Miss Pink Investigates- Part Four

by Gwen Moffat

‘And by extension, him? His den? Sounds like a bear. Actually I didn’t know him.’

  ‘You met him, ma’am.’ A statement, not a question.

  ‘Once. We were invited to supper when Miss Hamilton was buying some horses.’

  ‘A family meal?’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘I mean, you met the whole family there?’

  ‘Just his wife.’

  ‘Not the son?’

  ‘No, Clyde has his own house, down by the bridge over Bear Creek.’

  ‘Ah. And he doesn’t eat with the family?’ Miss Pink refused to hear that as a question. There was a trace of impatience in his voice now, but it was a hot day, the sun climbing. ‘So he was eating at home,’ he said.

  ‘Presumably.’ She considered. ‘I forgot; that was the first day of their trip to clear the trail. He was in the mountains with his sister.’

  ‘Where exactly?’

  It wasn’t a stupid question to ask of this particular stranger to the area. From here they could see a vast distance, not so much on the near side of the river because the forest and a great spur blocked the lower canyon from view but opposite, west of the river, they could see from the Bobcat Hills to the peaks this side of Yellowstone. He’d done his homework, discovered she was a mountaineer; he guessed that, given times and distances, she’d have a rough idea of the route taken by Val and Clyde even though she didn’t know the ground. But in asking the question he’d shown his hand. He’d been checking up on her.

  ‘Three days,’ she murmured, playing for time. ‘I have no idea where they camped for the two nights. We saw them leave and we passed them on the third day in the canyon. The stretch between is an unknown quantity.’ They looked upriver and she waited for him to push it, to probe further, expecting him to ask how far away they’d been on their second day out, the day Charlie was at the cabin.

  ‘When you were looking for Charlie,’ he said, ‘where was Paul Skinner?’

  She frowned. ‘Skinner? He wasn’t with us.’

  ‘Jen Ryan? Where was she?’

  Her eyes flickered. ‘She wasn’t on the search either.’

  ‘Where was Ryan?’

  ‘We met him on top and I think he went down by way of that very steep drop this side of the landslip. You know the canyon? Yes, well, that would be the only way down except above the lake.’ She looked back to the timbered break. ‘And there, in the trees. No doubt there are more places.’

  ‘What did you do after you met him?’

  ‘We came down close to where we did today.’

  ‘So if Ryan came down this way’ — he nodded towards the break — ‘he’d have been travelling close to you, virtually with you, in fact.’ She said nothing. He was saying that if Ryan descended close to the landslide on the day of the search, as she maintained, then he used the timbered break on another occasion: the crucial one. His next question would concern Ryan’s reaction when they found the body — but he had found it first, no one had seen his immediate reaction.

  ‘He had a visitor,’ he said flatly, focused on the cabin.

  She stared blankly, reorienting. Hilton was back with Charlie. ‘It crossed my mind,’ she admitted. ‘But if so, it had nothing to do with his death. He died over a mile from the cabin.’

  ‘The guy who visited Charlie down there coulda been the same one as shot him up here.’

  Motive, she thought; now he’s going to mention motive.

  ‘Means, motive and opportunity,’ he said and beamed at her. ‘You all had ‘em. Now what we have to do is find which one dunnit. You read detective stories, ma’am? Just my little joke.’

  Dangerous ground; Charlie Gunn had liked his little jokes too and look what happened to him. ‘What could be my motive?’ she asked lightly. ‘Viewed as a joke, of course.’

  ‘Motives aren’t necessary; if you got the evidence you don’t need motive.’

  ‘Granted. And the means?’

  ‘Easy. You had a pistol, you shot him, you disposed of the weapon, threw it off of a bridge.’

  ‘Imaginative. What about opportunity? I’d have had to use a horse. And —’ She stopped. This was getting too close to the bone.

  ‘— And if you’d come in by the loop trail you’d need to pass Val and Clyde, and if you come in the middle way, like we did, you’d have to pass Bret and Jen’s cabin at Benefit, and if you come the bottom way, through the canyon, you’d have to go by Erik Byer’s place. There you are: collusion. Only way it coulda been done. I won’t read you your rights, ma’am, we’re only joking. That’s his boot you found? Let me relieve you of it.’

  She relinquished it and he started along the path. She followed, staring sightlessly at the ground, negotiating boulders on automatic pilot. Only her own role in his scenario was a joke; everyone else was family, any or all could have acted in collusion; all had means, motive and opportunity, all had kin as alibis, all bar one.

  *

  ‘Everything comes back to Byer,’ she said, adding lemon to her China tea. ‘He knows something, or he found something…’ She trailed off deliberately.

  Sophie filled her own cup and replaced the teapot on its stand. She selected a slice of lemon and squeezed it with silver tongs. ‘I’ll ask Val,’ she said, as if she would request the loan of a book. ‘Did you learn anything new? I find it difficult to picture Hilton and Cole on that kind of ground. They managed to stay on their horses?’

  ‘Hilton was more unhappy on his own feet.’ Miss Pink was snappy. Horsemanship wasn’t what the day had been about. ‘In fact, Breslow and Hilton returned by that ghastly steep stretch where we came out after my first trip to the canyon.’

  ‘It’s only bad the first time.’

  Miss Pink’s lips thinned. ‘Cole could never have ridden up there. Hilton sent him back with me, up the easy climb from the lake: the way we’d gone in.’

  ‘What made him split the party?’

  ‘He didn’t give me explanations. Anyway, you can’t believe a word the man says; when he isn’t fobbing you off, he’s being facetious. I’d hazard a guess that he split the party because he wanted to investigate another approach to the cabin from Benefit. He needed Breslow because the man has an eye for tracks. Cole couldn’t cope with that route but Hilton couldn’t send a novice back on his own so I was sent with him.’

  ‘Did Hilton say if he discovered anything on that route?’

  ‘Only that horses had been there. I reminded him that we had gone up that way, Ryan had gone down, probably others.’

  ‘More tea? Another slice of cake?’ It was the American version of a pound cake: redolent of brandy and spiced fruits. Sophie was the perfect hostess. ‘What did he have to say about the cabin?’ she asked politely.

  ‘Nothing. Just to ask was that how we found it, Val and I, when we went down for the blankets. It was, of course. No one’s been there apart from Val when she went up for Charlie’s saddle.’

  ‘So really you learned nothing.’ She meant about police thinking.

  ‘Only this pig-headed emphasis on Bret Ryan and the proximity of Benefit. The part about us all being suspects is technically correct and I’m sure Hilton knows I’m aware of that. He elaborated on it as a joke in my case — his idea of a joke.’ Miss Pink paused, then resumed, very English and ladylike, ‘And how did the funeral go?’

  Sophie smiled broadly. ‘Marvellous. Oh, my appalling bad taste!’ But she was still smiling. ‘Afterwards, I mean: back at Glenaffric. We were all there: all of us, Jen and Ryan too. She’s come home again.’

  ‘I’m so glad.’ Miss Pink was circumspect. ‘There was no embarrassment?’

  Sophie shrugged. ‘Obviously — after so long away.’ Her smile faded. ‘Not with Edna and Clyde; I guess it wasn’t the first time she’d seen them since she came back. The same goes for Sam; he was at the ranch after the interment. But Val’ — her eyebrows lifted at the memory — ‘shy and stiff, you know, but fighting hard to appear natural. No hugs, of course; well, you wouldn’t expect that, woul
d you? They actually said — this was at the church: “You’re looking well” and “You look great!” as if Jen had been on a few weeks’ vacation. At the house they talked horses, would you believe, and every now and again when Jen would start about the ranch or the homestead — once I even heard something about money — one of the others would hush her. Of course, there were lots of people at the ranch and the maids. Jen’s as indiscreet as ever.’

  ‘Was Paul Skinner there?’

  ‘Heavens no! He’s not on those kind of terms — Why d’you ask?’

  ‘I’m puzzled about him. Hilton mentioned him. When we went down to join the others at the cabin he was obviously on to something: looking round the interior carefully, not casually. He went to the door and looked up the slope to the escarpment. He’d already suggested that Charlie had a visitor. He’d asked about Skinner: where was he on the search? I said he wasn’t there at all. He didn’t comment on that but it left me thinking about Skinner: him and Byer.’

  ‘Hilton thinks Paul’s involved?’

  ‘No. That is, he’s pretty blatant about the family, implying all the members are suspect, but he’s going for the money motive. However, Skinner doesn’t benefit.’

  ‘Of course he doesn’t!’ Sophie was vehement, but then she wouldn’t want Skinner to be a suspect because if Hilton went after him, that can of worms would be opened which the family was so concerned to keep shut. But if he were ruled out through absence of one motive, he had another: he had been the butt of Charlie’s last joke.

  12

  The telephone calls began: Val, Clyde, even Jen, all exchanging chit-chat about the reception after the funeral, all asking after Sophie’s guest. She said that Miss Pink had had an uneventful day with the police: the ride to Mazarine Lake, a diversion to hunting camp.

  At six thirty Val arrived, straight from riding. Miss Pink appreciated that she would have wanted to go round the horses after a day’s absence, but it seemed perverse to call on her aunt still smelling of horse. She did apologise for not having changed, she was bushed after a hard day. ‘Social life is so exhausting,’ she told Miss Pink, bright-eyed and jumpy. ‘Meeting people you haven’t seen for years, some of ‘em, having to be polite, putting on an act for my mother’s sake. Family solidarity, right, Sophie?’

  Her aunt brought her a stiff bourbon. ‘Sit down,’ she ordered. ‘Take the load off your feet.’

  Miss Pink sat opposite, blandly observing the younger woman. Sophie placed herself on the sofa beside Val; the arrangement had the effect of suggesting aunt and niece were ranged against her.

  When the others remained silent, drinking rather than sipping, Miss Pink opened proceedings. ‘My day was less tiring,’ she told Val. ‘A pleasant ride over the tops and down to Mazarine. I could have done without the police version of a packed lunch, however: cold sausage and squashed buns.’

  Val giggled wildly and Miss Pink realised that ‘buns’ might have a different meaning here from what she’d intended. Val caught herself and asked shakily, ‘Why did they take you along?’

  ‘I was the only person on the search who was available. Everyone else was at the funeral.’

  ‘Except Byer,’ Sophie put in.

  ‘Hilton said he was missing,’ Miss Pink said.

  ‘He was at Glenaffric.’ Val sounded sullen.

  Sophie was suddenly irate. ‘With Clyde and your mother at the funeral? He could have made off with anything he fancied from the house.’

  ‘No. The maids were around. They never let him go beyond the kitchen.’

  ‘He has a reputation as a thief?’ Miss Pink asked. ‘In that case he may well have a record.’

  ‘Did Hilton mention Byer?’ Sophie asked of her. Questions and answers were loaded. ‘Byer wasn’t mentioned,’ Miss Pink said. ‘Paul Skinner was.’

  ‘How?’ Val asked. ‘In what respect?’

  ‘Hilton was interested because Paul wasn’t on the search.’

  ‘He wouldn’t be.’

  Sophie cut in quickly: ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘Did he mention anyone else?’ Val asked delicately.

  ‘Bret Ryan. Hilton was intrigued by the proximity of Benefit to the cabin and the lines of approach down the escarpment. And, of course’ — Miss Pink was dismissive — ‘he wanted to know how close you and Clyde were to the hunting camp that day.’

  ‘He would.’ Val was dry. ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘Nothing. I don’t know the area. All I did was show him where we found the stallion and your father’s body. He did want to know the state of the cabin when we went down for the blankets. Actually, it looked just the same, but it would if no one’s been there other than yourself.’

  ‘When was I there?’

  ‘Didn’t you go back to fetch Charlie’s saddle?’

  ‘Of course. I’d forgotten.’ There was a pause. ‘Did he say anything else?’

  ‘He did say Charlie had a visitor.’

  Val gasped. Sophie said, ‘He was guessing, Val: fishing. He can’t know.’

  The younger woman was rigid with hostility, glaring at Miss Pink. ‘She was never there. The phone call means nothing, she changed her mind. I’m telling you she had nothing —’

  ‘I never mentioned Jen or the phone call.’ Miss Pink was firm. ‘I gave them no information other than what I’ve told you — except I did say that when we were searching for Charlie, Bret had gone down that steep descent —’

  ‘Upstream of the landslip,’ Sophie supplied. ‘But Hilton found another way down. Tell her, Mel.’

  ‘There’s a break in the escarpment above the cabin. It’s timbered —’

  ‘I know it.’ Val was harsh. ‘Why was Hilton interested?’

  ‘They found horse tracks there.’ Miss Pink took the plunge. ‘It seems obvious that Hilton has his eye on Bret.’

  Val was silent. Sophie said, ‘But not Jen? He didn’t mention her?’

  ‘Not a word.’

  ‘He does know they’re married?’

  Miss Pink thought about that. ‘He did mention her,’ she amended. ‘He asked where she was on the search and when I said she wasn’t out — with us — that was when he asked about Bret. He must know they’re married and he’s considering Bret because his wife is now a rich woman. He talked about collusion, said it was the only way it could have been done — and then he said he was joking.’

  ‘Was he?’ Val was tense.

  ‘No. He wasn’t actually accusing anyone, rather he was looking for my reactions, but he wasn’t joking.’

  ‘You said Jen wasn’t on the search: “not with us”, you said. Did you see her somewhere?’

  ‘There was a rider on a buckskin who showed for a moment when we were down below. Why not ask Jen if it was her?’

  ‘I’ll do that. It would have been the natural thing to do. She was shy about meeting us but she couldn’t keep away. Charlie was her grandfather, after all. She’d have been keeping an eye on things: wanting to know what was happening. Maybe she was searching too, on top.’

  ‘That would be it.’ Miss Pink was equable. ‘Incidentally, why would Byer agree to guide the police and then back down?’

  ‘He couldn’t refuse if Hilton asked him face to face, but he’d make himself scarce when the time came. Maybe there was some reason he didn’t want to go near the cabin… Did they fingerprint it?’

  ‘No. Why should they?’

  ‘You said Hilton mentioned a visitor.’

  ‘You think it was Byer.’

  Val licked her lips. ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  Sophie and Miss Pink exchanged glances. Sophie said, ‘If your visit to the cabin was innocent, what does Byer have on you?’

  ‘One hell of a lot —’ Val’s voice climbed alarmingly, then stopped in mid-flight, her eyes frantic.

  ‘Charlie died over a mile from the cabin,’ Miss Pink reminded her. ‘But think back: where was Byer that day? Could he have gone up there?’

  ‘I sent him, when Charlie didn’t
come home. He said he turned back at the landslide.’

  ‘That was Sunday and Charlie was probably dead by then. Suppose he’d mended the roof and decided to come home Saturday? Where was Byer that day?’

  ‘Clyde was in the mountains,’ Sophie said. ‘Byer would have to do chores at Glenaffric, then he’d have the rest of the day to himself.’

  He would have had heaps of time to reach the cabin. Miss Pink began to see that his hold over Val could relate to some specific feature of the cabin. She hesitated, caught Val’s eye and knew that another question would be a bludgeon where what was needed was a fine probe. She said nothing.

  *

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Sophie said. ‘And you’re wrong. I would have said so in front of Val but you can see she’s keeping up the pretence that Jen isn’t involved.’

  Miss Pink was amazed. It was late, Val had left, Sophie had drunk a lot and was now being appallingly indiscreet — or trailing a red herring. ‘You’re saying Jen is involved?’

  ‘Of course not. But Hilton thinks so, making believe he’s focused on Bret when it’s obvious Jen’s millions are the motive. He maintains it was collusion. There’s your answer: Val’s fighting for Jen. Naturally. It’s her child’s life that’s threatened.’

  ‘The police are blinded by those millions. There isn’t a shred of evidence to suggest either Jen or Bret was near the cabin.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Sophie brightened. ‘Why didn’t you tell Val that?’

  ‘There was no need. When… if Hilton were to pull Bret in for questioning, then we might reconsider. What did you assume I was thinking — and where was I wrong?’

  ‘Oh, that! You figure Jen told Bret she was going to see Charlie at hunting camp and Bret wouldn’t let her. He went in her place.’

  ‘Actually I was thinking about Byer —’

  ‘What’s his motive?’ Quick as a flash.

  ‘So you’d considered him too.’ Miss Pink pondered the question. ‘Is it too far-fetched to speculate that he would kill Charlie in the expectation that he could blackmail a legatee — or legatees?’

  ‘But that’s exactly what he is doing!’