I turned away first and went to Treacle’s Continental; he and Ragsdale followed. Except for lights here and there, the town had a deserted look and feel. The residents had all shut themselves away now, behind locked doors. A long night for each of them coming up-maybe the longest night of their lives.
In the car, with Ragsdale behind the wheel and Treacle between us, I said, “What brought you out here anyway?” I nudged Treacle. “You’re the last person I expected to see.”
“You can thank Miss Wade,” he said nervously. “It was-was her idea.”
“Kerry sent you?”
“Asked us to come,” Ragsdale said. He backed the Continental around on the road. “Any idea where the Coleclaw kid took your car?”
“No, but it can’t be too far away. Up in the woods to the west, maybe.” He pointed the car that way, and I asked Treacle, “Why did Kerry ask you to come looking for me?”
“She was worried because you didn’t come back when you said you would.”
“Did she call you or what?”
“No. Officer Ragsdale and I were at your motel. I wanted to talk to you again so we drove over there.”
“Why didn’t she come out here with you?”
“She was just leaving when we got to the motel,” Ragsdale said. “She told us she’d been about to drive to Musket Creek-her first priority, she said. But if we’d do it for her, she could go do some other important thing. Mr. Treacle said we would.”
“What was this other important thing she had to do?”
“She didn’t say. She seemed pretty excited about it, though.”
Now what the hell did this mean? She’d been worried about me, but instead of joining in the hunt to see if I was still healthy, she’d gone running off on some mysterious errand. That sounded like Kerry-but it still didn’t make any sense. What could be so bloody important?
We were in the woods now; the fire was just a stain on the underbelly of the clouds above and behind us. The Continental’s headlights picked up nothing but trees and underbrush until we came to the place where Gary Coleclaw had waited for me yesterday with his gun and his warning. A trail cut off into the forest there, and something gleamed faintly back among the redwoods and pines-a reflection of the headlamps off chrome-and when we pulled onto the trail, there was my car.
Ragsdale and I got out, and I went and looked at the car, looked inside. Gary hadn’t done anything to it. Except take the keys with him, but that was no problem: I had a spare set in a little magnetized case behind the front bumper. I fetched them, brought them back to where Ragsdale was standing in the Continental’s headlight glare.
“Now you’ve got your car,” he said, “my advice is to report to the county authorities as soon as possible.”
“I was planning on it,” I said. “You and Treacle should probably come along; you’re material witnesses to at least part of what happened here.”
He nodded. “Weaverville or the Redding office?”
“Better make it Redding. It’ll be easier to explain things to Lieutenant Telford. ”
“Right. We’ll follow you in. ”
He backed the Continental out onto the road, and I did the same with my car, and we made a two-car caravan back through town. Coleclaw’s house was dark; the old black Chrysler was nowhere in sight, nor was any other vehicle. The fire had started to die among the creekside row of buildings-they were blackened hulks now, barely recognizable for what they’d once been-but a spark or an ember had blown across the roadway and touched off the ghosts on that side, so that a whole new conflagration had started up. Nobody here cared about that, either. Except me, a little, but I had too many other things on my mind right now.
Kerry. Where had she gone in such a hurry? And why? I couldn’t come up with an answer to either question. Except…
“I’d make a pretty good detective if I set my mind to it,” she’d declared to me yesterday. And this afternoon she’d said, “You’re the detective; I’m just along for the ride. Not too bright, but reasonably attractive and a pretty good lay.” Full of sarcasm. But with things going on underneath, maybe-wheels turning, threshing out ideas with her own cockeyed brand of logic.
Damn it, had she gone off to play detective?
It was the kind of thing she’d do, to relieve her boredom. Show up the smart-guy private eye boyfriend, out- think him, get to the bottom of things before he does and then give him a nice fat raspberry. Yeah, that was just the way her mind worked.
But that still didn’t tell me where she’d gone, what sort of theory she’d devised. What if she had out-thought me? What if she’d put something together that I’d missed, figured out who was responsible for O‘Daniel’s death, and gone gallivanting off to try to prove it? Damn her, didn’t she realize how dangerous that could be? She was an amateur; she could wind up as dead as O’Daniel…
Easy, I thought, take it easy, you don’t know it happened that way. Or if it did, that she’s in any danger. She’s probably back by now, safe and sound, sitting there in the motel room worrying about you.
But I felt uneasy, jittery, and the feeling got worse as the car jounced along the unpaved access road toward Highway 299. I kept brooding, imagining all sorts of things, alternately cursing her and fretting about her. By the time we neared Redding I was a bundle of nerves; and when we came into the city itself I was twitching and twanging and ready to jump all over anybody who looked at me cross-eyed.
Without thinking about it, I put my blinker on and pulled over to the curb. I was out and hurrying back to the Continental before it came to a full stop. “You go on to the sheriffs department,” I said to Ragsdale. “I want to swing by the motel first.”
“Why ^? ”
“My face is giving me hell; I’ve got some burn medicine there. And I want to check on my lady friend.”
“We can tag along…”
“Not necessary. It won’t take me long.”
He hesitated. “You’re sure you’ll show up?”
“I won’t be more than ten minutes behind you.”
“All right, then. I guess you know what you’re doing.”
I got back into the car and swung out into the street again. It was after eleven; there was no traffic to speak of and most of the stoplights were on amber. Within five minutes I was turning in under the red neon sign above the entrance to the Sportsman’s Rest.
The Datsun wasn’t there.
And the room was empty.
I moved around it, half frantic now. Where had she gone, where? There wasn’t anything in the room to give me the answer… or was there? The local telephone directory was lying on the bed, fanned open: she must have been looking up a number or an address. I peered at the pages. Q s. Nobody connected with this case whose name began with a Q. She’d probably tossed the book aside after she was done with it and it had fallen open again at random.
I picked it up anyway, and when I did I noticed that one of the pages was dog-eared. Kerry did that sometimes with telephone directories; the one in her apartment had a score of dog-eared pages. I flipped to the turned-down page in this book. D s, starting with DA and extending through DU.
Decker? Tom Decker?
He was listed on the page, all right-Tom Decker, Mountain Harbor, County. I hauled up the telephone receiver and dialed the number, and spoke to Decker’s wife, and she went and got him for me.
“Sorry to be calling so late,” I said, “but it’s urgent. Did Kerry Wade call you earlier tonight?”
“Yes, she did,” he said. “Around nine o’clock.”
“What did she want?”
“To ask me a couple of questions. First thing she wanted to know was whether or not Frank O’Daniel kept flares on board his boat. ”
“Flares?”
“I told her he did. Then she wanted to know about his wife.”
“His wife. What about his wife?”
