After Renie’s Visa card was approved, they headed for RCMP headquarters. Sergeant Brewster greeted them with a wary smile.
“I hope you don’t have a crime to report,” he said.
Judith decided to approach the Mountie obliquely. “We wondered what’s going on with the Stokes investigation.”
Brewster’s smile disappeared. “We’re not sure that it’s an actual investigation. The only reason they’re still here is because of some technicalities that are being sorted out by Inspector Colbert in Calgary.”
“Technicalities?” Renie echoed. “Such as what?”
Brewster’s tan face seemed to darken. “It’s complicated. They arrived late at night to set up their encampment. We didn’t know about it until last Thursday afternoon. That vacant strip of land belongs to George Barnes, who owns the motel you’ve been staying in. He plans to develop the site—maybe a pool or tennis courts. We contacted him and he stopped by to see what was going on. After speaking to Cornelius Stokes, Mr. Barnes decided there was no reason they couldn’t stay for a few days as long as they didn’t cause trouble.”
“But they did,” Judith declared. “Even if Codger Stokes wasn’t stabbed to death, you and your other officers had to investigate what appeared to be a possible homicide.”
Brewster grimaced. “True. Colbert called on Mr. Barnes, but he told the inspector that homicide or natural causes, the family’s loss was still hard to cope with. They should take time to mourn, eh?”
“Mourn?” Renie practically shrieked. “Frankly, they seemed almost cavalier. Who did they fool with their sad-sack act?”
“Mr. Barnes,” Brewster replied doggedly. “I told you that already.”
Judith felt she’d better speak up before Renie blew a gasket. “I assume money didn’t pass hands.”
Brewster shrugged. “That would be between the Stokes family and Barnes. It’s not a crime to rent your own land.”
Judith suppressed a sigh. “Right. But there’s something else I should mention. I don’t want to be an alarmist, but Trixie O’Hara—the motel maid—disappeared from her room this morning. She’s been quite ill, as you may know. Has anyone notified you that she’s missing?”
“No.” Brewster uttered the word without any expression. “Maybe she didn’t feel up to working.”
“She was unwell when we saw her last night,” Judith said. “It’s possible that she’s been abducted by one of the Stokes family members. We saw Teddy Stokes drive off in a rush earlier today and Trixie may have been with him.”
Brewster sighed heavily. “Why didn’t you report this earlier?”
“We should have. Except . . .” Judith bit her lip. She didn’t want to expose the skein of thought that was unraveling in her head. “Trixie has an odd history in Banff, especially for somebody who hasn’t been here very long. I don’t want to butt in, though it wouldn’t hurt to see if she’s at the campsite. My cousin and I found her the other day passed out in the family’s VW bus.”
“I’ll send someone over there,” the sergeant said in a resigned voice. “Is there anything else I ought to know?”
There probably was, Judith thought, but she held back. “Not really, but we figured we should stop by now before we leave town.”
“You’re heading home?” Brewster sounded hopeful.
“Tomorrow morning,” Judith said. “Thanks for keeping my cousin and me stay apprised of what’s been going on with the case.”
Brewster’s smile seemed sincere. “Our pleasure. It’s rare to have a famous amateur detective helping us.”
Judith suspected the Mountie might be kidding. But at least he hadn’t called her FATSO.
Banff’s downtown was still buzzing with tourist traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian. Judith counted license plates from six different Canadian provinces, eight U.S. states, and one from Costa Rica.
Renie wasn’t intrigued by the sightings. “Why,” she asked in a plaintive tone, “do I sense that we’re going to make yet another call on the wretched Stokes folks? Am I supposed to claim we’re still working on the Cornucopia article?”
“Good idea,” Judith said, brightening. “We’ll tell them it’s an in-depth series.”
“More like an in-death series,” Renie muttered glumly.
“Okay, so I’m concerned about Trixie.” Judith braked for a family of five at a crosswalk.
“Maybe you ought to give Brewster time to check out the Stokes menagerie,” Renie suggested. “I got the impression he’s a bit overwhelmed by your sleuthing.”
“Nonsense!” Judith snapped. “He’s a typical man and he doesn’t like it when a woman—and in this case, an older tourist from across the border—gets involved with his job.” She stopped again, this time at an arterial. “Fine, we’ll hold off checking out the current suspects.”
Instead of continuing to the Stokes campsite, Judith turned the SUV around the corner and drove in the opposite direction. Renie kept quiet. She sensed where her cousin was going.
“The old guy, right?”
“Yes, yes,” Judith replied impatiently. “I’m curious. I’m remembering what Doris told me about her family going to California and how Grandpa took off. I have a feeling that he can tell us something we should know.”
Renie nodded. “I guessed as much.”
“I thought you might,” Judith said in a more normal tone of voice. “We’ve always been good at reading each other’s mind. Like sisters. Maybe better than a lot of sisters.”
“True.” Renie stared at the rugged mountain crags that surrounded the town. “Oddly enough, I’m going to miss this place, despite going broke. It’s such spectacular scenery. A lot more primitive than our part of the world.”
Judith didn’t argue. Instead of heading for the hotel entrance’s porte cochere, she turned in the direction of the Banff Springs golf course. “I suspect parking’s free here. It better be. I’m tired of tipping people.”
After they got out of the SUV, the cousins looked in every direction for the elderly man they’d seen in the Rundle Lounge. There was no sign of him.
“The old guy should be around here somewhere,” Judith muttered, shielding her eyes from the sun. “He didn’t look as if he could walk very far.”
Renie had turned to look at the hotel. “I see him coming out of the Banff Springs’ rear entrance. He’s heading this way. Slowly. Why don’t we go get a snack while we wait for him to get here?”
“Not funny,” Judith said, though she smiled. “We could offer him a ride.”
“For twenty yards? He may be feeble, but he’s not nuts.” Renie had turned back to face her cousin. “Are we going to stay here or offer him a joyride?”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Judith replied. “But why not? He must get bored sitting around the hotel all day.”
Renie grimaced. “So we get busted for elder-napping?”
“We’re too old for that charge to apply. Harassment, maybe.” Judith considered her approach to their prey. “Who could he remind us of that we actually know?”
“He’s as old as your mother. Why not ask if he’d like to date her?”
Judith shot Renie a dark look. “I’ve been feeling sorry for him being all alone, but I’ve no intention of ruining the rest of his life.”
“Good point,” Renie murmured as the old man came within ten feet of them.
“Hello,” Judith all but shouted. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”
The oldster hesitated and narrowed his gray eyes at the cousins. “I may be up in years, but I’m not deaf. Who are you?”
“Tourists,” Judith replied in a normal tone. “And you?”
“The name’s Smith,” he answered, stopping a couple of feet away from them. “John Smith. Are you two planning on staying anonymous?”
Judith kept smiling. “No. This is my cousin Mrs. Jones, and I’m—”
He interrupted her. “Don’t kid a kidder. You two got real names?”
“That is her real name,” Judith replied. “I’m Mrs. Flynn.” She turned to Renie. “Show him your driver’s license, coz.”
John Smith waved a gnarled hand. “Never mind, never mind. It doesn’t matter.” He stumbled slightly, but managed to circumvent the cousins and went on his cautious way.
“Gosh,” Renie said in feigned shock, “you just flunked warm and friendly camaraderie with a stranger. Isn’t that a first?”
“Hardly.” Judith turned just enough to watch John Smith’s slow progress toward the golf course. “I suspect he may keep going as long as we’re still here. Let’s go back into the hotel.”
“I thought we were going to bid farewell to the Stokes zoo,” Renie said as they headed for the rear entrance.
“We are,” Judith replied, opening the door. “I want to find out if John Smith registered as . . . John Smith.”
It took over five minutes before anyone behind the front desk was free. Finally, a faintly harried-looking young woman with short ash-blond hair offered her best effort of a smile and asked if she could help the cousins.
“Yes, thank you,” Judith replied, noting that the desk clerk’s name tag identified her as Caitlin. “Mrs. Jones and I are staying here tonight. We work for a magazine and have been interviewing guests in Banff. A few moments ago we talked to an older man who’s staying here. He stated that his name is John Smith. We need to verify that, as it struck us as possibly not his real name. Would you mind checking your registry?”
Caitlin hesitated, but acquiesced. It didn’t take long. “Yes,” she said, and then lowered her voice. “That’s the name he gave us. He paid cash in advance, so we had no reason to question if that was his real name. We have celebrities who come here under false names, of course.”
“Yes.” Judith nodded and smiled. “I suppose he could be one of them. That is, being so elderly, he might not be recognized by his former fans. Did he say where he lived?”
“He did.” Caitlin uttered a small, discreet laugh. “It was a funny-sounding place in the States.” She paused, still amused. “Big Stove, Nebraska.”
Bingo! Judith managed to keep a straight face. “Very unusual. Our magazine’s readers have probably never heard of it. Thank you, Caitlin.”
As they went back to the rear entrance and got into the SUV, Renie nudged Judith. “Cornucopia’s readers would love to hear about Big Stove. Have you forgotten that its audience is made up of people in the sweet and industrial corn business?”
“I’d forgotten it was a magazine until I just told that fib,” Judith admitted.
“As its editor, I find that disheartening. Any ideas about where we should have our last dinner in Banff?”
“Good grief!” Judith cried. “It’s not even four o’clock. Remind me again around six.”
“Are we really having another chin-wag with the Stokeses?”
“Yes.” Judith was driving the route that would, in fact, take them back to the far end of the encampment. “Call me crazy, but if the corpse wasn’t Codger, why did they go to so much trouble with the bier?”
“Did they?” Renie’s question was artless.
Judith didn’t say anything while they waited for two women and at least a dozen preschool children to cross the street. “Day care, I bet,” she said softly before speaking in her normal voice. “You’re right. We don’t know that really happened. We only know the old guy was dead. But how he got that way and who he really was is another matter.”
“But,” Renie said resignedly, “we’re going to find out.”
“I hope so,” Judith replied with a tinge of pessimism. “But we only have until tomorrow morning to do it. The clock is ticking.”
She hoped that her brain was, too.