want Penny to be there when it happens?”
Genevieve was looking at me hard. “I’m surprised, if my husband did hire you, that he didn’t ask you, or Mr. Green, to take her back by force.”
I said, “You’ve been seeing too many TV shows, ma’am. No real-life detective agency is going to get involved in a kidnaping, or in anything that could possibly kick back as a kidnaping.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
I said, “First off, I’m going to ask you nicely to send her back, like I’m doing now. Let her go, ma’am. Tell her to pack her stuff and come with me. I’ll take good care of her, I promise. I’ll have her home by tomorrow night.”
“And if I refuse?” Her voice was hard.
I said, “I’m driving a black Volkswagen with Colorado plates. I’ve got a light green explorer tent—that’s the little A-shaped job, not the big umbrella type. Any time you want to talk to me again, either of you, I’ll be around. And when the blowup comes, I’ll pick up the pieces as best I can. But I’d rather not wait that long. You hear that, Penny? Any time you want to go home, don’t worry about clothes or money or anything, just come on over and we’ll be on the road in five minutes. Dave Clevenger. Don’t forget the name. Okay?”
There was a little silence. I hoped I hadn’t been too persuasive. It would be awkward if they decided to send the kid home with me after all.
Then Penny got up slowly. She had to turn sideways and squeeze a bit to get past me in the narrow space, but she made it, and threw her arms around her mother without saying a word. Genevieve Drilling hugged her tightly and looked at me.
“You see, Mr. Clevenger?”
“I see,” I said, heading for the door handle. “Well, you can’t win them all. I’ll be around.”
8
The Moosehead Lodge in Brandon made a valiant effort to look rustic and backwoodsy, but the phony log-cabin architecture and the stray antlers and skulls nailed up around the place didn’t succeed in camouflaging the basic motel modern. I drove past to look the situation over, parked a couple of blocks away, and walked back. There was no point in advertising my visit to Elaine.
Unit number fourteen was easy to locate from a distance, by the big number on the door. It faced the swimming pool patio. A last year’s Ford was parked in front—the little dressed-up Falcon with the hot V-8 engine, I noticed with envy. I’d had quite a day of driving along the Trans-Canada Highway after my interview with Genevieve Drilling. For a pretty woman, she handled a pickup-and-house-trailer combo with surprising dash and precision, and I had a hunch she’d been watching her big, truck-type rearview mirrors carefully and maneuvering to make life just as miserable as she could for me, trailing along behind.
The Canadian drivers along the road had done their best to help her. There hadn’t been one who’d let a Volkswagen pass him without a fight, particularly a Volkswagen with U.S. plates. I hadn’t met such an aggressive bunch of wheel-jockeys since the last time I drove in competition on a real track, and the bug was underpowered for playing high-speed traffic-tag. Hence my envious glance at the jazzy little Ford with the big mill up front.
I strolled around the swimming pool in a leisurely manner. Partly it was an act for anyone who might be watching, but partly I guess I was stalling mildly, torn between my personal desire to see Elaine again and my professional knowledge that the minute I did see her I’d have to start lying to her. We were on opposite sides. My job was to get the documents through and hers was to stop them. At least she thought it was, and I was not allowed to tell her she was actually there just to make a tricky plant look plausible. There was also a little question of murder between us, but I wasn’t brooding heavily over that. Greg had been no great friend of mine. If his death didn’t bother Mac, it didn’t bother me. Nevertheless, it
Genevieve was looking at me hard. “I’m surprised, if my husband did hire you, that he didn’t ask you, or Mr. Green, to take her back by force.”
I said, “You’ve been seeing too many TV shows, ma’am. No real-life detective agency is going to get involved in a kidnaping, or in anything that could possibly kick back as a kidnaping.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
I said, “First off, I’m going to ask you nicely to send her back, like I’m doing now. Let her go, ma’am. Tell her to pack her stuff and come with me. I’ll take good care of her, I promise. I’ll have her home by tomorrow night.”
“And if I refuse?” Her voice was hard.
I said, “I’m driving a black Volkswagen with Colorado plates. I’ve got a light green explorer tent—that’s the little A-shaped job, not the big umbrella type. Any time you want to talk to me again, either of you, I’ll be around. And when the blowup comes, I’ll pick up the pieces as best I can. But I’d rather not wait that long. You hear that, Penny? Any time you want to go home, don’t worry about clothes or money or anything, just come on over and we’ll be on the road in five minutes. Dave Clevenger. Don’t forget the name. Okay?”
There was a little silence. I hoped I hadn’t been too persuasive. It would be awkward if they decided to send the kid home with me after all.
Then Penny got up slowly. She had to turn sideways and squeeze a bit to get past me in the narrow space, but she made it, and threw her arms around her mother without saying a word. Genevieve Drilling hugged her tightly and looked at me.
“You see, Mr. Clevenger?”
“I see,” I said, heading for the door handle. “Well, you can’t win them all. I’ll be around.”
8
The Moosehead Lodge in Brandon made a valiant effort to look rustic and backwoodsy, but the phony log-cabin architecture and the stray antlers and skulls nailed up around the place didn’t succeed in camouflaging the basic motel modern. I drove past to look the situation over, parked a couple of blocks away, and walked back. There was no point in advertising my visit to Elaine.
Unit number fourteen was easy to locate from a distance, by the big number on the door. It faced the swimming pool patio. A last year’s Ford was parked in front—the little dressed-up Falcon with the hot V-8 engine, I noticed with envy. I’d had quite a day of driving along the Trans-Canada Highway after my interview with Genevieve Drilling. For a pretty woman, she handled a pickup-and-house-trailer combo with surprising dash and precision, and I had a hunch she’d been watching her big, truck-type rearview mirrors carefully and maneuvering to make life just as miserable as she could for me, trailing along behind.
The Canadian drivers along the road had done their best to help her. There hadn’t been one who’d let a Volkswagen pass him without a fight, particularly a Volkswagen with U.S. plates. I hadn’t met such an aggressive bunch of wheel-jockeys since the last time I drove in competition on a real track, and the bug was underpowered for playing high-speed traffic-tag. Hence my envious glance at the jazzy little Ford with the big mill up front.
I strolled around the swimming pool in a leisurely manner. Partly it was an act for anyone who might be watching, but partly I guess I was stalling mildly, torn between my personal desire to see Elaine again and my professional knowledge that the minute I did see her I’d have to start lying to her. We were on opposite sides. My job was to get the documents through and hers was to stop them. At least she thought it was, and I was not allowed to tell her she was actually there just to make a tricky plant look plausible. There was also a little question of murder between us, but I wasn’t brooding heavily over that. Greg had been no great friend of mine. If his death didn’t bother Mac, it didn’t bother me. Nevertheless, it
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