All Night Long (17 page)

“Luke gave them the honeymoon suite,” Irene said.

Maxine frowned. “We haven’t got one.”

“We do now,” Luke said. “Cabin Number Ten.”

Maxine glowed with enthusiasm. “I know what I’ll do, I’ll make up a little basket of amenities for them.”

“I’d skip the doughnuts if I were you,” Luke said.

C
onnie Watson glared through the screen door. She was a large, big-boned woman with suspicious eyes. She gripped a dish towel in one work-roughened hand. Everything about her from her expression to her body language suggested that she had long ago given up expecting anything good out of life.

“I remember you, Irene,” she said. She flicked a quick, uneasy glance at Luke. “And I know who you are, Mr. Danner. What do you two want?”

This wasn’t going to be easy, Irene thought. Her hunch this morning had been right. If she had called ahead, Connie would have found an excuse not to be home.

“I want to ask you a few questions about Pamela,” she said, keeping her voice as calm and soothing as possible. “I was her friend at one time, remember?”

“Course I remember.” Connie wiped her hands on the dish towel. She made no move to open the screen door. “I heard you two found Pamela the other night. Heard you burned down the Webb house, too.”

“Someone else set fire to the house,” Luke said. “We just happened to be in the neighborhood at the time.”

“That’s not what folks are saying,” Connie muttered.

“It’s the truth,” Irene said. “For heaven’s sake, Connie, do you really think I’d burn down a house?”

“Heard you’ve been acting a little strange about Pamela’s death. Someone told me you’ve got what they call an
unhealthy fixation
about it, or something like that.”

Luke looked at her through the screen. “Who told you that?”

Connie jerked and took a small step back. Then she reached out and hastily locked the screen door. “Doesn’t matter. Word’s going around town, that’s all.”

Irene frowned at Luke, silently willing him to shut up. He certainly had a talent for giving orders and intimidating people, but at the moment she needed cooperation from Connie.

Luke raised his brows and shrugged a little, letting her know he had received her message.

She turned back to Connie. “Shortly before she died, Pamela sent me an e-mail telling me that she wanted to meet me here in Dunsley. Do you have any idea what she planned to tell me?”

“No.”

“Did she indicate that she was worried or upset?”

“No.”

“Did you see her the day she died?”

“No.”

This was not going well, Irene thought. She could feel Luke watching her, waiting for her to set him loose so that he could use his own, less polite style of interrogation. She scrolled back through her memory to come up with a new angle.

“Connie, I realize that you feel you owe the Webb family your loyalty, and I agree with you. But you also owe something to my family, don’t you?”

Connie crushed the dish towel in one fist. She took another step back. “Maybe I owed something to your pa, but he’s dead, God rest his soul.”

“Death doesn’t cancel all debts,” Irene said quietly. “My
father is gone, but I’m still here. For the sake of his memory, will you please tell me whatever you can about Pamela’s last days here in Dunsley?”

Connie’s face crumpled. She gave a vast sigh of weary surrender. “Promise me you won’t tell him I talked to you.”

“Do you mean Chief McPherson?” Luke asked.

Connie blinked several times, alarmed. “You can’t tell him, either. He’d likely go straight to—” She broke off suddenly. “Never mind.” She switched her attention back to Irene. “Look, I don’t really know anything, and that’s the honest truth.”

“Just tell me what you do know,” Irene said.

“Well, four days before you found her dead, I got a call from Pamela asking me to get the house ready for her. Nothing strange about that. She didn’t use the place often, but when she did, she’d call me up and ask me to make sure there was food in the refrigerator and clean sheets on the beds and so on.”

“Did you see her after she arrived?”

Connie shook her head quickly. “No. Like I said, I just got things ready and then I left. Someone said they saw her drive through town the next day. Two days later she was dead. That’s all I know.”

Irene smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring way. “Did she ask you to stock the refrigerator for more than one person?”

Connie frowned. “No.”

“So she wasn’t expecting anyone else to join her?”

Connie shook her head. “I don’t think so. She would have asked me to make sure there were some cocktail crackers and cheese and plenty of booze on hand if she was planning on entertaining some of her fancy city friends.”

Irene stilled. “She didn’t ask you to buy any liquor?”

“Not this time.”

Luke planted one hand against the wall of the house. “There was an empty pitcher and a martini glass on the table when we found her.”

Connie made a vague gesture with one hand. “I heard about that. Don’t know where she got the booze. Usually she had me pick it up, except for the wine, of course.”

“The wine?” Luke repeated carefully.

“She was real picky about her wine. She always brought it with her. But when it came to the hard stuff she had an arrangement with Joe down at the Dunsley Market. He knew what she liked and kept it on hand for her.” Connie shrugged. “I reckon she must have brought the martini makings with her from the city this time.”

“Liquor keeps well for a long period of time,” Irene said. “Pamela could have left a few bottles in the house the last time she was in town.”

“No,” Connie said with great certainty. “She never left any booze in the house. Everyone around here knew that. She always said it would have been an open invitation to every teen on the lake to break in and steal it. She said she didn’t want to be responsible for some local kids getting drunk and driving a car off Lakefront Road into the water. Said it would have been bad for the senator’s image.”

“How much food did you buy for her?” Irene asked.

“What?” Connie used both hands to twist the dish towel.

“Enough for a couple of days, perhaps? A long weekend?”

“Oh, the food.” Connie’s grip on the towel lessened slightly. “That was a bit strange, now that I think about it. When she called she said she wanted enough milk and cereal and salad makings and such to last about a week.”

“What was strange about that?”

“Usually she just came for a weekend, three days at the most. Can’t remember the last time she planned to stay for a whole week. And all by herself, too. She always had a man with her when she showed up in town.”

“Always?” Irene repeated carefully.

Connie made a face. “You remember how when Pamela was a teenager, she always had boys hanging around her like bees around a honey pot?”

“Yes.”

“Well, some things never change. There was always a man somewhere in the vicinity.”

Irene thought about the pink-and-white bedroom. “Where did they sleep?”

Connie looked bewildered. “At the house, of course. Where else would they sleep?”

“I mean, which bedroom in the house?”

“Pamela always used the master bedroom on account of it had the deck and the view of the lake. Her guests used the spare bedrooms. There was one upstairs and one down.”

“She didn’t put any of her guests into her old bedroom? The one she used when she was growing up?”

“Oh, no,” Connie said. “She never let anyone use that room.”

“Did she ever tell you why?” Irene asked.

“No.” Connie hesitated. “She was a little strange about that room, and that’s a fact. Always made it real clear that she wanted it kept exactly as it was. I wasn’t even allowed to move the furniture around in there. Guess she was sentimental about it or something.”

“Thank you, Connie.” Irene stepped back. “I appreciate your patience. You’ve been very kind to answer my questions.”

“That’s all you want?” Connie asked, brightening slightly.

“Yes.”

“We’re square then, me and your family?”

“Yes,” Irene said. “Paid in full.”

“Wish I could pay them all off that easily,” Connie muttered. She started to close the door. But at the last second, she paused, peering through the crack at Irene. Her voice lowered. “You be careful, you hear? There’s folks who don’t want you asking around about Pamela.”

“I don’t suppose you’d care to be more specific?” Irene said.

“I always liked you, Irene, and I was real sorry to hear about that post-trauma problem everyone says you’ve got.
Also, I’m truly grateful for what your pa did for my boy. Wayne’s been working steady all these years. Got married a while back and has himself a nice little family.”

“I’m glad, Connie.”

“Like I said, I’m grateful. But I’d take it as a real favor if you didn’t come back here again anytime soon.”

The door closed with a depressing finality.

Irene walked beside Luke back to the SUV. Neither spoke until they were inside the vehicle.

Irene pulled her notebook out of her shoulder bag. “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got. Pamela ordered in enough food for a week and didn’t request any hard liquor, but she supposedly OD’s on martinis and pills.”

Luke put the SUV in gear and drove off down the narrow road that led away from Connie Watson’s small house.

“The quantity of food suggests that she wasn’t thinking of killing herself,” he agreed. “But it doesn’t mean that she didn’t OD by accident.”

“I know.” Irene tapped the tip of the pen against the notebook. “It’s the liquor that bothers me the most. It’s true, she might have brought it with her this time, but if it was her habit to have Connie stock it along with the other supplies, why alter a long-standing pattern?”

“Good question,” Luke admitted. “I’ve been thinking about the man, though.”

“What man?”

“Connie said that when it came to Pamela, there was always a man in the picture.”

“But not this time,” Irene said slowly.

“At least, not one that Connie knew about.”

Irene contemplated that angle. “In the old days, Pamela viewed men as accessories. She always had one or two conveniently on hand to wear whenever she wanted to go out and party. If Connie was right about nothing having changed in that regard, it’s a good bet that at the time of her death Pamela had a man available on short notice somewhere.”

“If we can find him, he might know what was on her mind during those last few days of her life.”

She smiled. “I like the way you think, Danner.”

“Gee, thanks. I’ve always wanted to be admired for my brain.” He glanced at her. “What did your father do for Connie Watson’s son?”

Irene watched the sunlight and shadows dance on the lake. “Wayne Watson got into some trouble with the law the year after he graduated from high school. Ended up doing time. When he got out nobody around the lake wanted to give him a job. Dad convinced a contractor over in Kirbyville to take him on. Sounds like it worked out well.”

F
rom the first time he’d brought the SUV to Carpenter’s Garage for a routine oil change and lube job, Luke had admired the place. He knew there were some people who liked walking through art museums and galleries. He took satisfaction from an efficient, functional, well-organized working facility like the garage. Phil Carpenter understood the importance of cleanliness, order and precision.

He paused just inside the entrance and allowed himself a moment to properly appreciate the gleaming, well-lit space. A person could have eaten off the concrete floor, he thought. Every tool and every piece of machinery that was not in use was stowed in its proper place. Stainless steel shone as bright as silver. The two men working beneath an elevated pickup wore clean uniforms emblazoned with the establishment’s logo. Luke knew from personal experience that the men’s room was equally clean and shiny. There were always plenty of soap and paper towels available.

He started toward the office at the far end of the garage.

A thin, gaunt, hollow-eyed man wielding a mop nodded once as he went past.

Luke returned the greeting.