She looked at him with a different expression, as if she were very glad he wasn’t a night prowler after all. “Why are you telling me all this?” she asked finally. “I told you, I don’t know anything about it.”
“You might be able to help me.”
“How?”
“By answering a few questions.”
“Well... all right.”
“How long have you worked for Barney?”
“About eight months.”
“Do you know where he gets his liquor? From which distributor?”
“From Kardin Wholesale, I think. In Eureka.”
“Just from there?”
“Yes, that’s the only one I know of.”
“Who else makes regular deliveries here?”
“Well, there’s the snack food company,” Terry said. “And the soft drink people. And Tru-Test Petroleum. That’s about all.”
Flagg said, “Tru-Test Petroleum?”
“Yes.”
“What’s that?”
“A fuel oil company.”
“How often do they deliver?”
“About once a week.”
“Drums, or what?”
“No, cases,” Terry said reflectively. “You know, it always did strike me as a little odd that Barney would use so many cases of oil every week...”
“Where does he store these cases?”
“There’s a small boiler room off the storage room.”
“Show me, please,” Flagg said.
They went into the storage room, with Flagg clicking off the overhead lights as they left the bar. The boiler room door was hidden behind some of the crates; he had missed it in the darkness earlier. It was locked, but he worked on the latch with his penknife and got it open. Inside, he broke open one of two dozen stacked cases marked FUEL OIL–INFLAMMABLE.
The case was filled with bottles of Old Pilgrim.
Flagg looked at Terry. “Where do I find this Tru-Test Petroleum?”
She was a little breathless. “In Emmetville,” she said. “That’s a small logging town about five miles to the west. Tru-Test is on the outskirts, on Hathaway Road.”
“Are the grounds fenced in?”
“Yes. They have guards at the main gate, and I don’t think you can get in without some kind of pass.”
Flagg nodded. “The Big Tree River runs parallel to Hathaway Road, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does.”
Flagg considered. “Who owns Tru-Test?”
“Riley Morgan.”
“What does this Morgan look like?”
“He’s a big redhaired man with a lot of freckles across the bridge of his nose,” she answered. “About forty or forty-five. He comes in here once in a while.”
“To have a drink or to see Barney?”
“Both. They usually go into Barney’s office.”
Flagg said, “Okay,” and smiled at her. “I’m going to trust you to keep quiet about all this. Don’t make a liar out of my intuition.”
“You don’t have to worry,” Terry said. “When it comes to the federal government, I’m everybody’s little angel.”
“Good,” Flagg said. “What’s your cabin number? In case I need you again?”
“Fifteen.”
Flagg broke open the rifle and emptied it and put the cartridges in his pocket. Then he handed the weapon back to Terry. “I’ll be in touch,” he said.
When she had gone, he relocked the boiler room door. There was no way he could cover up the broken hasp on the storage room entrance, but when Barney didn’t find anything missing in the morning, he would probably put it down to vandals.
Flagg moved off through the darkness toward where he had left his camper.
The sun was a brilliant red disc on the eastern horizon when Flagg appeared at the edge of the Big Tree River early next morning. He wore an old army jacket and rubber wading boots, and carried a tackle box and a glass trout rod. He puffed contentedly on a briar pipe.
He set the tackle box down on the spongy bank, opened it, removed a fly reel, and attached it to the rod. From the half dozen or so steelhead trout flies hooked to his jacket, he selected a Klamath Nymph and busied himself tying it on the nylon line. When he had finished, he adjusted the old and battered hat he wore, tested his boots in the rushing water for leakage, and then stepped into the narrow stream.
He glanced at the opposite bank from time to time, in a seemingly uninterested way. A dirt trail led up to Hathaway Road there, and less than fifty yards beyond the road was the fenced compound of Tru-Test Petroleum.
It was a large concern. The main entrance was some seventy-five yards to the south on Hathaway Road, and there was a sentry box with a uniformed guard. The gates opened electronically, from controls inside the box. Flagg could not see much of what went on inside the compound.
He spent three hours fishing in the Big Tree River, working his way upstream slowly until he had drawn opposite the main entrance. He caught four trout, and threw them all back. During that time, several dark green delivery trucks with the company name emblazoned on the doors and sides arrived and departed at regular intervals. One large diesel tanker came just before nine, and left forty minutes later. A new limousine driven by a redhaired man entered the Tru-Test grounds at nine twenty. There was no other traffic.
At eleven o’clock, Flagg packed up his fishing gear and left the stream.
