice said.

  “Busy,” I said.

  We gawked at each other. To New Yorkers, the concept of a police line being busy did not compute. Being put on hold would have been more in our realm of experience.

  I retrieved the quarter from the coin return, dropped it in again.

  “Still remember it?” I said.

  Alice gave me a look and punched in the number.

  Still busy.

  “Maybe Louise gave it to me wrong.”

  “You wanna call information?”

  “You call information. I’m gonna check on the train. See if I can get a seat.”

  I went out, inquired about the Cog Railway.

  No luck. The return trip was sold out.

  “When does it leave?” I asked.

  “Forty-five minutes.”

  “And it takes an hour and ten minutes to go down?”

  “More or less.”

  “Thanks.”

  I went back inside to find Alice. On the way I kept an eye out for our friend.

  I spotted him sitting on a rock, one of a pile of rocks off to one side of the Summit House where people liked to climb. He was talking to a young man with long, blond hair, wearing jeans, work boots, and an army jacket. What the two of them had in common, I couldn’t imagine.

  But I sure meant to find out.

  I went back inside to Alice. She’d been joined by Jean and Joan.

  “Still busy,” Alice said.

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Oh, I told them,” Alice said. “How could I not tell them?”

  “We’ll be discreet,” Jean/Joan, the plumper one said.

  “It’s exciting, isn’t it?” said the other.

  I’m sure my smile was forced. The last thing I needed was people who found the whole thing exciting.

  “Any luck?” Alice said.

  “No. I can’t get on the train. But it’s all right. In fact, it’s probably better.”

  “Why?”

  “It doesn’t leave for forty-five minutes, and it takes over an hour to get down. Our van takes half the time, and leaves before. So I can get the car, drive around, and be there when the train arrives.”

  “Terrific,” Jean/Joan said. The thin one. “You mean we’re gonna follow him?”

  “I’m going to follow him. You can get a cab back.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Alice said. “You’re not going to leave us.”

  “Well, you can’t come along.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’ll spot us.”

  “How will he spot us? We’ll be in the car.”

  “Exactly. He’ll see the car following him.”

  “Stanley. You’re not making sense. The car will be following him in any case. What difference does it make if we’re in it?”

  “If he see four people following him—”

  “He will think we’re out for a drive. Stanley, use your head. What is the man going to find more suspicious, a lone man tailing him in a car, or a man and three women out for a drive?”

  As usual, there was no arguing with Alice. Much as I would have liked to. Not that I would have minded having her along, but I certainly could have dispensed with the presence of Jean and Joan, who had never been involved in anything of the sort before, and found it fun, which was almost more than I could bear.

  In the end I gave in with as good grace as possible, while stressing the need for being discreet and not discussing this in the van on the way down.

  They didn’t, but I did. Halfway down the mountain it occurred to me I had no idea where the base of the Cog Railway was. I was torn between not wanting to waste the time inquiring at the Glen House visitors center, and not wanting to distract our driver, who treated the journey down as if it were a roller-coaster ride, and seemed to get a kick out of freewheeling around the hairpin turns. I waited for a fairly straight and level stretch to ask directions.

  “The Cog Railway,” he said. “You’re just comin’ down, and you wanna go up again?”

  “We just thought we’d like to take a look.”

  “It looks the same at the bottom as it does at the top. It’s not like they change the train on you halfway down. You seen one train, you seen ’em all.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, could you tell us how to get there?”

  “You meetin’ someone on the train?”

  “No. We’d just like to take a look.”

  “Well, if you wanna take a look, it’s a free country, you gotta right to take a—Boy, that curve came up on us fast!”

  Somehow we got to the parking lot with directions and without being killed, a long-shot parlay under the circumstances.

  As soon as we got in our car, Alice was quick to find fault.

  “So,” she said. “You make us all promise to be discreet, and then you blow it yourself.”

  “I didn’t blow it.”

  “Oh, no? Whaddya wanna bet that young man’s in there calling the police right now?”

  “In that case,” I said. “They’ll be on the lookout for a man and three women, and I’d better leave you behind.”

  “Here?” Alice looked at Jean and Joan, rolled her eyes. “Stanley, the driver is here. If you drive off and leave us, he’ll wonder why. He might even ask. What would you suggest that we tell him then? The Cog Railway didn’t really interest us, but you happen to be nuts for trains?”

  “No, but—”

  “Come on. Let’s get out of here before they arrest us on the spot.” Alice smiled. “Besides, you’d never find it alone.”

  While that wasn’t exactly true, I did almost make one wrong turn before Alice pointed it out. Jean and Joan found that terribly amusing.

  We got to the base of the Cog Railway, parked our car in the parking lot, and did not buy tickets. And then stood around and tried to blend in with the other people waiting for the Cog Railway, all of whom had bought tickets.

  “Let’s pretend ours are in my purse,” Alice said. “What do you think, girls? Wouldn’t that be a clever subterfuge, pretending the tickets are in my purse.”

  “I don’t think that’s fair,” the plumper Jean/Joan said. “There’s no reason to emasculate your husband. Let’s let him pretend he has them in his jacket pocket.” And all three giggled.

  The humor continued at about that level for the next forty-five minutes, until the train finally hoved into view. It was packed. As it came chuffing toward the station, Alice said, “Better get the car.

  I blinked. Alice was right. The parking lot was nearly full. The minute passengers got off, there was going to be a monster traffic jam.

  “Get the car, pull up to the front gate,” Alice said. She turned, headed for the platform the train was approaching. Jean and Joan tagged along, leaving me behind.

  Great. Suddenly, they’re the detectives, and I’m the chauffeur. I went and got the car, drove around the parking lot.

  It was a good thing I did, because it took a while to get to the gate, even with the only traffic being cars circling looking for parking spaces. Once the train let out, it would be chaos. But I’d already be at the gate.

  Or so I thought. It turned out othe
r people had the same idea. Half a dozen cars were lined up at the exit with their motors idling. I had to either drive on out or get in line. If I drove out and waited on the highway, I’d be conspicuous on the one hand, and the women might not find me on the other. I got in line.

  Or at least tried to. The end of the line turned out to coincide with an intersection of one of the rows of the parking lot. The minute I got in position, a car honked for me to let it through. I backed up, let the car go by. Wondered if I was close enough to the gate to do any good.

  There was nothing I could do about it. I threw the car into park, turned, and looked out the back window for the train, which was still a good ways away. I sighed, settled back, tried to relax.

  It was hard to do. Here I was, following my first solid lead of the investigation. One I was most eager to have pan out. Most eager.

  It occurred to me, I was unduly anxious about what was going on. I mean, surely following this guy was not going to be that hard. Even with the women along. Even though I greatly would have preferred to be alone. If Alice hadn’t insisted.

  Alice. That was what was bothering me. Yes, it was rubbish what Chief Pinehurst suggested. But still. To have your wife a suspect in a murder case. And to have the facts laid out so carefully and logically in front of you.

  All right, fine, so I’m getting to the age where a man’s head is naturally turned by a younger woman. And his wife would certainly resent this and wish the woman ill. And Christine Cobb did turn up everywhere I went, and even asked me to share a secret with her. A secret I hadn’t managed to tell Alice.

  And Alice did get up from her table and pass by their booth. For an admittedly trumped-up reason. While I was out of the room.

  I shook my head, smiled. On my way here it had occurred to me our real-life mystery involved a train, the Cog Railway, just like the Agatha Christie mystery I was reading, The 4:50 from Paddington. But what I was feeling right now came from another Agatha Christie novel, Curtain, the last case of Hercule Poirot, in which his trusted friend and my namesake, Hastings, comes to suspect a family member of having committed the crime.

  No, I did not suspect Alice. It just made me very uncomfortable to think that someone else did.