“I agree we should stop for the night,” she said. “We don’t know this road, and even if we did, we’d have to drive so slowly it would take half the night to get back to Burning Cove. We passed an auto court on our way into town this morning.”
“I remember. It should be coming up soon. Let’s hope they’ve still got a vacancy. Wouldn’t be surprised if they’re full, though. Anyone with common sense will be pulling off the road to avoid the fog.”
“We could turn around. There might be a place in town where we can put up for the night.”
But even as she made the suggestion, she realized she really did not want to return to the town where Thelma Leggett had been killed. The conversation with the police had gone reasonably well. Surprisingly, the detective in charge had not leaped to the conclusion that Leggett’s death was a suicide. He had questioned them in depth about their reasons for pursuing Leggett, and he had made them cool their heels at the station while he phoned the Burning Cove police department to confirm their identities. He had even gone the extra mile and verified their departure time from Burning Cove. That had been easy enough to do because they had stopped to fill up the gas tank before leaving town that morning. The attendant had recognized them and remembered servicing the car.
The good news, Adelaide thought, was that she and Jake were not suspects in Thelma Leggett’s death. But that was the only good news so far. The San Francisco phone number she had copied was still burning a hole in her handbag.
A sign advertising an upcoming gas station loomed in the mist.
“There will probably be a pay phone there,” she said. “Let’s stop so that I can call that San Francisco number.”
“I’m sure there will be a phone at the auto court,” Jake said.
“Maybe. But if there isn’t one or if it’s out of order, I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out if Conrad is still in San Francisco. I need to know, Jake.”
“All right,” Jake said. “Got to admit, I’m pretty damn curious myself.”
He turned off the highway onto a side road and pulled into the closed gas station. A faded sign on the wall pointed to a telephone booth around the corner of the garage.
Jake brought the car to a halt but he left the lights on and the motor running.
“We need to hurry,” he said. “The fog is getting bad fast. Bring the flashlight.”
Adelaide already had the glove box open. Jake’s gun was no longer inside. He was wearing it in a shoulder holster. She grabbed the flashlight and got out of the car. Jake climbed out from behind the wheel and joined her. He took the flashlight and switched it on.
They walked around the corner of the building. The flashlight picked out the darkened phone booth a few feet away from the entrance of the closed garage.
Jake opened the door of the booth and aimed the beam at the front of the telephone so that she could see the dial. She took the little notebook out of her purse and found the number.
Jake handed her some coins. She dropped them into the slot and dialed the operator.
“Long distance, please,” she said.
“One moment. I’ll connect you,” the operator said.
There was something reassuring about the very professional, very efficient, very competent female voice on the other end of the line. It was the voice of the modern era, Adelaide thought, the voice that was associated with the latest developments in communications technology. She liked the fact that it was a woman’s voice.
The operator asked for some additional coins. Adelaide fumbled them into the slot.
She was vaguely aware of the distant rumble of a car engine. Headlights glared in the fog. The vehicle turned off the highway and onto the farm road that went past the gas station. Jake turned to watch the car motor slowly down the side road, but he seemed to relax when the vehicle did not pause.
“Just some farmer trying to get home before the conditions get worse,” he said.
The wait for the long-distance operator to establish the connection seemed an eternity but Adelaide knew that it was probably no more than a minute and a half or two minutes. Finally the phone rang on the other end of the line. Once. Twice. Three times. At last someone picked up.
“Douglass 4981.”
The voice on the other end was that of a middle-aged woman. The housekeeper, Adelaide thought.
“Long-distance calling for Mr. Massey,” the operator said.
“Mr. Massey isn’t home,” the housekeeper said. “He’s away on business. May I take a message?”
“Yes, I’ll leave a message,” Adelaide said quickly.
“Go ahead,” the operator said.
“It’s very important that I get in touch with Mr. Massey,” Adelaide said to the housekeeper. “Would you please tell me where he is?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know,” the housekeeper said. “He got a long-distance phone call from a woman the day before yesterday. He had me pack his suitcase and then he left. He said something about a business emergency. If you’ll give me your name—”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” Adelaide said. “I’ve decided not to leave a message.”
She hung up quickly.
“I take it you were right?” Jake said. “The number belongs to Conrad Massey?”
“Yes. The housekeeper said he’s away on business. She doesn’t know when he’ll be back. She said he left the day before yesterday, immediately after receiving a long-distance call.”
“And yesterday afternoon he turned up in Burning Cove,” Jake said. “I think we can assume that the phone call he got was from Thelma Leggett. She probably offered to sell him information about your current whereabouts.”
“Maybe he’s the one who murdered her.”
“I’m not so sure,” Jake said. “We’ve got plenty of suspects to go around at the moment. Let’s get back on the road. We need to place another long-distance call but it can wait until we find an auto court.”
“What other call do you want to make?”
“The Rushbrook Sanitarium. It will be interesting to find out if Gill is also away on a business trip.”
“Why don’t we call right now? The secretary will have gone home for the day but one of the night orderlies might answer.”
“If we don’t get back on the road now, we’ll be spending the night in the car,” Jake said.
He wrapped a strong, sure hand around her arm and eased her out of the phone booth.
“The auto court is only a couple of miles from here,” Adelaide said.
The low rumble of a slow-moving car made her glance toward the farm road. The beams of the headlights shot through the fog. The vehicle was coming from the rural area beyond the gas station, heading toward the highway.
“I think that’s the same car that pulled off the road a few minutes ago,” Jake said.
“The driver must have realized he took a wrong turn in the fog.”
“Maybe.”
Jake switched off the flashlight. The fogbound night enveloped them like a dark, incoming tide.
“Why did you do that?” she asked.
“Come with me,” he said.
His hand tightened around her arm but he didn’t propel her toward the speedster. Instead he drew her in the opposite direction, deeper into the shadows, well out of range of the convertible’s headlights.
The rumble of the approaching car was louder now. Adelaide watched as it turned off the farm road and pulled into the gas station. A dark-colored sedan rolled slowly toward Jake’s vehicle.
Jake drew her a few more feet into the dense darkness, halted, and put his mouth close to her ear.
“Don’t move,” he said. “Don’t say a word.”
She went very still beside him. She could not see the figure behind the wheel of the other car but she saw what appeared to be the flame of a cigarette lighter. Something sparked and caught fire.
Not a cigarette, Adelaide realized.
The shadowy figure behind the wheel of the sedan tossed what appeared to be a stick out the window. The flaming object was attached to it by a string or a cord.
There was a soft thunk when the stick landed on the concrete and rolled under the speedster.
The sedan roared out of the gas station, tires shrieking.
Jake moved suddenly, pushing Adelaide against the side of the building. He crowded in close, crushing her against the wall.