Her enthusiasm grew. "Nobody is using it. There's no electricity, but
there are oil lamps and a Coleman lantern. There's plenty of wood
in the shed, and one of those little gasoline stoves. The bunks are
comfortable and there's lots of blankets. It would save paying rent. I
know Dad wouldn't mind a bit."
"Thanks, Ruth, but really I couldn't--"
"Why not? It's only a half hour to town."
"I don't think I'll be here long enough to make it worth while moving
in."
"Well, then," she said, "okay." And I thought I detected some
disappointment in her tone. "I'd like you to see it, anyhow." The key
was hidden on one of the roof supports near the door. We went inside.
It was bare, but it looked clean and comfortable. There were fish rods
on a wall rack, and a big stone fireplace.
"It's nice," I said.
"I've always loved it. I'd make a wild row if Dad ever tried to sell
it. The first time I came up here they had to bring play pen and high
chair. I learned to swim here. I broke my collarbone falling out of one
of those top bunks in there."
She smiled at me. We were standing quite close together. There was
something both warm and wistful about her smile. There was a long
silence in the room. I could hear birds and a far-off drone of an
outboard motor. Our eyes locked once more and her smile faded as her
mouth softened. There was a heaviness about her eyes, a look almost of
drowsiness. We took a half step toward each other and she came neatly,
graciously into my arms as though it were an act we had performed many
times. The kiss was gentle at first and then fierce and hungry; as she
strained upward against me my hands felt the long smoothness of her
back, and her arm was crooked hard around my neck.
We wavered in dizzy balance and I side-stepped quickly to catch our
balance and we parted awkwardly, shy as children.
"Tal," she said. "Tal, I--" Her voice was throaty and unfocused.
"I know," I said. "I know."
She turned away abruptly and walked slowly to the window and looked
out across the lake. I followed her and put my hands lightly on her
shoulders. I felt shamed by all this, shamed by my lies, and afraid of
what would happen when she found out about me.
I felt new tension in her body and she leaned closer to the window and
seemed to peer more intently.
"What's the matter?"
"Look. Isn't that some kind of animal over there? Directly across. That
was the Warden camp before George sold it. The one with the green roof.
Now look just to the right of the porch." I looked and saw something
bulky, partially screened by brush. It looked as if it could be a bear.
She brushed by me and came back with a pair of binoculars. She focused
them and said, "It's a man. Here. You look."
I adjusted them to my eyes. The man was getting to his feet. He was a
big man in a brown suit. He was hatless and his hair was thin on top
and he had a wide, hard-looking face. It was the man who had driven by
Fitz and me in the blue sedan, the man who had come into the bar at
the Inn. He brushed the knees of his brown suit and dusted his hands
together. He bent over and picked up what looked to be a long dowel or
a piece of reinforcing rod.
"Let me look," she said and took the binoculars again. "I know the
people who bought the camp from George. That isn't the man."
"Maybe he's a service man of some kind."
"I don't think so. I know most of them. Now he's going up on the porch.
He's trying the door. Hey! He broke a window right next to the door.
Now he's getting it up. Now he's stepping in over the sill." She turned
to me, her eyes wide. "How about that? Tal, he's a thief! We better go
over there."
"Anything you say. But how about the law?"
"Wait a minute." She hurried into the bedroom. She came back with a .22
target pistol and a box of shells. It was a long-barreled automatic.
She thumbed the clip out and loaded it expertly, snapped the clip back
in and handed me the gun. "You'll be more impressive with it than I
would. Come on."
There was no road that led directly around the lake. We had to go about
four miles out of our way to get to the road on the other side of the
lake. A dark blue sedan was parked at the head of the driveway, facing
out. There wasn't room to drive by. I parked and we went down the
trail toward the camp. I turned and motioned her to stay back. I went
ahead but I heard her right behind me. The man came walking around the
corner of the camp, frowning. He stopped short when he saw me, his eyes
flicking toward the gun and then toward Ruth.
"Why did you break into that camp?" Ruth demanded angrily.
"Take it easy, lady. Put the gun away, friend."
"Answer the question," I said, keeping the gun on him.
He acted so unimpressed that I felt ridiculous holding the gun.
"I'm a licensed private investigator, friend. Don't put any hole in me
while I'm getting my wallet. I'll show you."
He took the wallet out. He took out a card encased in plastic and
nipped it toward us. Ruth picked it up. It had his picture and a thumb
print and two official looking countersignatures and it said he was
licensed by the State of Illinois. His name was Milton D. Grassman. The
card said he was forty-one years old, six foot one, and weighed two
hundred and five.
"But what are you investigating?" Ruth asked.
He smiled. "Just investigating. And who are you, lady? Maybe you're
trespassing." His smile was half good humor, half contempt.
"You're working for Rose Fulton, aren't you?" I asked.
The smile was gone instantly. He didn't seem to move or breathe. I had
the impression that a very good mind behind that flat, tough face was
working rapidly.
"I'm afraid I don't know the name," he said. But he had waited too
long. "Who are you, friend?"
"We're going to report this to the police," Ruth said.
"Go ahead, lady. Be a good citizen. Give them the word."
"Come on, Tal," she said. We went back up the trail. When we got into
the car I looked back and saw him standing by his car, watching us.
He didn't take his eyes off us while he lit a cigarette and shook the
match out.
Ruth was oddly silent as I drove back toward the Stamm camp. Finally I
said, "What's the matter?"
"I don't know. At first I thought you lied to me. Then I believed you.
Now I don't know."
"How come?"
"You know what I'm thinking. You asked him about a Rose Fulton. It
shocked him when you asked him that. Anybody could see that. Eloise
Warden ran away with a man named Fulton. What would make you think to
ask that Mr. Grassman that question?" She turned to face me. "What are
you doing in Hillston, Tal? If that's your name."
"I told you what I'm doing."
"Why did you ask that man that question?"
"The police picked me up last night. They had word that Rose Fulton had
hired another man to come here. This will be the third. They thought
I was that man. They interrogated me and then they let me go. So I
guessed that maybe he was the man."
We got out of the car. She was still looking at me oddly. "Tal, if
you're here to write up Timmy, I think you would have told me that
before now. It's a cute and interesting little story if you were
here just to write up Timmy. And I can't believe that you could have
forgotten it."
"I just didn't--think of telling it."
"That's no good, Tal."
"I know it isn't."
"What's wrong? Is it something you can't tell me?"
"Look, Ruth. I--There is another reason why I came. I lied to you. I
don't want to tell you why I came here. I'd rather not."
"But it has something to do with Timmy."
"That's right."
"He is dead, isn't he?"
"He's dead."
"But how can I know when you're lying and when you're not?"
"I guess you can't," I said helplessly.
She locked the camp and, on the way back, told me which turns to take.
She had nothing else to say. I drove into her place. She opened the
door quickly to get out.
"Wait a minute, Ruth."
Her right foot was on the ground. She sat on the corner of the seat and
turned and looked back at me. "Yes?"
"I'm sorry about this."
"You've made me feel like a fool. I talked a lot to you. I believed you
and so I told you things I've never told anybody. Just to help you when
you had no intention of writing up Timmy."
"I tell you, I'm sorry."
"That doesn't do very much good. But I'll give you this much benefit of
the doubt, Tal. Look right at me and tell me that you have no reason to
be ashamed of why you came here."
I looked into the gray eyes and, like Grassman, I hesitated too long.
She slammed the car door and went to the house without looking back.
Saturday night was no longer a nice thing to think about. Somehow,
through impulsiveness and through awkwardness, I had trapped myself. I
felt as if I had lost a great deal more than a Saturday night date. She
was not a girl you could lie to. She was not a girl you would want to
lie to. My little cover story now seemed soiled and dingy. I drove into
town. I started my drinking at the Hillston Inn.
Before I left the Inn I cashed two traveler's checks. I hit a great
many bars. It was Saturday night. The city seemed alive. I can remember
seeing the dwarf bartender. There was a woman I bought drinks for. At
one time I was in a men's room and four of us were singing. The door
was locked and somebody was pounding on it. We were making fine music.
I was sick in a hedge and I couldn't find my car. I wandered a long
time before I found it. I don't know what time it was. It was late.
I had to keep one eye closed as I drove cautiously out to the motel.
Otherwise the center line was double.
I parked the car in front of my motel room and went, unwashed, to bed.
Sunday was a replica, a sodden day in town, a drunken day.
It was eleven when I got up on Monday morning. A half dozen glasses of
water made me feel bloated but didn't quench my thirst. My head pounded
in a dull, ragged rhythm. I shaved slowly, painfully. The shower made
me feel a little better. I decided that it was time to go. Time to
leave this place. I didn't know where I would head for. Any place. Any
kind of a job. Some kind of manual labor. Get too bushed to think.
I packed my two bags. I left them inside the door and went out to
unlock the trunk. All the transient cars were gone. A big dog stood
with his feet against the side of my car, looking in the side window.
The cold, thin, birdlike woman was carrying sheets and towels out of
one of the other rooms and dumping them into a hamper on wheels.
The dog jumped back as I walked out. He stood twenty feet away and
whined in a funny way. I made as though to throw gravel at him and he
went farther back. I didn't know what attracted him to my car.
I happened to glance inside as I was heading to unlock the trunk. I
stopped and looked for a long time. It seemed an effort to take my eyes
away. A big body was on the floor in the back, legs bent, head tilted
sideways. It was Milton Grassman. He still wore the brown suit. The
knees showed traces of pale dried mud. The forehead, in the area where
the thin hairline had started, was broken jelly, an ugly, sickening
depression. No man could have lived more than a moment with a wound
like that.