In the world of law enforcement, Lone Rangering, aka Tombstone Courage, means failure to call for backup. The middle-aged guy I’d seen in that official Web-site portrait didn’t appear to be especially dangerous, but what if he were? If Roger really had killed Chris Danielson and had spent all this time thinking he’d gotten away with it, what would happen if I turned up asking a few uncomfortable and very pointed questions?
“Well?” an impatient Mel prodded.
Obviously she was waiting for my answer, and believe me, I was struggling to find one, because in my heart of hearts I knew she was right. Finally I hit on a response that might possibly pass muster.
“What if I contacted the lady who drove me around today and had her drive me tomorrow as well?” I asked.
“Twinkle whatever?” Mel asked.
“Yes, Twinkle Winkleman,” I replied. “Years ago she served briefly with the Anchorage PD.” I didn’t say exactly how briefly. “She washed out when a suspect took a swing at her and she punched his lights out. She was suspended for excessive use of force.”
“Sounds like my kind of girl,” Mel murmured. “If you got into trouble, do you think she’d be able to help?”
I thought about the effortless way Twink had hefted that loaded toolbox up and into the rooftop luggage rack earlier in the day. With her around, if I ended up encountering some kind of trouble, Twink would probably be able to do more than just call for help.
“In my opinion,” I told Mel, “anyone who underestimated Twink’s physical capabilities would be making a serious error in judgment.”
“Good,” Mel said. “Do you think she’ll agree to go?”
“It depends on whether she’s already booked for tomorrow.”
“Call and find out,” Mel said, “and then let me know. I don’t want you bearding Roger Adams in his den without someone there as backup. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I hear you loud and clear.”
Mel hung up then. I checked my phone for recent calls and figured out which number had to be Twink’s. She answered instantly. “TW Transportation,” she said. “Who’s calling?”
Standing on ceremony wasn’t exactly a Twinkle Winkleman thing.
“J. P. Beaumont,” I said. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Depends,” she said. “What have you got in mind?”
“I’d like to hire you to drive me to and from Homer.”
“For all day?”
“All day,” I replied.
“Same as today, but to go that distance I’ll have to charge for mileage and meals.”
“Fair enough.”
“What if things go long and we end up having to stay over?” she wanted to know. “I don’t want you thinking this is some kind of driver-with-benefits arrangement.”
Twinkle Winkleman was a long way from being my type, but I didn’t mention that. “Absolutely,” I said. “If we end up staying over, I’m good for separate rooms. Believe me, if I weren’t, my wife would kill me.”
“Sounds like my kind of woman,” Twink said.
I almost laughed aloud at that. At least she and Mel were on the same page.
“What time?” Twink asked.
“How about eight?” I suggested.
“It’s four and a half hours from here,” she said. “If you want any time on that end, we’d better make it earlier. What say seven instead of eight?”
“Seven it is,” I replied. “See you then.”
Chapter 17
The next morning at six, with it still pitch dark outside, I went down for breakfast and stopped by the front desk on my way to the restaurant. Since I didn’t know exactly how long the Homer visit would take, I wanted to know if I checked out that morning, would I be able to check back in that evening in case Twink and I finished up earlier than anticipated. The clerk—the guy who had actually recommended Twink in the first place—told me that due to overbooking for a conference, once I checked out, getting back in probably wasn’t an option.
I immediately walked to the far side of the lobby and called Twink. “Do you have a two-day rate in case we have to stay over in Homer?” I asked.
“I figured as much,” she said. “Fortunately, I’m not booked for either one. The multiple-day rate is seven-fifty, plus mileage, meals, and hotel.”
“Done,” I said.
“Have you made a room reservation in Homer?” she wanted to know.
“Not yet,” I replied. “Why, do you have any suggestions?”
“I can recommend the Driftwood Inn,” she told me. “The one in town rather than the one out on the Spit. They usually give me a good deal.”
“I’ll look into it.”
That’s what I said, but I didn’t do it right away. I figured there was plenty of time. Back in my room after a quick breakfast, I packed, realizing as I did so that once I got back home, I’d need to air the lingering cigarette smoke out of my luggage as well as my clothing. Then I called the car-rental folks and made arrangements for them to come pick up their vehicle from the hotel garage.
By seven o’clock I had checked out, left the Explorer’s keys at the front desk, and was waiting by the door when Twink showed up. Once my luggage and I were safely stowed, I offered my credit card.
She waved it away with a shake of her head. “Not to worry,” she said. “I figure you’re good for it. ’Sides, if you try to skip out on me, without a car where ya gonna go?”
“Good thinking,” I said.
“Where to first?”
I gave her the address Todd had given me for Roger and Shelley Adams on a street called Diamond Ridge Road in Homer.
“Got it,” Twink said. “That’ll be in the high-rent district out where all the hoity-toities live.”
With that she put the Travelall in gear, and off we went. There was no electronic GPS visible in the vehicle, but obviously the one in Twink’s head was functioning just fine. She pulled in to traffic with the confident air of someone who knew exactly where she was going.
Thanks to Todd, I already had addresses for the three of Chris Danielson’s classmates who still lived in Homer—Alex Walker, Phil Bonham, and Ron Wolf. My plan was to start with Roger Adams and move on to the others later. I had also asked Todd to locate an address for Helen Sinclair, Roger’s longtime secretary and the woman who had reached out to Danitza about her father’s current health issues. Taken together, it was quite a list, and if contacting some of these folks took as long as some of yesterday’s appointments had, it was probably a good thing Twink and I were already planning on an overnight stay.
Once it was actually daylight, the sunglasses came out. Twink seemed content to drive along humming some tuneless melody under her breath and feeling no need to engage in idle conversation. That gave me time to go through the dossiers Todd had provided and to map out a possible game plan.
Sometime well into the trip, Twink was forced to slow the Travelall to a crawl to avoid hitting a solitary moose meandering along in the middle of the highway.