30

Lois Belham had been on her feet from seven in the morning until three in the afternoon, and now, at 3:15, after shedding her waitress uniform and counting her tip money, all she wanted to do was go home and soak in a tub.

But first she had to talk to the cop.

He was a plainclothes guy, and he’d introduced himself as Detective Shepherd. She was grateful to him for suggesting that they sit in a corner booth. At least she could get off her feet.

“I remember her,” Lois said when Shepherd mentioned the incident of the spilled coffee. “Cute little thing, but all fluttery, like a bird.”

“You hadn’t seen her before?”

“No, never. Guess Leo and Kurt told you about her, huh?”

“That’s right.”

Leo Galston and Kurt Bane were the two patrol guys who came into the coffee shop now and then. Lois knew them pretty well. Nice guys, good tippers, and that Leo had a linebacker’s shoulders. Lois was big on shoulders. Her ex-husband Oswald had been built that way, and it might’ve been the reason she married him.

“Can you describe her?” Shepherd asked.

“She’s a blonde. Fair skin, freckles—like a schoolgirl.”

“Color of her eyes?”

“Didn’t notice. Might’ve been blue. Blue would work well for her, with the blonde hair and all, but I can’t really say.”

“Anything else?”

“Let me see. Her hair was fairly mussed, I remember. There was some dirt on her clothes, too. Not that she was, you know, slovenly.” She was proud to use this word, which she’d learned doing her crosswords for relaxation in the evenings when her feet were sore. “She needed to wash up, is all. She looked like she’d spent some time outdoors.”

Shepherd jotted this in a memo pad, appearing unsurprised. “What was she wearing?”

“She had on a jacket, one of those vinyl ones with a zipper. It was dark in color, as I recall.” Cops on TV were always saying things like that—dark in color, not just dark. Sounded more official, somehow. “And a skirt, a white skirt. I remember because I thought it looked nice, and I was going to ask her where she got it.”

“Did you?”

“Never got a chance. After the wet cleanup, she was so upset, she just paid her tab and scrammed.”

“How old was she, would you say?”

“Lord, I’m not a good judge of age. Middle twenties, maybe.” She almost added something, but reconsidered.

Shepherd seemed to sense her hesitation. “And?”

“It’s just—well, I’d bet she didn’t go far.”

He looked at her. “Why do you say that?”

“Because she was tired. She looked like she’d been up all night and had just wore herself out. I know how that feels.” She surely did. She was bone-tired right now. “You just want to crawl into a bath or a bed and shut your eyes. This lady you’re after had that same look about her.”

“So you think she’s close by?”

“Right in the neighborhood. That’s what I think.”

In the neighborhood.

Shepherd emerged from the coffee shop, blinking at the glare, and scanned the rows of strip malls lining Speedway Boulevard. He knew of two motels on Speedway within a half-mile radius of the Rancheros Cafe. If the McMillan woman had indeed been ready to crash in a nice, warm bed, she might have checked into one of those motels after leaving the coffee shop.

It was a long shot, but any shot at all was better than none.

Which motel? One lay to the east, the other to the west.

West seemed right. Going west, she wouldn’t have had to make a difficult left turn onto Speedway. She would have simply eased into the traffic flow and let the current carry her to the first available lodgings.

Worth a try.

He got in his sedan and pulled out of the parking lot, driving fast out of habit.

Of course, it was possible that she had checked into a motel days ago, in an entirely different part of town. But he didn’t think so. If she’d had a place to stay, she would have gone there directly after making her 911 call in order to wash up and change. Women hated dirt.

He smiled, imagining what Ginnie would have said if she’d heard such an obvious example of stereotypical thinking.

The motel appeared on his right, two blocks ahead. Drawing near, he could read the sign out front, advertising CABLE TV and AIR CONDITIONING, as if both features were exotic luxuries. In larger letters the motel’s name was spelled out:

THE DESERT DREAM INN.