Major Schaeffer parked near the rental office and said to us, “I don’t know why you want to avoid Griffith, or what kind of trouble you’re in. But if it wasn’t for the fact that you lost a friend and partner here, and that your colleagues are freezing me out, I wouldn’t be sticking my neck out for you.”

I replied, “We appreciate that. Your instincts are good.”

“Yeah? Well, I want you to prove to me that they are.”

“We’ll keep you informed.”

“That would be nice for a change.” He said to us, “Okay, I’m going to tell Griffith that I met you at the crime scene and that I delivered his message to you.”

I reminded him, “Get rid of our rental car.”

“Let me handle this, Detective.”

Kate said to Schaeffer, “Be assured, Major, that John and I will take responsibility for any problems this might cause you.”

“The only problem I have at the moment is hosting six Federal agents who are about to pull this case from me.”

I informed him, “There are more on the way.” Then I said, “Here’s the way I think Harry Muller was murdered.” I gave him my reconstruction of the murder as I thought it had probably happened. I concluded, “Look for signs that Harry may have been awake enough to kick the sides or roof of his camper.”

Major Schaeffer stayed silent awhile, then said, “It could have happened that way. But that doesn’t bring me any closer to finding the murderer or murderers.”

Actually, his prime suspect was still Bain Madox whether he wanted to believe that or not. I said, “Well, when you find a suspect, you can shake him up with that description of how it was done. It’s also good for your report.”

He nodded and said thanks, but didn’t offer me a job.

We shook hands all around, then Kate and I got out of the car and walked into the Enterprise office. I said to the lady behind the counter, “I’d like to rent a car.”

“You’re in the right place.”

“I thought so. How about an SUV?”

“Nope. I got a Hyundai Accent ready to go.”

“What kind of accent does it have?”

“Huh?”

“I’ll take it.”

I used my personal credit card since my employers had already paid for one rental car. Not to mention that I was on the run from them, and it would take them a while longer to trace my card than it would theirs.

Within fifteen minutes, I was behind the wheel of a little rice burner.

I drove back toward the center of town, and Kate observed, “It really doesn’t take that long to rent a car, does it?”

I thought I knew where this was going. “No, especially if I’m not asking for a copy of all their rental agreements for the last four days.”

“Not to mention the time you can save by not hitting on the rental lady.”

Jeez. Here we were, up to our eyeballs in trouble, and some megalomaniac was about to start World War III or something, and she’s busting my balloons about a little kidding around at the Hertz counter a long time ago. Well, yesterday. I refused to play this game and remained silent.

She informed me, “You’re not single anymore, you know.”

And so forth.

We got into the center of town, and I pulled into a parking space near a coffee shop, and said, “I need coffee.”

“John, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Yeah. I’m getting a coffee to go. What do you want?”

“Answer my question.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“How long are we going to be doing it?”

“Until we break this case or until our colleagues catch us, whichever comes first.”

“Well, I can tell you what’s going to come first.”

“Coffee?”

“Black.”

I got out of the car and went into the coffee shop, a local place, not a Starbucks, where I’d have to visit the ATM machine first.

I ordered two black from the spaced-out young lady behind the counter, and while she was mentally struggling with my request, I noticed a rack of pamphlets and free guides near the door. I plucked a bunch of them out of the rack and shoved them in my pockets.

The space cadet behind the counter was trying to figure out what size lid to use, and I said to her, “I need to make a local call. Can I use your cell phone?”

“Uh…?”

The coffee came to a buck-fifty, and I gave her a five and said, “Keep the change for the phone call.”

She handed me her cell phone, and I dialed The Point.

Jim answered, “The Point. How can I help you?”

“This is Mr. Corey. Any messages for me or my wife?”

“Good morning, Mr. Corey. Are you enjoying your stay with us?”

“Hey, Jim, I have to tell you, this is the best twelve hundred bucks a night I ever spent, and that includes the showgirls in Vegas.”

Jim was momentarily speechless, then said, “I have two messages for you. Both from Mr. Griffith. He’d like you to call him.” He gave me Mr. Griffith’s number and asked, “Will you be joining us for dinner this evening?”

“Do you think I’d miss Henry’s woodcock? Do me a favor and call Sonny, and remind him that he was going to loan me a jacket and tie. Okay?”

“Yes, sir, that would be Mr. DeMott in the Lookout.”

“Right. Deliver the clothes to my room. Okay, see you at cocktails. Henry’s doing pigs-in-the-blanket.”

“I’ve heard.”

I hung up and handed the cell phone back to Ms. Spacey, who I think thought it was a gift. At least I didn’t have to worry about her remembering any of this if the Feds came around making inquiries.

I left the coffee shop, and out on the sidewalk, I had two thoughts. One was that I should stop being reckless and egotistical, and think of Kate’s career, and go see Griffith and spill everything to him, including “MAD,” “NUK,” and “ELF,” with the hope that the FBI could figure out what Madox was up to before it was too late.

The other was that I shouldn’t do any of those things. And the reason for that was that this case was very strange, and I didn’t trust anyone anymore. Except, of course, Kate, who was, in no particular order, my wife, my partner, my lawyer, my immediate supervisor, and an FBI agent.

And although I trusted her, with Kate, you never knew who was going to show up.

I was betting on wife and partner.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Igot back in the car and handed Kate her coffee and the stack of local travel guides and pamphlets. “We need a place to stay, and not in Potsdam.”

“Maybe we should go to Canada and ask for asylum.”

“I’m glad you’re maintaining your sense of humor.”

“That wasn’t a joke.”

I sipped my coffee as I drove through downtown Potsdam, and Kate flipped through the printed material. I told her about my call to The Point. “Very soon, Griffith will ask the state and local police to begin a missing-persons search for us, if he hasn’t already. But I think we can keep ahead of him.”

Kate seemed not to hear me and studied the local literature. “This might be a good place to buy a house. Median house value is $66,400.”

“I’m just looking for a place to rent for the night, darling.”

“Median household income is only $30,782 a year. How much is your three-quarter tax-free disability?”

“Sweetheart, find a place to stay.”

“Okay…” She flipped through some brochures and said, “Here’s a nice-looking B and B-”

“No B and Bs.”

“It looks cute. And it looks isolated, if that’s what we’re after.”

“We are.”

“It’s on twenty-two acres of what used to be the St. Lawrence University riding stables.” She read, “‘It offers the privacy of a classic country estate.’”

“How much is this classic country estate?”

“Sixty-five dollars a night. But you can get a cottage for seventy-five.”

“That’s what we were paying at The Point for an hour.”

“Still paying.”

“Right. Which way?”

She glanced at the brochure and said, “We need to take U.S. Route 11.”