XVII

Reaching the motel, I paused outside the door briefly, wondering what kind of a scene she'd prepared for me inside. I'd taunted her and sent her away, remember, claiming to have no further use for her. I didn't think she was about to let herself be dismissed in such a cavalier fashion, so it was her move.

I had no more doubts. The only question was whether I was merely dealing with a mortally offended lady pursuing a private revenge, or whether she had other, darker motives. I didn't really think she had, but of course I couldn't rule it out entirely. In any case, it was obvious that I had misjudged her in that El Paso hotel room. Forced to surrender the film capsule under threat of being stripped naked, she'd still managed to hold out on me.

She hadn't been nearly as scared as she'd seemed. Questioned about her sister's dying words, she'd come up with the perfect answer. Wigwam, she'd said, The Wigwam in Carrizozo.

It left her protected. If I already knew about Mr. Wegmann's service station and confronted her with the knowledge, she could claim to have made an honest mistake- the names were that close. If I didn't… well, at least she'd given no more help to the disgusting bully who'd wrecked her dress and threatened to smash her face in. And she could have the satisfaction of imagining me combing Carrizozo for days, searching for a native shelter that didn't exist.

She couldn't have anticipated that she'd be present to watch, although maybe she'd even hoped for that. In any case, given the opportunity to come along-forced to come along, even-she'd made the most of it. I couldn't help grinning wryly as I recalled the way we'd marched around slushy streets for endless hours this afternoon, while she, outwardly cooperative and sympathetic, undoubtedly laughed herself quite sick inside… I turned the knob and went in to see what she'd figured out for me next.

She'd left one small light on, so I'd get the full impact as I came in. That was a flaw, objectively speaking- darkness would have been more suitable to the tragic impression she was trying to convey-and I thought the pathetic, moist, crumpled handkerchief in her trailing hand was overdoing it a little, but on the whole it was a very creditable stage setting. It established the proper mood instantly.

Her fur-lined coat lay on the floor where she'd discarded it, supposedly, as she stumbled forward and flung herself face down on the big bed in tears-too upset by my cruelty, it would appear, to even remove the little plastic boots she'd been wearing over her shoes. A nice touch of verisimilitude was that the boots were muddy.

She gave me plenty of time to appreciate the scene. Then there was an audible gasp as she realized, officially, that she was no longer alone in the room. A moment later she was sitting up, prettily startled and embarrassed.

"Oh! I didn't hear… I must have fallen asleep." I looked at her for a moment, feeling rather sorry for her. She was pretty good, but she was still an amateur. Sooner or later, she'd get into things she couldn't handle. It wasn't a game, but she didn't know it yet.

I said, "Why, you've been crying! What's the matter, glamor girl. Can't you bear to part from me?"

She stared at me, wide-eyed and jumped to her feet. "Why, you arrogant, insufferable beast-"

She choked and turned away, putting the damp handkerchief to her face. I produced a larger one of my own, fortunately clean. I stepped up and reached around to give it to her from behind.

"Here," I said. "Try a dry one. Wipe and blow."

She hesitated then snatched the cloth without looking around. We stood like that for a little. Then, with a small, tired sigh, she turned and came quite naturally into my arms.

I heard her voice, muffled: "Why do you have to be such a monster? Why couldn't… Why can't I ever fall for a man who's… nice. Just a little nice, just a little kind and gentle. I declare, that don't seem like too much to ask."

"Gail," I said. "Gail, I-"

Then, in the direct and clumsy way of the suddenly passionate male, I kissed her thoroughly and reached for the zipper of her skirt. She caught my wrist, but she was smiling now.

"All right," she breathed. "All right, but let's do it properly this time."

"Properly," I said, kissing her again. "It's a hard thing to do, properly, but for you I'll try. I'll be proper as hell."

"Please, darling!" she said, laughing and trying to escape. "I mean, I don't care much for this impromptu sex. Let me take a shower and make myself pretty. I won't be long."

She wasn't, and much later, with darkness in the room, I felt her move beside me in a tentative way. I made no response, breathing evenly. She barely disturbed the bed as she slipped out of it. Apparently the sweater and skirt she'd removed in the bathroom wouldn't do for the next bit, or maybe simple fastidiousness wouldn't let her put them back on after wearing them so long; anyway, she paid a visit to the closet and paused by her suitcase, before she went in there. I heard the muffled click as the door closed behind her. I waited.

For a woman of her looks and background, she was a fast dresser. She was out again in less than five minutes. I was prepared to keep up my impersonation of a man pounding his ear until she was safely gone, but I'd underestimated her again. Instead of sneaking out, she came straight to the bed.

"Matt," she whispered. "Matt, darling."

I grunted, snorted and sat up abruptly. "What-"

I reached for the light switch. The sudden illumination made her blink. She was wearing another sweater, this time a fuzzy tan job with a big loose collar-very dramatic but not much good for keeping the neck warm- and a pair of tapering tan pants. I suppose they're still called pants. They ended short of the ankles and were very, very snug. I looked at them and pursed my lips in a soft whistle.

"Don't be corny, darling," she said. "I'll have you know they're very expensive and very chic. I'm sorry to wake you but I didn't want you to think I… I'd run away, or anything."

"Where are you going?"

She shook her head mysteriously. "I'm not going to tell you. It's just an idea-"

"Little Gail, girl detective," I said sourly. "Look, glamor girl, don't you realize that a couple of people have already been killed very dead? If you've got an idea, tell me about it, and we'll figure out what to do about it together."

She shook her head again. "No, I want to do this myself. You said some things that weren't very nice this morning, remember? You acted as if you thought I..Anyway, I want to try. Maybe I can help."

I hesitated, and said sulkily, "All right, be the expert. Get yourself killed. Why bother to wake me up to tell me?"

"Oh, Matt!" she said, in a hurt little-girl voice. I didn't say anything. She started to speak again, changed her mind and turned towards the door.

I said, "Gail." She looked back. I reached down into one of my boots lying by the bed and came up with my.38 Special revolver. "Here, damn it," I said. "Do you know how to use it?"

"Well, I've shot them-"

"Okay," I said. "It's loaded. It kicks like a mule. Try not to blow your fool head off. Now get the hell out of here and let me sleep."

I watched the door close behind her. A diligent detective type would, I suppose, have hauled on his pants and followed, but I just let her go. The risk of being caught tailing her was too great; besides, I didn't figure she was going very far, just to the filling station a couple of blocks away, where Mr. Wegmann would, no doubt, be very glad to see her.