That’s how things stood when Mel called once she and Sarah got home. Over the phone I gave her a play-by-play rundown of my day’s worth of activities. It was only when I told her about my plan to drive to Homer the next morning to interview Roger that things came to a full and complete stop.
“Are you kidding me?” she demanded.
I was a bit befuddled. “Kidding about what?” I asked.
“You’re planning on going to Homer in the morning, all by your little lonesome, to have a heart-to-heart chat with the guy you think murdered Chris Danielson?”
“Well, yes,” I allowed.
“So what part of Lone Rangering don’t you understand?” Mel wanted to know. “I refuse to have you come home from Alaska in a frigging body bag. If you do, it’ll ruin Christmas for everybody.”
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.