Десмонд Бэгли - Landslide

‘Two a.m.’

She laughed. ‘No wonder, then.’ She paused. ‘There’s a spare bed if you’d like to stay. It’s pretty late to be going back to your camp.’ She looked at me sternly. ‘But remember — no passes. One pass and you’re out on your ear.’

‘All right, Clare. No passes,’ I promised.

I was back in Fort Farrell two days later and, as soon as I got to my room at the Matterson House Hotel, I filled the bathtub and got down to my favourite pastime of soaking, drinking and thinking deep thoughts.

I had left Clare early on the morning following our encounter and was surprised to find her reserved and somewhat distant. True, she cooked a good man-sized breakfast, but that was something a good housewife would do for her worst enemy by reflex action. I thought that perhaps she was regretting her fraternization with the enemy — after all, I was working for Matterson — or maybe she was miffed because I hadn’t made a pass at her. You never know with women.

Anyway, she was pretty curt in her leave-taking. When I commented that her cabin would be on the edge of a new lake as soon as Matterson had built the dam, she said violently, ‘Matterson isn’t going to drown my land. You can tell him from me that I’m going to fight him.’

‘Okay, I’ll tell him.’

‘You’d better go, Boyd. I’m sure you have a lot to do.’

‘Yes, I have,’ I said. ‘But I won’t do it on your land.’ I picked up my rifle. ‘Keep smiling, Trinavant.’

So I went, and halfway down the trail I turned to look back at the house, but all I could see was the figure of Jimmy Waystrand standing straddle-legged like a Hollywood cowboy at the top of the rise, making sure I left.

It didn’t take long to check the rest of the Matterson patch and I was back at my main camp early and loafed about for a day until the helicopter came for me. An hour later I was back in Fort Farrell and wallowing in the bathtub.

Languidly I splashed hot water and figured out my schedule. The telephone in the bedroom rang but I ignored it and pretty soon it got tired and stopped. I had to see Howard Matterson, then I wanted to check with McDougall to confirm a suspicion. All that remained after that was to write a report, collect my dough and catch the next bus out of town. There was nothing for me in Fort Farrell beyond a lot of personal grief.

The telephone began to ring again so I splashed out of the tub and walked into the bedroom. It was Howard Matterson and he seemed to be impatient at being kept waiting. ‘I heard you were back,’ he said. ‘I’ve been expecting you up here.’

‘I’m ironing out the kinks in a bathtub,’ I said. ‘I’ll be up to see you when I’m ready.’

There was a silence while he digested that — I guess he wasn’t used to waiting on other people. Finally, he said, ‘Okay, make it quick. Have a good trip?’

‘Moderately so,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell you about it when I come up. I’ll pack in a nutshell what you want to know — there’s no sound geological reason for any mining operations in the Kinoxi Valley. I’ll fill in the details later.’

‘Ah! That’s what I wanted to know.’ He rang off.

I dressed leisurely, then went up to his office. I was kept waiting even longer this time — forty minutes. Maybe Howard figured I rated a wait for the way I answered telephones. But he was pleasant enough when I finally got past his secretary. ‘Glad to see you,’ he said. ‘Have any trouble?’

I lifted an eyebrow. ‘Was I expected to have any trouble?’

The smile hovered on his face as though uncertain whether to depart or not, but it finally settled back into place again. ‘Not at all,’ he said heartily. ‘I knew I’d picked a competent man.’

‘Thanks,’ I said drily. ‘I had to put a crimp in someone’s style, though. You’d better know about it because you might be getting a complaint. Know a man called Jimmy Waystrand?’

Matterson busied himself in lighting a cigar. ‘At the north end?’ he asked, not looking at me.

‘That’s right. It came to fisticuffs, but I managed all right,’ I said modestly.

Matterson looked pleased. ‘Then you did the whole survey.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

He tried to look stern. ‘Oh! Why not?’

‘Because I don’t slug women,’ I said urgently. ‘Miss Trinavant was most insistent that I did not survey her land on behalf of the Matterson Corporation.’ I leaned forward. ‘I believe you told Mr Donner that you would straighten out that little matter with Miss Trinavant. Apparently you didn’t.’

‘I tried to get hold of her, but she must have been away,’ he said. He drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘A pity about that, but it can’t be helped, I suppose.’

I thought he was lying, but it wouldn’t help to say so. I said, ‘As far as the rest of the area goes, there’s nothing worth digging up as far as I can see.’

‘No trace of oil or gas?’

‘Nothing like that. I’ll give you a full report. Maybe I can borrow a girl from your typing pool; you’ll get it quicker that way.’ And I’d get out of town quicker, too.

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll arrange that. Let me have it as soon as you can.’

‘Right,’ I said, and got up to go. At the door I paused. ‘Oh, there’s just one thing. By the lake in the valley I found traces of quick clay — it’s not uncommon in sedimentary deposits in these parts. It’s worth doing a further check; it could cause you trouble.’

‘Sure, sure,’ he said. ‘Put it in your report.’

As I went down to the street I wondered if Matterson knew what I was talking about. Still, he’d get a full explanation in the report.

I walked down to Trinavant Park and saw that Lieutenant Farrell was still on guard duty policing the pigeons, then I went into the Greek joint and ordered a cup of coffee substitute and sat at a table. If McDougall was half the newspaperman he said he was, I could expect him any moment. Sure enough, he walked in stiffly within fifteen minutes and sat down next to me wordlessly.

I watched him stir his coffee. ‘What’s the matter, Mac? Lost your tongue?’

He smiled. ‘I was waiting for you to tell me something. I’m a good listener.’

I said deliberately, ‘There’s nothing to stop Matterson building his dam — except Clare Trinavant. Why didn’t you tell me she was up there?’

‘I thought you’d do better making the discovery for yourself. Did you run into trouble, son?’

‘Not much! Who is this character, Jimmy Waystrand?’

McDougall laughed. ‘Son of the caretaker at Clare’s place — a spunky young pup.’

‘He’s seen too many Hollywood westerns,’ I said, and described what had happened.

McDougall looked grave. ‘The boy wants talking to. He had no right trailing people on Matterson land — and as for the rifle...’ He shook his head. ‘His father ought to rip the hide off him.’

‘I think I put him on the right way.’ I glanced at him. ‘When did you last see Clare Trinavant?’

‘When she came through town, about a month ago.’

‘And she’s been up at the cabin ever since?’

‘So far as I know. She never moves far from it.’

I thought it wouldn’t be too much trouble for Howard Matterson to climb into that helicopter of his for the fifty-mile flight from Fort Farrell. Then why hadn’t he done so? Perhaps it was as Clare had said, that he was a sloppy businessman. I said, ‘What’s between Clare and Howard Matterson?’

McDougall smiled grimly. ‘He wants to marry her.’

I gaped, then burst out laughing. ‘He hasn’t a snowball’s hope. You ought to hear the things she says about the Mattersons — father and son.’

‘Howard has a pretty thick skin,’ said McDougall. ‘He hopes to wear her down.’