Little Feather’s a real boon for the taxi industry around here,” Kelp said as they watched the cab turn in at Whispering Pines main entrance, over there across the road.
They were all in Guilderpost’s Voyager, which was crowded but marginally more roomy than the Jeep, parked on the blacktop beside the kind of liquor store that grows like magic across the road from every campground in the civilized world. Guilderpost was at the wheel, with Dortmunder beside him, now looking past Guilderpost’s impressive chin at the taxi turning in at the entrance over there. Tiny took up much of the rest of the vehicle, with Kelp and Irwin tucked in among him.
A minute after the cab drove in, a little chunky guy came trotting out of the entrance, had to stop and bounce on both feet and wait impatiently while two big semis roared by, one north, one south, and then scampered across the road to climb into a small old orange Subaru parked around at the front of the liquor store, facing out. Dortmunder had noticed that vehicle on the way in and had idly wondered if the place was in the process of undergoing a holdup, because why else would you park in front of a liquor store facing out? Well, this was why else.
“The follower,” Tiny rumbled.
“From the tribes,” Dortmunder agreed as the taxi came out the main entrance and turned right, toward town. The Subaru sputtered and stalled, then bounced out in the taxi’s wake.
“Okay, good, let’s go,” said Irwin, who didn’t like sitting under Tiny.
“Wait,” Dortmunder said, and across the road a dark gray Chevy they hadn’t even noticed, which had been tucked up against the shrubbery that grew along the wooden fence fronting Whispering Pines, suddenly slid forward, like a water moccasin through a shallow stream. “And that’s the cop,” Dortmunder said.
Tiny laughed (Irwin groaned). “Little Feather’s got herself a parade.”
“Can we go now?” Irwin begged.
“Right,” Dortmunder said, and they all climbed out of the Voyager, some more stiffly than others, and walked across the road.
Having been here before, Guilderpost led the way down the curving blacktop road among pine trees and brush and various kinds of motor homes and the occasional actual tent, until they came to the motor home. “She’ll have locked it,” he said, taking out a key as they approached the vehicle.
“Why?” Kelp asked.
“Habit,” Dortmunder suggested.
The motor home’s right side, opposite its main door, was tucked up against a few scraggly pines. On the left side, there was a bit of wasteland, and a knee-high yellow rope threaded through metal stakes pounded into the ground to define the area of the campsite, and beyond that four oldsters playing cards at a table they’d set up outside their Space Invaders vehicle. They watched the five men, not suspicious, just watching, the way people watch anything that moves, and Kelp waved to them, calling, “How you doing this afternoon?”
The four cardplayers smiled and nodded and waved, and one of the men said, “Pretty fine.”
“Nip in the air,” Kelp told them, since Guilderpost was still fumbling with the key.
One of the women said, “The young lady went out.”
“To the drugstore,” Kelp agreed, and pointed at Guilderpost, who’d finally gotten the door open. “That’s her father.”
“Oh,” they all said, as though they’d just been told an entire story, and they all nodded and waved and smiled at Guilderpost and said, “Afternoon.”
Guilderpost managed a smile and a wave of his own, then led the way inside, the others following. “Stepfather, perhaps,” he said as he shut the door.