A Personal Favour, page 10
Kirsten laughed and wondered again how much of her background the woman knew. Kirsten was born and raised in the highlands and that form of Scottish accent was not recognised as easily around the world as if she’d been from Glasgow.
Kirsten climbed a set of snowy steps up onto the porch where Orla told her to take a seat. There were a couple of wooden chairs at the end of the porch underneath the open canopy, and she had to brush off a little bit of snow before sitting down on one.
The woman had been right about the cold though. Now that she was sitting still, she could feel it, the porch blocking out what light was getting through the clouds above. And it was a harsh wind with snow falling slightly. Presently, Kirsten thought this was a lull in the storm. The morning had built up and conditions were quite bad, but since lunchtime, things had got just better. However, she felt that the air said that things were going to change again.
Orla Fontaine appeared with two cups and handed one to Orla sitting down on the chair beside her.
‘I like the open air, but will be stuck in with this weather that’s coming in. They sort of said this afternoon was about the last of it and we’re going to get three days of getting battered. Make the most of the air while you can.’ Kirsten watched the woman sit and unzip her top. Surely, she must be cold too.
‘The report I saw that Melissa was writing was talking about a place called Howlett’s Mine. Said you had some interest in it.’
‘Oh, I did,’ said Orla. ‘Because around here, well, I’ve always thought maybe I could open up one of the mines and do a tourist attraction with it. But the money is awkward.’
‘You didn’t think about mines being worth opening for their own sake in case there’s any of the gold still in them?’ asked Kirsten.
‘No. No, I don’t. You haven’t said your name, have you?’
No, I haven’t, thought Kirsten. ‘You never asked.’ This made her think more and more that the woman knew who she was and had forgot to make it clear she didn’t know who she was. ‘I’m Kirsty. Kirsty Jameson. A friend of a friend knew Melissa and I was in the area, so they asked me to drop by and see if anybody knew anything. Sometimes people don’t trust police forces when they’re not from the same place. It’s not right, but you know.’
‘I understand fully,’ said Orla. ‘The girl, when she came to me, she asked about the mine. I told her that I’d looked into it, but the mine report had come back negative. From my point of view, it wasn’t suitable to open up as a tourist attraction. There’s no gold in it and really wasn’t going to work for me.’
‘Strange, because Melissa said that report was wrong.’
‘Yes, she wittered on to me about that not being correct, but I wasn’t looking to cause trouble. I don’t know where these reports came from, and she didn’t get it. This is a quiet place. I don’t want nonsense like that, story for story’s sake. Oh, I can prove this. I can prove that. Some other person said this. I sent her on her way. I run a proper business here. Hog farm.’
‘I was going to ask about that. Where are they?’
‘You wouldn’t leave your dog out in this, would you?’ said Orla. ‘They’re inside the barns. You can see the barns from here. Heat’s on. That’s why there’s melting snow on top. It’s quite hard at this time of year keeping them all going, but we do it. I’m doing all right.’
Kirsten took a sip of a hot chocolate, pointed to the ranch around her and the number of buildings. ‘You certainly seem to be doing okay. It’s massive.’
‘It’s really taken off. We’ve had to bring a lot more semis in to ship stuff out, and this is certainly a challenging time. Animals all in, storm coming in. We’re going to have to batten down the hatches this afternoon and then prepare to sit it out for three days. You have to shift everything around the ranch to the right place, so if anyone’s going out to the sheds, you’re not having to then get feed to them. Everything is stored and ready. Get everyone to do as little as possible for the next little while. That’s the key, preparation. Just popped back for a spot of lunch before heading out. I’m sorry to tell you, I’ll have to ask you to hurry up with that hot chocolate.’
‘All right,’ said, Kirsten. ‘I will do, not a problem.’ Kirsten stood up and began to drink and once she had her cup finished, Orla stood and took it, clearing both away and then coming back out onto the porch.
‘I’d like to offer you better news, but I have nothing I can tell you,’ said Orla. ‘I wish you all the best.’ She put her hand out for Kirsten to shake it, but Kirsten turned away from the woman looking out from the ranch.
‘Do you see the car out by the road there?’
‘I do,’ said Orla.
‘That car has been watching here for the last fifteen minutes. Probably best if you phone the sheriff to find out what they’re doing.’
‘Cars stop all the time.’
‘Yes, they do. They don’t sit and watch you the way they are.’
‘Maybe he’s watching you,’ said Orla.
‘I doubt it. I’m just passing through. Seems to be very intent, however, on what you’re doing, given what happened to the deputy recently in town. Maybe you should be cautious,’ said Kirsten.
‘Don’t you worry about that. I have my own protection here on the hog farm. We can look after ourselves. Had animal rights protesters before, and those people do anything. Kidnapping your dogs, your puppies, whatever, hold them, telling them, treating them well. All they’re doing is just taking them off you. Then they dump slogans and paint everywhere. Ruin your business. People got to eat hog; it’s a major part of what the diet is up around here, throughout America. Why can’t they just be proud of what we do? Don’t you worry yourself about him, Kirsty. I got my eye on that guy. I’ll phone up our boys to keep an eye on him too. As soon as the weather starts up, they’ll clear off. ‘
Kirsten wondered if it was the Bianchis, but she couldn’t quite see who it was in the car. In her head, she had an idea of the men who had stepped out of the two SUVs at Federico’s, but she was too far away. She shook Orla’s hand and walked back to the car. Kirsten wondered what she had learnt. She knew that the woman knew her, but she didn’t know where from, or how. Who had told her, briefed her? Her story about Melissa speaking to her seemed okay, certainly plausible.
That was maybe the trouble, just plausible. Something where you could check and go, ‘Yes, that’s fine,’ and move on. Rarely did things happen like that, even when people were telling the truth. Kirsten knew that from her detective days. If everybody told you the same story, everybody was lying. Stories came in from different angles.
As Kirsten drove out from the large ranch onto the main road, the person in the car ducked. They were certainly watching the ranch, as they didn’t follow her. It was a different car to the SUVs that had been outside Federico’s, so Kirsten had no way of knowing if it was definitely the Bianchis. Things were starting to get complicated and she needed to clarify who was doing what. One thing that bothered her, though, was the deputy being shot. Had Federico done that? Why? It was a very brash move. Had the Bianchis known about her coming over, asking questions?
Again, if it had been Kirsten they were trying to kill, that would have been a harsh move as well. Be much easier to have simply taken her somewhere, roughed her up, or scared her off. If you were going to kill her, why would you do it in the street? She reckoned the killing of the deputy was to frame her. She could see little other reason to it. Somebody was pulling strings. Kirsten needed to find out who and quick. She put her foot down and the car skidded slightly on the road before finding its groove and powered away. She was off to see Wendy Dumas before the weather closed in.
Chapter 15
The address given for Wendy Dumas was in what Kirsten could only describe as a seedier part of town, and looked much drabber than the rest of Kyler’s Peak. That being said, it wouldn’t have looked out of place in most towns as a fairly standard lower-class area. The housing was good enough; there wasn’t a lot of drinking going on in the streets, though it was so cold, and certainly, if you passed through it, you would just think of it as a slightly poorer part of town.
Kirsten did note that the house registered to Wendy Dumas was at the far end of the estate and seemed to consist of five different houses. They were all connected by little sheltered runs and due to the fallen snow, she was unsure if there was a garden in front of each of these houses. A path, however, had been meticulously cleared so only the most recent snow was lying on it.
As she trod the path up to what seemed to be the main house, Kirsten went to grab the large knocker on the front door and thunder it so someone could hear. The wind was really picking up now that it was getting towards late in the afternoon but she still heard the cry from behind her telling her to stop. Kirsten looked around and saw the sheriff, the window rolled down in this car with a deputy beside him.
‘Miss Jamieson, a word, if you please.’
Kirsten marched back to the police car, bent down so she was face-to-face with the sheriff. ‘What is it?’ she said. ‘It is quite cold out here.’
‘It’s going to get colder still. The storm is coming in. I told you that you should leave town and you haven’t. Now will be your last chance; you’ll find the roads out of here will close. It will take them a while to clear it and with the snow that’s coming, they won’t try it until the snow has fallen. It may be some time before you get away. I suggest you get in your car, and you drive south towards Anchorage. Possibly even stay there for the night. It’s only four hours, you could make it in reasonable time to avoid the worst of the weather.’
‘Assuming the snow is coming in from the north,’ said Kirsten.
‘It is, so I suggest you do that. Three days, you don’t want to be here for three days.’
‘If my work was done, I would go,’ said Kirsten.
‘What work?’
‘I think you know that, Sheriff. I think you know a lot more than you let on. There’s not a lot of time left, so I need to get on with my business while I still can. If you don’t mind, I’ll do that.’
Kirsten went to turn from the car but a hand shot out grabbing her wrist. The sheriff then tried to open the door with his other hand, realised that in doing so, he now had trapped them together, joined at her wrist, but inside the window of the car. He let go looking awkward, then stepped out of the car, shut the door behind him and told the deputy to wind the window up.
‘I don’t take kindly to people coming in from other countries trying to run my business. Now, I’ve told you that I will get to the bottom of this. You need to give us time and you need to go. You’ll only get in the way. There’s trouble in the town at the moment. I’ve got deputies on edge; I’ve got town folk on edge. We don’t see this sort of thing, so kindly get yourself out of here before I have to come down hard on you.
‘Down hard?’ queried Kirsten. ‘Why are you so obsessed with me? I haven’t done anything. I’m merely walking around talking to people. I’m chasing up a friend’s daughter because she’s missing.’
‘You make sure you don’t do more than talk to people, but I’m still telling you, get out, and if you’re going up to that door, I want to know what on earth you are doing.’
Kirsten looked at him a little strangely, but then turned and marched back up to the front door, grabbed the large knocker, and thundered on it. As the door opened, she flicked her head around and saw the sheriff watching her. The woman who had opened the door seemed to be rather underdressed. She was wearing a bra, stockings, and pants, and Kirsten went to apologise until she saw a reception desk on the far side of the room. The woman there was similarly attired. As Kirsten stepped into the room, she saw four men sitting on chairs like they were waiting at the doctor’s surgery, except this was like no doctor’s surgery she’d ever seen.
‘Oh, that’s more like it,’ said one man.
‘Like what?’ said Kirsten.
‘Oh, foreign, too. I love that one.’
‘If you’ll excuse me,’ said Kirsten, and started to walk to the reception desk. The man, however, stood up. He was plump, balding, and Kirsten placed him probably toward his sixties. As she turned to talk to the receptionist, she was aware that the man was now coming up behind her. Something felt distinctly wrong and rather than speak to the receptionist, she stood very still, listening.
She heard the arm moving, heard the sharp intake of breath from him, and spun to catch his hand just before it would have reached in between her legs.
‘Now, now, darling,’ he said, ‘that’s not how you treat customers. I don’t care if you’re not in your full outfit, that’ll do.’
Kirsten shook her head, let go of his hand, and turned to the receptionist.
‘I said, darling . . .’
She felt the hand brush past her backside and reached down quickly from in front, catching it. Kirsten then stepped her leg over the man’s arm so that she now faced him, and with her left fist she jabbed him hard in the face. In the ring, it wouldn’t have been called a hard punch, a teaser to set somebody up, maybe shock them. The man fell like a ton of bricks.
‘Oh, dear God,’ said the receptionist and sprang round to kneel beside the man. Kirsten had the feeling she was in a comedy romp, for the outfit the receptionist was wearing was not conducive to leaping about. Kirsten looked over at the other three men who were sitting very quietly, trying to ignore her stare.
A door opened and a large woman of nearly six feet and with an enormous dress on appeared looking hard at Kirsten. Kirsten would describe her as voluptuous, if somewhat older, but the woman certainly meant business.
‘Mandy, deal with Mr Tom if you would. Gentlemen, if you excuse me, I’ll see what our new arrival is playing at.’
The large woman shook her long blonde hair out behind her and Kirsten saw a face that was caked in makeup. She was an older woman and seemed to require to be done up to fit the bill of running a place like this. It was starting to dawn on Kirsten where she was.
The woman stepped forward, swept an arm behind Kirsten, and seemed to almost dance her out the door at the side. She took her through, told her to grab a seat on a sofa in the far corner, and then turned over to a cupboard. Kirsten sat down, looked up, and smiled but saw that the woman was taking a shotgun out of the cupboard.
‘Whoa,’ said Kirsten. ‘That man reached for me. He reached for me in an area where you don’t get men reaching for you. Not unless you want them to. You’re lucky I just floored him. Put the gun down.’
‘Look here, Missy; you’re in my house and I have the rules.’ The shotgun was levelled towards Kirsten.
‘Put the shotgun down or I’ll do something,’ said Kirsten.
‘You don’t make the rules here,’ said the woman. ‘Get up.’
‘I’m getting up,’ said Kirsten slowly lifting her hands. ‘I only came in to talk to Wendy Dumas.’
‘You’re talking to Madam Dumas.’
‘Madam Dumas, not Mrs Dumas,’ said Kirsten out loud. ‘Ah. I think I’m beginning to understand. We might have had a bit of a misunderstanding here.’
‘You’re right; we’ve got a misunderstanding. Missy, you’re going to misunderstand your way to apologising to that man out there. That’s not how we treat our customers. You’re going to go back in when he wakes up and you’re going to make him happy.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Kirsten.
‘Oh, you will. I see you’ve got the tools to do it.’
‘I think you’re not understanding me,’ said Kirsten, but the woman approached closer.
‘I said you’re going to go in and make him happy and whatever he wants, he will get.’
Kirsten watched as the woman pushed the shotgun against the top of her chest and then started lowering it down into the middle of her cleavage.
‘Like I say, whatever he wants he’ll get.’
Kirsten reached up and as quick as a flash grabbed the shotgun stepping around it, driving an elbow into the stomach of the woman which sent her backwards. She tugged the gun at the same time, freeing it, cracked it open, and emptied two shells onto the floor. Kirsten took the shotgun and broke it over her knee. She wasn’t quite sure if the last bit would’ve worked, but she caught it just right and it had looked like quite an old weapon.
‘I’m not a call girl. I’m not here to work for you. I’m here to ask you some questions. Melissa Carson’s missing and her parents asked me to drop in to see if anybody knew anything about it. Some of her notes said that you were making a bid on Howlett’s Mine. Is that correct?’ The woman wheezed in the far corner, doubled over, struggling to breathe.
‘I asked you if that was correct. There’s a bid deadline coming in three days. Have you put a bid in for it? Did you know anything about Howlett’s Mine? Melissa said it was full of gold, but they forged the report. Is that correct?’
Kirsten watched the woman’s face. She could see the flicker, the motion. Oh, she knew!
A door opened beside Kirsten and she saw a familiar face enter. The sheriff was holding his pistol in front of him, pointing it at Kirsten.
‘I told you to leave. It seems that you’ve assaulted one of the good folk of this town.’ Kirsten turned almost casually.
‘Good folk of this town—are you kidding me? He was here for a good time and who knows who with? If this is what your good folk were up to, it’s no wonder you’re panicking.’
‘I knew you’d be trouble,’ said the sheriff,’ and you are. Get going.’
‘Unless you want your pistol ending up like that rifle, you’ll take it out of my face,’ said Kirsten.
‘I’m the law in this town. I say what goes and you are leaving.’
‘Oh, I’ll leave here,’ said Kirsten, ‘but I’m not leaving town, and like I said, drop the gun.’
There was a momentary standoff and Kirsten could feel it drive the coiled spring inside her waiting to see the sheriff make a move. She was close enough to him that if he did look to pull the trigger, she’d have time to duck. Time to step to one side, but she didn’t need that. Other people could get called in higher up, not just a sheriff in the town. At the moment, for some reason, he was treating her with kid gloves. He was only trying to put the spooks on her, and she wondered when that would change.
