“And who are you?”
“Max Holman.”
“Ah, the geologist.” Dwayne touched the tip of his pencil to his tongue and made a notation. “Know everything there is about rocks, huh?”
Max gave him a puzzled look. “I’m not a rock man; I’m a petroleum geologist. What does that have to do with this?” Then to me, “Did you call a lawyer?”
“She don’t need a lawyer,” Dwayne said. “Yet. Now sit.” He pointed Max to a table in the dining area. “Or I’m going to take her down to the station.”
“It’s okay, Max,” I said wearily. “I’m just telling him what happened. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
His heavy-lidded eyes looked tired and the creases that fanned their corners seemed cut a little deeper in his tanned face than I remembered; but he looked wonderful to me.
“Please, Max,” I said, urging him towards the other room. “We’re almost finished.”
Reluctantly, Max joined Rocky and Florie, who stood a few feet away taking it all in. Florie sat back down at one of the tables and Rocky and Max leaned against the sideboard.
Dwayne settled himself in his chair and began to review the notes he’d taken. Sinking onto the sofa, I contented myself with watching Max across the room. Rocky had poured coffee for both of them and Max seemed to be plying him with questions. Good. No way could I manage another string of explanations.
As it turned out Dwayne had pretty much finished with the questions, and I couldn’t think of anything pertinent to add.
“Well, that about does it for now, Miss Barlow. Except for this.” He leafed through his notebook and plucked a card from between the pages. “What’s this?” He handed it to me.
I turned it over in my hand, but I knew what it was. The Queen of Swords.
“It was in your purse.”
“Yes, I know. It’s a Tarot card. I found it in my room, stuck in the mirror frame. I guess they put them in all the rooms; I saw one in Phoebe’s room, too. For some reason I just threw this in my purse.”
Dwayne stared at me, as if waiting for me to say more. I wrapped my fingers around the card, remembering why I’d taken it with me. Protection. Had the indomitable Queen saved me from the dark man, The King of Swords? Under other circumstances might I have been in Phoebe’s place? Or was the queen playing another game? Like, Throw the little fool into a pool of dark-haired men and see what kind of stuff she’s made of? “
Across the room Rocky and Max were still talking, their dark heads close together. Then there was Jimmy Chin, and Kendall Hauser. Even Dwayne had black hair liberally shot with gray. If I went by hair color the Kid was the only safe person around. I rubbed my eyes. I was too damned tired to think about this crazy stuff now.
“What’s it for?” Dwayne asked, plucking the card from my hand.
I stifled a huge yawn. “Fortune-telling. Sheila Rides Horse, the cook here, reads Tarot for people. I thought maybe this was how she advertised. You know, putting cards in the guest rooms. Do you know her?”
“Yeah, I know who she is. Hangs out at the Center Bar a lot. You say there’s one of these in Zimmerman’s room?”
I nodded.
He stood and hitched up his pants. “The guys should be about finished. You can have your purse and suitcase back if they’re through with them.”
We went upstairs. Max and Rocky followed and stood to one side. Dwayne went first to Phoebe’s room and ducked under the yellow tape. I didn’t have to cross the barrier to see that the Tarot card was no longer where I’d seen it.
Dwayne ducked back under and went over to my room, waving the card in front of him. “Any of you guys see a card like this in the other room?”
The two men working in the room came to the doorway. “Nah,” said one. The other shook his head.
“It was stuck in the mirror,” I offered.
They stared at me a moment then repeated, “Nope,” to Dwayne.
“When did you see it in her room?” he asked me.
“The only time I was in there: when I got the key from Rocky and was getting ready to get Phoebe to her room. I don’t remember noticing the card one way or the other when the Dunns and I were in the room with you earlier. Did any of your men take pictures in there? If so, they might help pinpoint when the card disappeared.”
He contemplated the card some more, then seemed to dismiss it. I don’t think he appreciated my suggestions.
“Did anyone tape off the back stairwell?” he asked his men.
“I didn’t. Buck was doing the taping.”
Dwayne disappeared into the small upper hallway and returned almost immediately, shaking his head. “Tell Buck I don’t want nobody using those back stairs ‘til we’re done with them,” he roared at the men. “Get ‘em taped top and bottom.” But we all knew it was too late. Anyone and his dog could have been up and down the stairs freely the last two hours and no one would have been the wiser.
“You finished with Barlow’s purse and suitcase?”
One of the men handed Dwayne a plastic garbage bag, which he passed on to me. My emptied crochet sling bag and all its contents were in the bottom, along with some fine powder I assumed was from the fingerprinting process. The man returned with my suitcase held upright in his arms. It was unzipped, everything in it jumbled and hanging over the sides. He set it on the floor at my feet.
I stared at it numbly. “What about the things I put in drawers,” I asked, “and the bathroom? And my briefcase?”
“Later,” Dwayne said. “You can’t sleep in there, either.”
“As if she’d want to,” Max said, coming to stand beside me. “Rocky’s given you another room, free of charge.”
“Here?”
“Half the town’s hanging around outside trying to find out what’s going on. You don’t want to run that gauntlet. Besides, it’s three o’clock in the morning, not the best time to hunt for another room. All my stuff’s out at the rig. I’ll move you out there tomorrow, or we’ll make other arrangements, but for tonight—right now—we’re taking this room.” He pointed at the archway to Madam Juju. “I’m staying with you,” he stated firmly. “You’re not spending the night alone.”
I was in no condition to argue with anyone, even if I wanted to. I heard Max tell Dwayne that I was through for the night and if he needed to talk to me tomorrow I’d be available. He picked up my suitcase without zipping it and tucked it under his arm. “Come on.” He took my arm. “Let’s go.”
He led me up the short flight of stairs and into Madam Juju. As soon as the door closed behind us Max wrapped me again in his big arms. I was inert, but appreciative.
He drew back to look at my face. “Hi,” he said, and flashed the glorious smile that had always made my stomach lurch a bit. Smoothing my straggling hair away from my forehead he proceeded to kiss me long, tenderly.
“Are you okay?” he asked seriously when we finally came up for air. “Finding her. Was it too horrible?”
I nodded, burying my nose in his shoulder, but words wouldn’t come. I was all talked out. Thank goodness I didn’t need them with Max.
“Look,” he said. “I have to get back to the rig first thing in the morning; you can come with me if you like. I’m going to get someone to take over for me out there. I thought we’d be at completion by the time you got here, but we ran into a bunch of hard—Hell,” he said, stopping for another kiss. “We’ll talk about that later.”
Finally, he murmured into my ear, “I’ve got to shower. I’m going to go find Rocky and round up a toothbrush and paste and whatever else he can come up with. I’ll be right back.”
He was about to the door when I remembered there was one thing I needed to know. “Max,” my voice sounded like a creaky hinge. “You went fishing?”
“What?”
“You went fishing.”
“When? What are you talking about?”
“I called you back at the rig, a little while after we first talked this afternoon. The man said you went f
ishing.”
“Fishing? Oh.” He grinned. “We had a broken drill stem. I was helping the guys fish it out of the hole.”
“Oh,” I said, and grinned as well. “Good.” I stretched out on the bed to wait for his return.
I vaguely remembered hearing the shower run, and Max crawling into bed beside me. When his arms wrapped around me, I discovered I wasn’t nearly as sleepy as I had thought I was.
A sharp clicking noise woke me later and I lay there only partially awake, listening, wondering what the sound was. Then it stopped and sleep rolled over me again.
Another noise pulled me partially alert again. A soft scuffling, in the bathroom. Or the hallway? A thunk. Close. I shot up, heart pounding, clutching the sheet in my lap. The door had closed. Hadn’t it? My eyes searched the room. Nothing unusual, the bathroom door was still partially open, as we’d left it. I rested a trembling hand on Max’s shoulder. He turned, mumbled a sleepy, “Hmm?” and pulled me down and close, snuggling into my back. Another noise, definitely in the hallway. Jumpy, I thought. I’m just jumpy. After all, it is a hotel. I relaxed into Max and dissolved again into deep sleep.
In the morning I woke slowly, still clinging to vivid dream images. Gramps was there. We were going fishing, and I was holding onto his arm. Now stay with me, I kept telling him. Don’t go away. I was anxious, because I knew I had to protect him from something, but I didn’t know what. It didn’t seem to matter that sometimes he looked like Gramps and sometimes he looked like Web Corcoran. I knew it was Gramps, and I felt warm and happy just being with him again. Snuggling into the soft bed, not ready to open my eyes yet, I let the dream images drift slowly away.
Mind pictures of last night’s events replaced them, snippets that seemed astonishingly real in that wonderful alpha state of clarity that exists on first waking.
The scene on the porch replayed behind my eyes: Phoebe stretched out on the wooden floorboards, me kneeling beside her. Fear filled her eyes and befuddled voice. Fear. “Don’t let them see me” she’d said. I’d taken it for pride at the time, now it seemed more sinister. And hadn’t she said “Be careful,” more than once? Again, I’d put a totally different spin on it, thought she was worried about the way I was pulling her to her feet.
I was wide awake now, afraid to open my eyes or move, for fear I’d lose these elusive memories. It seemed so clear to me now: she’d been trying to warn me about something, but who had she been afraid of?
What else had she said? Upstairs. She’d collapsed on my bed, I was about to leave and she’d risen up—why hadn’t I noticed the urgency of it?—and said something like “We’ve gotta talk,” and she mentioned the Kid. Said “Don’t listen.” Had she meant don’t listen to the Kid, or was she trying to tell me something else about him? Her speech had been so boozy and disconnected that I hadn’t even tried to understand.
I repeated her words over and over in my head, so I wouldn’t forget them, then jumped out of bed, scrabbled for paper and pen, and wrote everything down. That done, I sat back on the bed and looked around. It took a moment to remember that this was a different room; I wasn’t in Mavis any more. I got up to look at the picture on the wall. Madame Juju, the placard underneath the photograph read. Real name, Catherine Nederland. The sepia-tinted picture showed a plump, wrapper-clad young woman with frowsy short hair posed seductively on a chaise. Probably hot stuff for its day.
My watch showed a few minutes after nine. I must have slept the sleep of exhaustion, both physical and mental. Not surprisingly, Max had already left. I smiled and stretched, luxuriating in the memories of being with him again. I could see a note propped against the fringed lamp on the dresser.
Couldn’t bear to wake you. Rest well, this is the last chance you get, we have things to do! Be in by three to get you. Love, Max
My suitcase was on the floor and the plastic bag filled with my purse and its contents was on the dresser. I took a quick shower and pulled on some jeans and a light shirt, investigating the room as I did so. More spacious than Mavis, nicer furnishings, great brass bed, and a larger bathroom, with, thank heaven, a shower.
I stood in front of the mirror brushing my hair and letting my mind wander when it suddenly occurred to me that there wasn’t a Tarot card tucked in this mirror’s frame, which, of course, reminded me of Sheila Rides Horse.
Where had she been during all of last night’s commotion? Did she have anything to do with the missing Tarot card from Phoebe’s room? She had a room somewhere in the back of the house, she’d said. Had the police talked to her?
I quickly pulled my hair back, wrapping it carelessly with a scrunchie. Sheila had said to look her up this morning and I was damned well going to. I hurried out.
On impulse, I took the back staircase. The yellow tape had been removed, and I was curious about where it led. The stairs were steep, narrow and wooden. Anyone using them would have to take extreme care not to be heard. Two short landings changed the direction of the flight before it ended on the main floor in another hallway. One could truly get lost in this maze. To the left of the staircase was a windowed door to the outside, and to the right the hall dead-ended with a sharp turn into another passage.
As if by magic, Florie appeared there and looked at me with some surprise, as if she were expecting someone else. She seemed flustered and harried. As if already the day wasn’t going well for her.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said. “Our guests usually use the other staircase.” Her tone was more matter-of-fact than unfriendly. “There’s coffee, juice and rolls on the sideboard in the dining room.”
“Thanks,” I said.
She eyed me curiously, hesitating a moment as if there were something she wanted to say, but then she turned and disappeared as quickly as she had appeared.
I looked out the grimy window, trying to orient myself, and tried the door handle. Locked. I didn’t recognize anything outside, but figured this must be the back of the house, an easy, private way upstairs for anyone who had a key.
I followed the turn into the hall that Florie had taken. It brought me to the wider passage that I remembered from last night. The kitchen was to my right, and the curtained outside door that led to the side porch where the Kid went to smoke was at the far end. On the opposite wall was a door with an ornate brass knocker; on a hunch, I used it.
Sheila Rides Horse opened it. “I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, and pulled me in.
Thirteen
Filled with a brisk urgency, the woman motioned me to a small table and two chairs. She wore a loose cotton dress and her feet were bare. Impatiently, she tucked her dark shoulder-length hair behind her ears.
The small room had all the trappings of a low-rent studio apartment. Some cupboards and a two-burner range in a corner, next to a sink with a red-checked curtain around its base. A metal bed covered with a bright, star-patterned quilt took up another corner. A partition marked off the third corner into what was most likely a bathroom.
A comfortable recliner sat in front of overflowing bookshelves of the plank-and-cinder-block variety which lined every inch of available wall space.
Sheila followed my glance as if seeing her surroundings with new eyes. She shrugged and grinned. “It’s free.”
Without asking she poured two cups of coffee from a dented metal percolator, and urged me again to one of the chairs at the table. She sat opposite and pulled a packet wrapped in a dark blue velvet cloth from the pocket of her dress.
I tried a few sips of the bitter, boiled coffee, but couldn’t hack it. Sheila drank deeply of hers.
“Do you have the Queen of Swords?” she asked without preamble.
“You mean the card you stuck in my mirror?”
She grinned. “Yeah.”
“How did you get into my room?”
She shrugged. “We need the card.”
“Well, I’m afraid the police have it.”
“The police?”
“Yes.”
“Where was the Sheriff?�
�
“Out of town,” I answered automatically, feeling a bit more sympathetic towards Dwayne. “What’s this bit with the sheriff?”
“He’s a good man. Knows what he’s doing. Don’t tell me you got Dwayne Muldrew out here investigating?”
“That’s who we had. He hasn’t talked to you yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Where were you last night?”
“Out.” She took the cloth from the packet of Tarot cards and began to shuffle them. “We can work without the queen.”
“You mean with an incomplete deck?”
“Oh. No, that card wasn’t from this deck. I have lots of decks. If I want to project cards out into the world I use those. This deck always remains complete.”
So many questions were roiling around in my head I didn’t know where to begin. “But why did you put a card in my room?”
“I wanted a significator.”
“A what?”
“A card that represents you. It can be used as the base of a reading.”
“But why? Look, I haven’t a clue about any of this. You’re going to have to tell me a lot more.”
“The cards have been warning me about something for a long time now. I’m just not sure what it’s all about.”
“Why not? I thought that’s what you did?”
As she talked, she dealt the cards into five piles as if for a hand of cards. “Tarot doesn’t stand up and shout at you. It speaks in symbols. The meaning isn’t always clear, or can be read in different ways.”
“What are you doing?” I asked, watching her slap the last few cards into their respective piles.
“Cleansing the deck.” She gathered the whole mess up again and shuffled. “Getting rid of past influences, or if you prefer,” she said with a sly little smile, “just another way to shuffle.”
I loved watching her hands on the cards. It was as if each finger vied with the others to caress the cards in their own individual manner. Between shuffles, she held the pack enclosed in both hands like one would a baby bird.
Frogskin and Muttonfat (A Thea Barlow Mystery, Book Two) Page 10