FIRST THINGS FIRST: Get the tire situation under control.
Doug’s Auto Repair was the first likely place we came to. Doug himself put a new valve stem on the rim of the tire for thirty-eight dollars. A lanky grease monkey in his teens swapped the tire with the spare and put the spare back under the truck. I slipped him an extra ten for that.
Thirty-eight dollars. In Manhattan it would’ve cost a hundred sixty. To amuse Avis who’d given me a truck with a flat spare, I would’ve presented them with the receipt—if I hadn’t cut the valve stem off to keep Harper from taking off with the truck. Hard to blame Avis for that.
“Where’s your aunt’s place?” I asked Harper. Elrood would have to keep for another hour or two.
“Up a ways, more toward the center of town, then left five blocks. Get going. I’ll tell you where to turn.” She faced me and smiled. “She has a house, not an apartment. Two-bedroom, and the second bedroom is an office, but there’s a guest house in back, about three hundred square feet. Really cute. I stayed there two weeks last summer, got in a lot of high-altitude running. Elevation of Ely is sixty-four hundred feet. If we don’t find Elrood right away, we can stay in her guest house tonight.”
“Mort …”
“No.”
“There’s a suit of armor in the closet. What if I wear that? Or you.”
“That’d do it, except one of us would clank in their sleep and no one has a suit of armor in their closet.”
She sighed. “You’re really … different.”
“First time anyone’s ever said that about me.”
“I doubt it. Okay, turn left here.”
We headed west on Campton Street then south on Elysium Drive, a quiet residential street. This wasn’t like trying to find an address in L.A. The population of Ely is 3,960, down from about 5,500 in 1990. People are leaving, probably because Ely doesn’t have a Costco to keep them happy. The nearest Walmart is 180 miles away. Good luck trying to find another town this size in the contiguous United States where that is true. White Pine County is larger than the state of New Jersey with its nine million people. The population of the entire county is about the same as West Eighty-Second Street in Manhattan.
Typical rural Nevada.
Ellen Moore’s place was a single-story ranch-style house, maintained somewhat better than average, cream with blue trim, maple tree in the front yard, three more in back. Kids eight or nine years old were riding bikes in the street, banging away at each other with finger guns, four boys, two girls. This was not PC country. In Reno, a kid in first grade pulling a finger gun on the playground would get a three-day suspension. In California, he or she would get three years in San Quentin. California is a train wreck, governed by imbeciles.
The driveway was empty so I pulled in and turned off the engine. We got out and went around back, not to the front door. Harper rapped on one of six glass panes set in the back door.
We waited.
Harper knocked on the glass again, harder.
Nothing.
“Must be out,” I said, because I’ve been trained to add up clues and connect dots.
“A startling conclusion for sure.” She dug a key out of her purse, opened the back door, and we went in.
“Aunt Ellen?” she called out.
No response, so we went through the house. Nothing was out of place. Bed made; kitchen clean. We went into an attached garage. Her aunt’s car was still there.
Harper frowned at the car, then shrugged. “She rides her bicycle a lot. One of those fat-tire bikes.”
I aimed a finger at a dark corner. “One fat-tire bike, bright red.”
Harper pursed her lips. “She might be out walking. Also, last I heard, she’s got a boyfriend somewhere in the neighborhood. Guy by the name of Jeff, so there’s that.”
“They do sleepovers? Not that it’s any of my business.”
“I believe so. She’s only fifty-four, Mort.”
“Doesn’t have one foot in the grave, huh?”
“No, and neither do I.”
I kept a mile away from that one. We went back in the house. She tried to call Ellen’s cell phone, got no answer. She took a set of keys off a peg by the back door. “Let’s go have a look at the guest house. You’ll like it.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Really, Mort. You and I would be fine there.”
“I’m trying not to let any lines get blurred.”
“They’re not. Try to get funny with me and I’d knock your freakin’ block off, mister.”
“Ouch. That’d hurt.”
We walked to the cabin on flagstones set into a well-kept lawn. As advertised, the cabin was tiny, sixteen by eighteen feet. Small bath and an alcove kitchen. The living room and bedroom were one and the same.
“Cute, huh?” Harper asked.
“Very.”
“And look, the bed’s a queen, not a full.”
“Yup.”
“And the cost is right. As in free.”
“Best deal in town.”
“It is, Mort. Anyway, I’m glad you’re so excited about the possibility of staying here tonight.” She stared at me. “Think about it while we’re out hunting Elrood. How’re we gonna do that, by the way?”
“I’ll talk to this Zola person. Elrood used her phone to call the girl in Tonopah. Ma used Zola’s number to come up with an address. How familiar are you with Ely?”
“Fair. It’s not a big place.”
I gave Harper the address. “East side,” she said. “Little bit south of here.”
“Want to buy some clothes first?”
“What for? It’s already ninety out, probably get close to a hundred today.”
“That’s still a hell of a short skirt, Harp.”
She turned and faced me. “I pole vault and long jump, which is tomboy, but I’m still a girly-girl in my head, which is where it counts. So, yes, the skirt is short. I like how it feels. If that’s not okay with you, I’ll cover up. If it is okay and you’re not thinking about tossing me into a bed, then let’s go find this Zola person.”
I smiled. Had to. “Look out, Zola, here we come.”
“Thank you. I mean, jeez Louise, Mort. Last night you saw a whole lot more of me than this.”
We went out to the truck and headed east toward the main drag, then went south, turned left before reaching a McDonald’s, traveled two blocks, then left for one block. In that short mile, I spotted three black pickup trucks, a Ram driven by an older guy with an older woman beside him, a crew cab Ford F-150, and a Chevy Silverado. Popular color, black. It gave me the willies, seeing them in the distance, knowing one of them might be last night’s black truck and I wouldn’t know it until it was too close to avoid. Last night I gave Harper a description of the night-riding guy and got no reaction. I hadn’t told her he was hunting for someone up in the hills. She didn’t seem to have any idea she might be a person of interest to anyone, but if I saw that bearded guy again, she and I were going to have a lively discussion about it.
Zola’s place was a two-story apartment building of pale green cinderblocks. It had wrought-iron railings and a tired look, as if it had seen too many winters, not enough paint. I parked on the street in the shade of an elm and we piled out.
“Apartment 2D,” I said.
We hiked over, then up a flight of outside concrete stairs, turned right, went down to 2D, and rapped on the door, got no answer.
No answer after another good rap, which was how the day had gone, how it was continuing.
Harper turned and looked out toward the street. “Now what?”
“Now we play detective.”
“Cool. How?”
“Knock on doors. Ask around.”
Two doors got us no response. The third door was opened by a girl about twenty years old in denim shorts, a torn and cropped knock-off Rolling Stones T-shirt, bare feet, tattoos, pierced tongue and belly button, and a whiff of happy weed powerful enough to knock us back a foot. She was five ten, a hundred fifteen pounds, if that, a sallow skeleton with eight rings on her fingers.
“Zola in 2D, sure. It’s not like we hang out ’cause she’s, I dunno, like almost forty? Or maybe thirty, I’m not sure. But I kinda know her okay, like sorta.”
Didn’t sound like it.
“She’s not home. Do you know where she is?” Harper asked.
“I bet she is home. Asleep. She’s a cocktail waitress at the Jailhouse. Works nights.”
“Jailhouse?” I asked.
Harper put a hand on my arm. “A motel-casino on Highway 50, middle of town.” She turned to the girl and said, “Thanks. We’ll try to catch up with her later.”
“That’s the shortest skirt I’ve ever seen,” the girl said, still in the doorway. “Or is it a skort?”
“No, it’s a skirt.”
“For real? You’re brave.”
“It’s a running skirt.”
“What’s that?”
Harper rolled her eyes. “A skirt for runners. It’s meant to be extra short.”
“Still brave. I’d be afraid of wind gusts.” She stepped inside and shut the door.
We left, headed back to the truck.
“You smoke that stuff?” I asked.
“No more. I tried it a few times, didn’t care for it. It’s been a while, like six or seven years. How about you?”
“I’m the guy in North America who’s never tried it.”
She laughed. “Don’t bother, Mort. Really, it’s totally not you.”
Huh.
“Where to next?” she asked.
“How about we buy clothes, since what we’re wearing is all we’ve got?”
She shrugged. “Might as well. For later anyway. Right now I’m good.”
Before we took off, I dug through my duffel bag and came up with a dirty blond wig—about the shade of Robert Redford’s hair back in the day. I put it on.
Harper stared at me. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
I found a reddish-blond moustache and put that on too, and a Budweiser ball cap, and dark glasses. “If we’re going to be in and out of stores I need to hide. I’m fairly recognizable in this state, Harp.”
“Actually, I was commenting on the fact that you have a wig with you. Not many people carry that kind of thing around, in case you didn’t know.”
“Not everyone has a shifty politician’s hand FedEx’d to them, either.” I probably shouldn’t have said that, but I wanted to see how she would take it. In this PI business it’s good to have an assistant who isn’t squeamish.
She rolled her eyes. “I get that, but that wig makes you look, well … kinda peculiar, Mort.”
Okay, not squeamish. Good thing, considering how the world has been treating me the past two years. “Kinda peculiar is what I’m shooting for. It’s even euphemistic. You might’ve meant bizarre. Let’s go find a store.”
We ended up at a place called The Garnet Mercantile, half a block from the Jailhouse Motel-Casino. They had a decent small-town selection of clothing. Harper bought a pair of black jeans and blue shorts, long-sleeve and short-sleeve button-up-the-front shirts, a T-shirt with Lehman Caves, Great Basin National Park on the front, panties, no bra. I got jeans and a black T-shirt, a green shirt with a collar, socks, underwear. At the last minute I bought his and hers lightweight jackets.
“Thanks,” Harper said. “But do I need that?”
“We’re over a mile high. It’ll get chilly tonight.”
“Which means we’re staying. Goodie.”
“Have to. I haven’t bumped into Elrood yet.”
“Bumped into. Is that an investigative technique I’ve never heard of before?”
“Don’t make me hurt you, girl.”
She laughed. “Yeah, right.”
I’d parked the truck on Second Street, a quarter block off Highway 50, the main drag through town past bars, casinos, hotels, chamber of commerce. I was about to open Harper’s door when a big black pickup rolled by on the highway. I stared at it until it disappeared.
“What?” Harper asked.
“Nothing. Thought I saw a guy might’ve been Elrood, but it wasn’t.”
We got in the truck. “Where to?” Harper asked.
I started the engine. “Check on your aunt again?”
“See, there’s this kinda new thing called a cell phone.”
“Smart ass.”
She swiped the screen, hit a few buttons and listened for half a minute, then put the phone away. “No answer.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Getting there.”
“Got an interesting question for you then.”
“What’s that?”
“If you sit in a chair in that skirt, say in a restaurant, what might people see?”
“Wow, the things you ask. It depends on how I sit, and where people are in relation to the direction I’m facing.”
“Want to change into the pants you bought?”
“Not really, but I guess I’d better. If we’re going to be in a restaurant full of uptight old fogies, that is.”
“Let’s go check on your aunt. You can change there.”
It took three minutes to get to Ellen’s house. No sign of life from outside. We went in the back door and Ellen still wasn’t home.
Harper traded the skirt for tight black jeans but kept the body-hugging tank top.
“What?” she said when she saw me looking at her.
“That’s a mighty snug top, lady.”
“Uh-huh. Comfortable, too. What’s your point?”
“Just sayin’. So, you know this town better than I do. Got a preference about where we eat?”
“Not really. But the Jailhouse restaurant is okay and Zola might pop in.”
Good enough.
I parked in the Jailhouse parking lot and we walked half a block to the casino, found a table in the restaurant. My wig got a long look from a woman in her forties who told us her name was Beth and she would be our waitress. We got menus and drinks, then I fired up my phone and called Lucy. I kept my voice down and didn’t put the phone on speaker.
“Hi, Mort,” she said. “Everything still okay?”
“Great. My clothes are dry and Harper and I are in the Jailhouse in Ely.” Thought I’d give her a tweak.
“Jailhouse Casino, huh? In the restaurant? It’s about lunchtime.”
So, no tweak.
“That’s right, sugar plum. You oughta be a detective.”
“I am, kinda. How’s Harper?”
“She’s fine. Also dry. We haven’t run across her travel bag yet so we bought a few clothes to tide her over. I got a few things too since I didn’t bring anything with me. How’s your mom?”
“Really looking forward to chugging a big bottle of magnesium citrate tomorrow afternoon to, you know, get things started.”
“I bet.”
“Guess what’s in your future in about ten years, Mort.”
“In ten years I’ll be married to the most flexible forty-two-year-old girl in the entire country.”
“You’re so sweet, reminding me that I’ll be over forty in just ten lousy years.”
“They’ll be good years, cupcake.”
“Okay, then. Anything else goin’ on, Mort?”
“Trying to hook up with Harper’s aunt Ellen. She’s out right now. Harper thinks there’s probably a boyfriend in the vicinity.”
“Cool. Every woman should have one of those to take out garbage and unplug drains—unless she finds herself a shithead, then no. Okay, looks like I gotta run. Mom wants to Uber us over to Union Square to buy some stuff.”
“A pre-colonoscopy shopping spree, huh?”
“I’ll tell her you figured that out.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Talk to you soon. Haven’t found Elrood yet, huh?”
“Nope. He’s a slippery lad.”
We ended the call. I hadn’t mentioned the guy in the Ram truck. If I had, Lucy would’ve been on her way here within minutes. I didn’t want her to abandon her mother for no reason.
Our waitress took our orders, then left.
I phoned Ma. Had to do it, but the conversation was likely to cause Harper and me to have more conversation and I wasn’t looking forward to the damper it might put on what was so far a pretty good day.
“Mort! What’s going on with Elrood Wintergarden?”
“Ma! How’re you? I’m fine, thanks.”
“Yeah, yeah, I figured as much since I ain’t seen you in the news.”
Ma—Maude Clary—still gets nervous when I phone after I’ve been out of her sight for more than twenty-four hours. I’ve found so many bodies and body parts of famous missing people in the past two years that she cringes when I call, so this could get interesting.
“Funny you sayin’ that, Ma.”
“No. Uh-uh. I’m hanging up now, bye.”
“Don’t. Not that you shouldn’t, but I’ve got something of a problem you might help me with.”
Harper stared at me. I shook my head and mouthed, Not you. She gave me a questioning look.
“A problem?” Ma said. “I’m hangin’ up, Mort.”
“I would only call back, so don’t bother. I, uh, ran into a person you need to know about.”
“Oh, shit. Who?”
I looked at Harper. “The daughter of Nevada’s missing attorney general.”
“You’re fired.” She hung up. She’s such a kidder.
I smiled at Harper, then called Ma back.
“Hola, Miz Clary. We were cut off.”
“No we weren’t, boyo.”
“Okay, cool, you sure showed me. But here’s the thing. I haven’t come across any … you know. What I sometimes come across.”
“Body. Bodies. Body parts.”
“That’s right. Those. So we’re good, Ma. I need you to find out whatever you can about a black Ram pickup truck, partial Nevada license ZJX5.”
“Why? What’s with the truck?”
“It might be involved somehow.”
“With what? The missing attorney general?”
“Not likely, but I guess it’s possible.”
“So it’s got nuthin to do with Elrood, does it?”
“Not a thing.”
“Which is what you’re supposed to be working on.”
“I am, Ma. I’ve been tracking that dimwit all over the state. You didn’t ask where I am, in case that got by you.”
“Where are you, Mort?”
“So glad you asked. Ely.”
“Which means you’re checking out the address I got you from that phone call to that girl in Tonopah.”
“You’re a sharp old—”
“Be very careful how you finish that sentence, boyo.”
“—cookie.”
“I’ll get back to you if I get anything on that truck. But here’s a thought: Try to locate Elrood Wintergarden.”
“Will do, Ma. You’re the best.”
She hung up.
“What black truck?” Harper asked, eyes boring into mine like augers.
I knew that was coming but I’d had to get Ma looking into that truck. I wanted the name of the guy driving it. “Funny you should ask, Harp.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe not so funny? It must be the one that came by last night in the rain, which you never said anything more about. Until now.”
So I told her about the Ram pickup and the rough-looking character behind the wheel who’d asked if I’d seen anyone up there in the mountains that night, but didn’t say who, or under what circumstances—in a car, walking, riding a bike, holding out a thumb. And I told her about the black truck that stopped outside the general store while she and Olivia were on the second floor, plotting how to get me and Harper stark naked in one small bedroom.
“Plotting,” she said. “As if you and I didn’t look like drowned rats. You’re something else. I don’t know anyone with a black pickup or anyone matching your description of that guy—and what’s that all about, anyway?”
“If you don’t know, it’s probably nothing.”
“You’ve got your partner checking out a partial license because it’s probably nothing? Isn’t trying to track down a partial plate a lot harder than an entire plate?”
“It is, yes.”
“You want to give her something to do, keep her out of mischief? You don’t think this truck is anything serious, is that right?”
“Right. I’m hyper-cautious. It’s a personality fault.” I looked around. “Don’t see our waitress anywhere, do you?”
“Nice try. So the guy was asking if you’d seen anyone up in the hills and you think he was looking for me?”
“He might’ve been, but I didn’t ask. It didn’t seem like a good idea at the time.”
She frowned. “You had me duck down and hide before he got close, before his truck stopped or anything.”
“Did I mention that I’m a bit cautious at times?”
“You mean paranoid? Yes, you did.”
“Well, then. I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
She fell silent, but I doubted that that was going to be the end of it. In fact, if she didn’t bring it up again, I would, now that the elephant was loose in the room.
Our food arrived and we filled up. Lucy had me off large doses of red meat so I had a grilled chicken breast and veggies. I don’t call ’em veggies, but she does. Harper had a salad, which is how the womenfolk around me eat and why they weigh less than a hundred twenty pounds.
Our waitress returned and asked if we wanted dessert. “My wife here said something about a banana split,” I told her. I recanted when I took a warning shot to a shin. “But I think we’ll pass. I wouldn’t want her bloating up like she did last year. Ouch! What time does the shift change in the bar?”
Her eyes jittered. “Did she just kick you?”
“Sort of, but not really. She has restless leg syndrome. I’m used to it. Shift change?”
“Five o’clock. Is that a no on the dessert?”
“Yes, that’s a no. Does Zola work there in the bar?”
Asking for her by name was a bit of a risk, but I didn’t know how else to get the information.
“Zola? Sure.”
“Is she on this evening?”
“I think so. Are you looking for her?”
“I’m supposed to give her fifty bucks a friend of mine borrowed from her a few months ago.” Another risk, but probably worth it now that I’d put Zola’s name out there.
She shrugged. “Come back any time after five. She’ll be here.” She took a couple of twenties and left.
“Bloating?”
“Hush, little lady. People are staring.”
“Lucy must be a saint.”
It was 1:35 when we went outside into blazing sun and a temperature of 98 degrees.
“Hot out,” Harper said. “I’m going to change back into my running skirt, if that’s okay with you.”
I looked around. “Go ahead, but be quick. I’ll keep an eye out for cops.”
“How about I do that at my aunt’s house, not out here on the street?”
“If you insist, Prudence.”
“I thought you wanted us to keep a low profile.”
So we went back for the third time. Ellen still wasn’t home, wasn’t answering her cell phone. Harper peered out a window at the street. “If she’s with boyfriend Jeff, she’s probably having a good time.”
“No comment.”
She turned around. “‘No comment’ is a comment.”
“Do you know Jeff’s last name or where he lives?”
“No. He’s something of a new item. She’s mentioned him, but I haven’t met him yet.”
“A new item. That’s always exciting. How about you change and we take off again?”
“Where to?” She undid the button of her jeans and ran the zipper down. Being immune, I didn’t bat an eye, didn’t look away.
“No idea. Drive around. Get a feel for the town. Maybe see if Zola’s up yet.”
“Might as well.”
She hooked her thumbs into her jeans and panties and stripped them off so fast I didn’t have a chance to turn around before the fait was accompli. She stepped into her running skirt and pulled it up.
“Man, that was fast,” I said, impressed.
She smiled. “I’ll do it slower next time if you want.”
“That wasn’t the point of my comment, but what you said has its merits. I’ll let you know. Ready to go?”
“In a minute. I want to give my hair a quick brushing.”
“I’ll be outside.” My truck was parked in the driveway. A middle-aged woman diagonally across the street was in a three-point kneeling stance, weeding a flower bed.
I walked over. “Howdy, ma’am,” I said.
She looked up and shaded her eyes. “Yes? Hi?”
“Don’t want to take up much of your time since you look like you’re having an awful lot of fun there …”
She smiled, sat back on her haunches. “No, I’m not. Please, take up some of my time.”
“Will do.” I pointed toward Ellen’s house. “You know the woman who lives over there?”
“Of course. Ellen and I have been friends for years. I’m Peggy. Peg. Who’re you?”
“Mort. Friend of Ellen’s, sort of indirectly.”
“Uh-huh.” Peg wasn’t sure how to take that.
Harper came out from behind the house, spotted us and headed our way.
“Oh, are you with Harper?” the woman asked me.
“More or less.”
She tilted her head. “How curious. Hi, Harper,” she said as Harper came up and put an arm around my waist. Peg looked up at me and grinned. “That’s more or less?”
“What’s more or less?” Harper asked.
“You being with me,” I said.
“Yeah, that sounds right. Hi, Peg. Hey, have you seen Ellen around yesterday or today?”
“I spoke with her day before yesterday. Or maybe it was the day before that.” She gave it more thought. “I saw Jeff’s pickup in her driveway earlier this morning, but I didn’t actually see him or Ellen. When I looked over there ten minutes later, it was gone again.”
Huh. “What make and color is his truck?” I asked.
“Gee, I wouldn’t know the make. I don’t know trucks. They all look the same to me. But it’s big and black.”
I didn’t like that, and by the way Harper’s face lost two shades, she didn’t either.
“Ready to go?” I asked her. I didn’t give her a chance to respond. I took her by the arm, about to spirit her away, but then I turned and asked Peg, “About what time was it, when you saw his truck over there?”
“Well, I’m not sure, exactly. I guess it must’ve been about nine, nine-thirty. Something like that.”
“Thanks. Do you know Jeff’s last name?”
“Nickel. Jeff Nickel, spelled like the coin. He’s been good for her. Ellen’s been happy lately.” She smiled. “Very happy.”
“Thanks. It was nice meeting you, Peg. Harper and I will probably be around. In and out, looks like.”
“Good. Ellen will like that. And,” she said with a bit of the devil in her eye, “she’s got that cute little guest house in back—more or less.”
I smiled, then led Harper away, trying to make it look as if she were coming along willingly, not being propelled away before she could say too much.
“There was a black pickup in her driveway?” Harper said when we were back at my truck. “This morning?”
“Jeff Nickel has a black pickup.”
“So does that guy who might’ve been looking for me last night.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Maybe we should go to the police.”
“It’s much too early for anything like that, Harp. We need to find this Jeff guy first.”
She thought about that. “Okay, that makes sense. I’m sorry. I’m kinda worried, that’s all.” She hugged my arm.
I glanced over at Peg. “Forgot to ask her where Jeff lives. Gimme a minute.”
I walked over, asked Peg about Jeff.
“He’ll be in the phone book for sure, but he doesn’t live far from here. Within walking distance, anyway. Ellen has been going over to his place on foot a lot. I’ve never been there so I don’t know. Somewhere east, though.”
“Great. Thanks.”
So far it added up. Jeff had a black pickup. Ellen was out. She was a walker. Jeff and Ellen were an item. Ellen has been happy lately—very.
Inside Ellen’s house Harper took a phone book off a kitchen countertop. Jeffrey Nickel was on Avenue H, about ten blocks away, a decent stroll.
We hopped in the truck and I drove over. Jeff’s truck was in his driveway—a black crew-cab Chevy Silverado, not a Ram. So far so good. I got out with Harper and rang the doorbell.
A woman in her mid-fifties answered. Heavy-set with a pleasant, open face, wisps of hair in her eyes. “Yes?”
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am,” I said. “We’re looking for Jeff.”
“I’m his sister, Carol. What do you want him for?”
“Actually,” Harper said, edging around me, “I’m trying to find Ellen. I’m Harper, her niece. I was hoping she’d be over here.”
Carol smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Harper. Ellen has mentioned you quite often. But you missed her. She and Jeff took off for Idaho yesterday morning.”
“But she’s okay?”
Carol frowned. “Of course. Is everything all right?”
“I’m just surprised she left. She knew I was driving up. I was in her house, but she didn’t leave a note.”
“She might’ve been rushed and forgot. This trip was one of those last-minute things. Jeff wanted to use his time off to take Ellen to Boise to see his other sister. Maybe to get Sara’s approval, which I’ve told him he doesn’t need. Or maybe just to introduce the two to each other.”
“His truck is here,” I said. “So it wouldn’t have been at her house earlier this morning, would it?”
“Oh, heavens, no. I haven’t driven it since he left. He took the Forester so they could put more stuff in it and lock it up if they had to. Gets better gas mileage too.”
“I’m glad she finally met someone,” Harper said. “And I’m very glad to have met you, Carol. Did they say when they’ll be back?”
“Jeff thought by Thursday.” She looked at Harper, bit her lip and said, “I really don’t mean anything by this, but is that a skort? I’ve never seen one that short.”
“No. It’s a skirt. A running skirt. Tennis players use them too.” Harper shrugged. “It’s hot out, and I like my legs to be free when I run. And, just free generally. The sun feels good.”
Carol nodded. “I’d wear it too if I had your legs. Don’t mind me, dear. I’m something of a busybody.”
“No you’re not. Really. Everyone asks about this skirt. Well, I guess we’d better get going. I want to do some more looking around.”
“If I hear from Ellen before you do, I’ll let her know you’re asking about her.”
“Thanks. I tried to call her on her cell, but no answer.”
“You wouldn’t. She dropped it a few days ago and … well, killed it. It was an older phone anyway. She said she’ll get a new one when she and Jeff get back.”
“Can I have Jeff’s number? In case I need to call her.”
“Of course.” She reeled it off and Harper put it in her phone.
We left. We didn’t mention the black pickup that had been at Ellen’s that morning. No sense trying to explain it, getting Carol worried, having her pass that along to Jeff and Ellen. This needed more thought.
If things didn’t shape up soon, however, we might end up talking to the police, though I had no idea how to tell them about the black truck without sounding a bit loony.