“I read over them last night. Everybody believed there was foul play, what with their Winnebago being found in a used car lot in Spokane. It’s just that nobody knew anything. She wrote that she spoke to nearly everybody in The Cove but came up with nothing. Nobody knew a thing. Nobody remembered the Jensens. She even sent off the particulars to the FBI just in case something like this had happened elsewhere in the country. That’s it, Quinlan. Sorry, but there’s no more. No leads of any kind.” He ate another helping of pancakes, drank his black coffee down, then shoved back his chair. “Well, you’re all right, Ms. Brandon, so at least I don’t have to worry about you. It’s strange, you know? Nobody else heard that woman scream. Real strange.”

He shook his head and walked out of the dining room, saying over his shoulder, “You look best with your own hair, Ms. Brandon. Lose the wigs. Trust me. My wife says I’ve got real good taste.”

“Sheriff, what happened to Dorothy Willis?”

David Mountebank stopped then. “A bad thing, a very bad thing. She was shot by a teenage boy who was robbing a local 7-Eleven. She died.”

When Thelma Nettro made her appearance some ten minutes later, looking for all the world like a relic from Victorian days, her teeth in her mouth, white lace at her parchment throat, the first words out of her mouth were, “Well, girl, is James here a decent lover?”

“I don’t know, ma’am. He wouldn’t even kiss me. He said he was too tired. He even hinted at a headache. What could I do?”

Old Thelma threw her head back, and that scrawny neck of hers worked ferociously to bring out fat, full laughs. “Here I thought you were a wimp, Sally. That’s good. Now, what’s this Martha tells me about how a woman who was really your dead daddy called you at Amabel’s last night?”

“There was no woman when I got on the line.”

“This is very strange, Sally. Why would anyone do this? Now, if it had been James on the phone, well, that would have been another matter. But if he gets all that tired, well, then maybe you’d just best forget him.”

“How many husbands did you have, Thelma?” Quinlan asked, knowing that Sally was reeling, giving her time to get herself together.

“Just Bobby, James. Did I tell you Bobby invented a new improved gyropilot? Yes, well, that’s why I’ve got more money than any of the other poor sods in this place. All because of Bobby’s invention.”

“It looks to me like everyone has money,” Sally said. “The town is charming. Everything looks new, planned, like everyone put money in a pot and decided together what they wanted to do with it.”

“It was something like that,” Thelma said. “It’s all barren by the cliffs now. I remember back in the fifties there were still some pines and firs, even a few poplars close to the cliffs, all bowed down, of course, from the violent storms. They’re all gone now, like there’d never been anything there at all. At least we’ve managed to save a few here in town.”

She then turned in her chair and yelled, “Martha, where’s my peppermint tea? You back there with young Ed? Leave him alone and bring me my breakfast!”

James waited two beats, then said easily, “I sure wish you’d tell me about Harve and Marge Jensen, Thelma. It was only three years ago, and you’ve got the sharpest mind in town. Hey, maybe there was something interesting about them and you wrote about it in your diary. Do you think so?”

“That’s true enough, boy. I’m sure smarter than poor Martha, who doesn’t know her elbow from the teakettle. And she just never leaves those pearls of hers alone. I’ve replaced them at least three times now. I even let her think for a while that I was the one who called Sally. I like to tease her, it makes life a bit more lively when she’s twisting around like a sheet in a stiff wind. I’m sorry, but I don’t remember any Harve or Marge.”

“You know,” Sally said, “that phone call could have been local. The voice was so clear.”

“You think maybe I called you, girl, then pretended to be your daddy? I like it, but there’s no way I could have gotten a tape of your daddy’s voice. Who cares, anyway?”

“So you admit you know who I am?”

“Sure I do. It took you long enough to catch on. No need to worry, Sally, I won’t tell a soul. No telling what some of these young nitwits around town would do if they found out you were that murdered big-shot lawyer’s daughter. No, I won’t tell anybody, not even Martha.”

Martha brought in the peppermint tea and a plate filled with fat browned sausages, at least half a dozen of them. They were rolling on the plate in puddles of grease. Sally and Quinlan both stared at that plate.