The Cove
Page 33
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“Once. It didn’t work out.”
“I wonder if any marriages ever work out.”
“You an expert?”
She was surprised at the sarcasm but nodded, saying, “A bit. My parents didn’t do well. Actually . . . no, never mind that. I didn’t do well, either. That’s just about one hundred percent of my world, and it’s all bad.”
They were walking past Purn Davies’s general store. Quinlan grinned and took her hand. “Let’s go see what the old guys are up to. I’d like to ask them firsthand if it’s true that nobody heard anything the night that poor woman was murdered.”
Purn Davies, Hunker Dawson, Gus Eisner, and Ralph Keaton were seated around the barrel, a game of gin rummy under way. There was a fire in a wood-burning stove that looked to be more for show than for utility, a handsome antique piece. A bell over the door rang when Quinlan and Sally came through.
“Wet out there,” Quinlan said, shaking the umbrella. “How you all doing?”
There were two grunts, one okay, and Purn Davies actually folded his cards facedown and got up to greet them. “What can I do for you folks?”
“You meet Amabel Perdy’s niece, Sally St. John?”
“Yep, but it weren’t much of a meeting. How you doin’, Miz Sally? Amabel all right?”
She nodded. She just hoped she could keep her fake names straight. Brandon for Sheriff Mountebank and St. John for everyone else.
There was more than polite interest in his question about Amabel, and it made Sally smile. “Amabel’s just fine, Mr. Davies. We didn’t have any leaks during the storm. The new roof’s holding up really well.”
Hunker Dawson, who was sitting there pulling on his suspenders, said, “You had us all out looking for that poor woman who went and fell off that cliff. It was cold and windy that night. None of us liked going out. There weren’t nothing to find anyway.”
9
SALLY’S CHIN WENT up. “Yes, sir. I heard her scream and of course I would alert you. I’m just sorry you didn’t find her before she was murdered.”
“Murdered?” The front legs of Ralph Keaton’s chair hit hard against the pine floor. “What the dickens do you mean, murdered? Doc said she must have fallen, said it was a tragic accident.”
Quinlan said mildly, “The medical examiner said she’d been strangled. Evidently whoever killed her didn’t count on her body washing back up to land. More than that, whoever killed her didn’t even consider that if she did wash up there would be anyone around down there to find her. The walk down that path is rather perilous.”
“You saying that we’re too rickety to walk down that path, Mr. Quinlan?”
“Well, it’s a possibility, isn’t it? You’re certain none of you heard her scream during the night? Cry out? Call for help? Anything that wasn’t just a regular night sound?”
“It was around two o’clock in the morning,” Sally said.
“Look, Miz Sally,” Ralph Keaton said, rising now, “we all know you’re all upset about leaving your husband, but that don’t matter. We all know you came here to rest, to get your bearings again. But you know, that kind of thing can have some pretty big effects on a young lady like yourself, like screwing up how you see things, how you hear things.”
“I didn’t imagine it, Mr. Keaton. I would think that I had if Mr. Quinlan and I hadn’t found the woman’s body the very next day.”
“There is that,” Purn Davies said. “Could be a coincidence. You havin’ a dream because of you leaving your husband—that’s what Amabel told us—or hearing the wind howling, and the woman jumping off that cliff. Yeah, all a coincidence.”
Quinlan knew there was nothing more to be gained. They’d all dug in their heels. Both he and Sally were outsiders. They weren’t welcome, just tolerated, barely. He thought it was interesting that Amabel Perdy seemed to have enough control over the townspeople so none of them had revealed to the cops that Sally was here, no matter how much she was obviously upsetting them. He prayed that Amabel’s hold on them would last. Maybe he should tone things down, just to be on the safe side. “Mr. Davies is right, Sally,” Quinlan said easily. “Who knows? We sure don’t. But, you know, I just wish you’d remember something about Harve and Marge Jensen.”
Hunker Dawson turned so fast he fell off his chair. There was pandemonium for a minute. Quinlan was beside him in an instant, making sure that he hadn’t hurt himself. “I’m a clumsy old geek,” Hunker said, as Quinlan carefully helped him to his feet.
“I wonder if any marriages ever work out.”
“You an expert?”
She was surprised at the sarcasm but nodded, saying, “A bit. My parents didn’t do well. Actually . . . no, never mind that. I didn’t do well, either. That’s just about one hundred percent of my world, and it’s all bad.”
They were walking past Purn Davies’s general store. Quinlan grinned and took her hand. “Let’s go see what the old guys are up to. I’d like to ask them firsthand if it’s true that nobody heard anything the night that poor woman was murdered.”
Purn Davies, Hunker Dawson, Gus Eisner, and Ralph Keaton were seated around the barrel, a game of gin rummy under way. There was a fire in a wood-burning stove that looked to be more for show than for utility, a handsome antique piece. A bell over the door rang when Quinlan and Sally came through.
“Wet out there,” Quinlan said, shaking the umbrella. “How you all doing?”
There were two grunts, one okay, and Purn Davies actually folded his cards facedown and got up to greet them. “What can I do for you folks?”
“You meet Amabel Perdy’s niece, Sally St. John?”
“Yep, but it weren’t much of a meeting. How you doin’, Miz Sally? Amabel all right?”
She nodded. She just hoped she could keep her fake names straight. Brandon for Sheriff Mountebank and St. John for everyone else.
There was more than polite interest in his question about Amabel, and it made Sally smile. “Amabel’s just fine, Mr. Davies. We didn’t have any leaks during the storm. The new roof’s holding up really well.”
Hunker Dawson, who was sitting there pulling on his suspenders, said, “You had us all out looking for that poor woman who went and fell off that cliff. It was cold and windy that night. None of us liked going out. There weren’t nothing to find anyway.”
9
SALLY’S CHIN WENT up. “Yes, sir. I heard her scream and of course I would alert you. I’m just sorry you didn’t find her before she was murdered.”
“Murdered?” The front legs of Ralph Keaton’s chair hit hard against the pine floor. “What the dickens do you mean, murdered? Doc said she must have fallen, said it was a tragic accident.”
Quinlan said mildly, “The medical examiner said she’d been strangled. Evidently whoever killed her didn’t count on her body washing back up to land. More than that, whoever killed her didn’t even consider that if she did wash up there would be anyone around down there to find her. The walk down that path is rather perilous.”
“You saying that we’re too rickety to walk down that path, Mr. Quinlan?”
“Well, it’s a possibility, isn’t it? You’re certain none of you heard her scream during the night? Cry out? Call for help? Anything that wasn’t just a regular night sound?”
“It was around two o’clock in the morning,” Sally said.
“Look, Miz Sally,” Ralph Keaton said, rising now, “we all know you’re all upset about leaving your husband, but that don’t matter. We all know you came here to rest, to get your bearings again. But you know, that kind of thing can have some pretty big effects on a young lady like yourself, like screwing up how you see things, how you hear things.”
“I didn’t imagine it, Mr. Keaton. I would think that I had if Mr. Quinlan and I hadn’t found the woman’s body the very next day.”
“There is that,” Purn Davies said. “Could be a coincidence. You havin’ a dream because of you leaving your husband—that’s what Amabel told us—or hearing the wind howling, and the woman jumping off that cliff. Yeah, all a coincidence.”
Quinlan knew there was nothing more to be gained. They’d all dug in their heels. Both he and Sally were outsiders. They weren’t welcome, just tolerated, barely. He thought it was interesting that Amabel Perdy seemed to have enough control over the townspeople so none of them had revealed to the cops that Sally was here, no matter how much she was obviously upsetting them. He prayed that Amabel’s hold on them would last. Maybe he should tone things down, just to be on the safe side. “Mr. Davies is right, Sally,” Quinlan said easily. “Who knows? We sure don’t. But, you know, I just wish you’d remember something about Harve and Marge Jensen.”
Hunker Dawson turned so fast he fell off his chair. There was pandemonium for a minute. Quinlan was beside him in an instant, making sure that he hadn’t hurt himself. “I’m a clumsy old geek,” Hunker said, as Quinlan carefully helped him to his feet.
