Free How Like an Angel by Margaret Millar Page B

bucks? It doesn’t make sense. There must have been something else, something no one has mentioned…. I must talk to Martha O’Gorman again tomorrow. Maybe Ronda can arrange it for me.
    He didn’t remember, until just before he fell asleep, that he had planned on driving back to the Tower in the morning, and from there to Reno. Both places were beginning to seem remote to him, dream stuff compared to the blunt and solid reality of Chicote. He couldn’t even conjure up a clear pic­ture of Doris, and Sister Blessing was no more than a bulky gray robe with a faceless head sticking out of one end and two large bare feet out of the other.

FIVE
    Early the next morning Quinn returned to the motel office. A middle-aged man, with a bald, sunburned pate, was untying a bundle of Los Angeles papers.
    â€œWhat can I do for you, Mr.—ah—Quinn, isn’t it? Seven­teen?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI’m Paul Frisby, owner and manager, with the aid of my family. Is anything the matter?”
    â€œSomeone got into my room last night when I went across the road to have dinner.”
    â€œI did,” Frisby said coldly.
    â€œAny particular reason why?”
    â€œTwo of them. It’s our policy that when a guest checks in without any luggage, we give his room the once-over when he goes out to eat. In your case there was an additional reason: the name on your car registration isn’t Quinn.”
    â€œThe car was lent to me by a friend.”
    â€œOh, I believe you. But in this business it pays to be care­ful.”
    â€œGranted,” Quinn said. “Only why the cloak-and-dagger routine?”
    â€œPardon?”
    â€œThe business of disguising yourself with a hat and topcoat and getting the key from the old man.”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about,” Frisby said, nar­rowing his eyes. “I have my own set of keys. Now what’s this about grandpa?”
    Quinn explained briefly.
    â€œGrandpa has trouble with his eyes,” Frisby said. “Glau­coma. You mustn’t blame—”
    â€œI’m not blaming anybody. I’d just like to know how some­one else could walk in here, ask for my key and get it.”
    â€œWe try to prevent things like that happening. But in the motel business they happen occasionally, especially if the im­postor knows the name and car license number of the guest. Was anything taken?”
    â€œI’m not sure. There were two boxes on the desk containing documents lent to me to examine. You must have seen the boxes when you were in the room, Frisby.”
    â€œWell. Well, as a matter of fact, yes.”
    â€œDid you open either of them?”
    Frisby’s face turned as red as the sunburn on his pate. “No. No, I didn’t have to. I saw the label, O’Gorman. Every­body in Chicote knows all about that case. Oh certainly, I was curious about why a stranger should suddenly appear in town with a lot of stuff about O’Gorman.”
    There was a long uneasy silence.
    â€œJust how curious were you?” Quinn said finally. “Did you tell your wife, for instance?”
    â€œWell, I sort of mentioned it to her, yes.”
    â€œAnyone else?”
    â€œMister. Put yourself in my place for a minute—”
    â€œWho else?”
    After another silence Frisby said nervously, “I phoned the sheriff, I thought there might be some hanky-panky going on that he ought to know about, maybe something real serious. I can see now I was wrong.”
    â€œCan you?”
    â€œI’m a pretty good judge of character and you don’t act like a man who’s got anything much to hide. But yesterday it was different. You check in with no luggage, driving a car with someone else’s name and address on it and you’re toting around a lot of stuff about O’Gorman. You can’t blame me for being suspicious.”
    â€œSo you called the