had been pulled out at the socket. I didn’t like it. And I wasn’t just running from a bribery charge now. If they got to sniffing around too much over the place where I’d disappeared, it would be Shevlin they’d find.
The square was full of people joy-riding to escape the heat and heading for the movies. I shot down the side street and stopped the car a block away from Abbie’s. The beer joint was an island of light and juke-box noise, and beyond it the hotel was completely dark. A drunk came out of the saloon and lurched past me, headed across the street for the chili place, but there was no one else around. I went softly up the steps and opened the door, standing very quietly for a moment in the front room. Maybe the girl and the maid had already been there and gone. I could tell by turning on the lights and looking in the rooms upstairs to see if any clothes were left, but that would mean that if they started to come back now they’d see the light and run again. I was trying to make up my mind about it when suddenly I heard a footstep and the click of a switch in the hall on the second floor and I could see the reflection of light above the stairs.
I went up them, trying not to make any noise, and had reached the top before I heard a sharp cry of fright, and the door to the room slammed shut. This left me in total darkness, for the light had been inside the room, but I could see the thin crack of it under the door and walked toward it. The door was bolted.
“Who is it?” the girl inside cried out in fright. “Marshall,” I said. “Open up. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Who?”
“Jack Marshall. From the sheriffs office.”
“I didn’t see anything! Honest, I didn’t.” I knew why she had run. She was afraid of being called as a witness in the trial in case Abbie died, and she didn’t like the idea. In her profession, she probably figured the less she had to do with the courts and police, the better off she was.
I know,” I said. “I’m not trying to take you in as a witness. I just want to talk to you.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“You don’t. But you can’t get out as long as I’m standing here, so you might as well open up and see.”
“All right,” she said hesitantly. I heard the bolt slide back, and pushed the door open.
There was an open suitcase on the bed and she had just started to put her clothes in it. She stood near the dresser, still holding a pair of stockings in her hand, her face pale and the large brown eyes watching me uneasily. I suddenly remembered this was the room that boy’s clothes had been in.
“You’re Bernice, aren’t you?” I asked, trying to calm her a little.
“Yes. But I didn’t see anything down there. You don’t want me for anything, do you?”
“No,” I said. I came on into the room. “Would you like a cigarette?”
She took it and I lighted it for her. This seemed to ease her mind a little, and she sat down in the chair near the head of the bed, sitting up straight on the front edge of it as if she might fly away any minute. Her hands turned nervously in her lap and I wondered if she’d burn herself with the cigarette. She must have been around twenty-eight, not a very pretty girl, but with a rather docile, not too bright face, which must have been pleasant and good-natured when she wasn’t scared like this, and her eyes had something of the timidity and shy friendliness of an old dog’s. Her hair had been very dark at one time and was now hopelessly fouled up in some shade between maroon and black as a result, apparently, of some attempt to dye it red.
She saw me looking at it. “Miss Abbie thought one of us ought to be a redhead, so I told her I’d try it,” she explained bashfully. “It didn’t come out very good, did it?”
I was conscious of wondering somewhat crazily if I didn’t have anything better to do than sit here and talk about this girl’s hair problems, but got hold of myself enough to make some sensible and halfway civil reply. Maybe it would