“I think we’ll leave the Roose’s interview for last,” said Lockem, making an entry in his notebook.
“Tammy may believe she gets equal treatment and maybe Henry keeps her up to speed about their finances, but I wish she was looking at their business independently.”
Lockem smiled. “You sure are the suspicious one. I don’t have any sense Henry is hiding anything, do you?”
“Not a bit. But you know how badly I was taken.”
“You told me, and it was a long time ago.”
Marjorie smiled and patted Lockem’s thigh. “Yes, and I have complete trust in you, my dear, but I still get warning signals from some of our clients. I expect I’ll always have that sensitivity to warning signs. You know that.” Indeed, Lockem did know. Not long after they decided they might have a future together, Lockem had discovered that Marjorie had a severe and lingering case of financial suspicion. She was extremely reluctant to mingle any of their financial affairs, even when Lockem was able to show some considerable cost savings for each of them as well as profitability. When pressed for an explanation, Marjorie had revealed that she’d lost a small fortune early in her career as a showgirl in Las Vegas and working as a solo exotic dancer. She’d trusted her business manager who also functioned as her agent.
After a number of years together she discovered that her long-time friend and agent had been stealing her money and when he disappeared, it became painfully obvious she would never see a dime of the lost funds in repayment. He’d stolen a considerable sum of her earnings. The only upside was he hadn’t thrown her deeply into debt. That experience resulted in her persisting suspicion that most men, when they controlled the finances of a couple or an enterprise, were likely to be stealing on the side. It was rarely true, but that did little to lessen her skepticism.
“Now for the only bachelor in the group, since Ketchum left them.” Marjorie smiled and nodded. “Yes, but don’t forget Sam isn’t married, either.”
“True. However, I haven’t found even a slightest hint that he might have been involved, have you?”
Marjorie shrugged in response. She had been looking, but no obvious evidence had surfaced. More penetrating examination would be necessary. “These people all seem genuinely concerned about Sam. I don’t think anybody in the association believes Sam actually killed Ketchum, either.”
Marjorie wheeled their rental back onto the winding mountain road upward toward Derek McKinnon's property entrance. His driveway, overgrown on both sides by thick bushes that pushed into the open lane, appeared to be minimally maintained. Marjorie noticed they rolled over a tiny pine seedling. She slowed their speed, instinctively ducking as low slender branches and vines smacked the sides and windshield of their car. Although it was narrow and twisty, the driveway seemed smooth beneath their wheels. The road wound around the occasional mature pine tree and eventually they arrived in a wider clearing that appeared to be a moderately well-tended expanse of grass.
Marjorie stopped the car as they emerged from the opening for the roadway and they looked around. On their right was a gravel patch that served as parking space large enough for two or three vehicles. None were in sight. Directly ahead an irregularly shaped grassy patch ran to the forest edge of the level area. McKinnon's lot sloped steeply up the mountain on their right above the grass and gravel to a cabin-like structure that almost appeared to grow directly out of the mountainside. Like the other homes in the association, this one was oriented generally to the south and east in order to provide a view of the lake and the mountains on the eastern shore. It was a modified A-frame with a sharply pitched dark-shingled roof. When Lockem and Marjorie emerged from their car at one side of the lot, only a small dormer window projecting from the roof was visible. The stone-studded path pointing toward the house did not appear to end at a door.
"Boy, this piece doesn't seem to have a lot of flat land," said Lockem.
"I get the distinct impression that we’re entering a boy’s dream space. This looks like the entrance to a man cave." Marjorie grinned.
"Well, McKinnon is a bachelor after all, so I guess he can indulge himself in any way he wants. He has nobody else he has to relate to in this case."
"I don't see a garage or any vehicles," said Marjorie.
"Here’s a stone path," Lockem pointed. "I see steps and some gravel. I'll walk up and bang on the door. He said he'd be home all day when I called him."
Marjorie shaded her eyes and stared into the dark forest that grew up the hill close to the back of the building. “I think I can see a small tractor or maybe an ATV back there in the bushes,” she said. She watched Lockem stride up the gravel walkway and disappear around the side of the building. A moment later he reappeared, followed by the shadowy figure of another man. At the distance and angle, Dereck McKinnon’s bulk, compared to a thinner taller Lockem, came into sharp contrast.
“C’mon up, Marjorie,” called Lockem. She started up the steep path, bending her knees and leaning forward. Her shoes rattled gravel as she went toward the two men. They walked on and disappeared again. When she turned the corner of the building, she discovered a small patio attached to the front. A door and two big windows gave access into the inside of the cabin, but the door and windows couldn’t be seen from the parking area. The patio of colored concrete tiles met the thick underbrush and appeared to be struggling to keep the forest from reclaiming the space.
Dereck McKinnon led Lockem and Marjorie into his neat, well-set-up home. Although it was noticeably smaller than the others the couple had visited, Marjorie’s eye assessed McKinnon’s furnishings as top of the line, from the big double-door stainless steel refrigerator built into the wall next to a similar freezer, to the rustic plank table in front of the tall, narrow window that gave one a long view of forest and mountain. In the near distance, Old Baldy mountain, site of a luxury resort and winter ski camp, protected the northwestern flank of Carson’s Mountain and provided McKinnon with changing seasonal views of nature, although the windows were not particularly large.
After declining drinks, Marjorie and Lockem casually wandered through the questions they were asking all members of the association, the residents of Carson’s mountain. Lockem took a seat on a large dark, leather- covered sofa while Marjorie remained standing. During the interview she moved restlessly, noting closed doors, a narrow stairway to a second floor and a spacious open kitchen and dining area. McKinnon sat down in a large arm chair and answered Lockem’s questions readily with no sense of unease or affront. His answers were similar to those of the others the couple had interviewed. Yes, he’d bought in at about the same time, although the piece he’d really wanted was higher on the mountain than his present location. But the Rooses had already signed a purchase option for that site. No, he’d never invested any money with Sam Black. He was a long-time investor in the stock market as a means of building a firm retirement fund and he had a broker in Boise where he’d been a client for many years.
Unlike Tammy Washington, McKinnon volunteered nothing about any hot tub parties he may have participated in or heard about. He was not a gossip and when Lockem asked his opinion of Sam Black, he said, “Hardly know the man. I’ve had little to do with him. After I refused his offer to handle some investment opportunities, I don’t believe I even saw or talked to Sam more than once, maybe twice a year. And it was always a casual situation.” He stopped, obviously ordering his thoughts. He pulled at one ear lobe and went on. “My career with the U.S. Forest Service involved long stretches of solitary activity. I never married and after I retired, my forays into the society of Grand Lac became even more infrequent.” He gestured at a wall of built-in shelves mostly filled with books.
Marjorie guessed there might be a thousand volumes.
“I like to read and re-read,” McKinnon continued. “Classics, mostly. I will say this. I get on with my neighbors by paying as little attention as possible to their activities. I don’t pay much heed to local politics either, except occasionally when some fool at the county or state level decides to try some misguided effort to get a law passed that will cause me problems. Happens, but rarely.” His lips twitched a quick smile. “I am a conscientious voter.”
“Do you have a lawyer, Mr. McKinnon?” Lockem asked.
“Yep. You want his name? He’s here, in Grand Lac.”
“Thank you but don’t trouble yourself.” A few more questions established that McKinnon was connected with people in town even though he considered himself something of a loner. Lockem stood up, signaling Marjorie he was ready to end the interview.
McKinnon walked them to the door and as they left, he said, “I didn’t like Jack Ketchum, what little I knew of him, but I didn’t shoot him and neither did Edie Black’s boy.” He nodded and closed the door behind Marjorie and Lockem.
Marjorie glanced at her companion on their walk back to the car and said, “Why do you suppose he made that last remark?”
Lockem shrugged. He hadn’t had any particular reaction but his experience had long since told him to pay attention to Marjorie’s impressions. “He knows a lot of people in the town administration, doesn’t he? Maybe I’ll ask the local law about him.”