1970 - There's a Hippie on the Highway by James Hadley Chase Page A

when the bathers had gone in for a shower before changing for dinner that he found himself free to go to his cabin.
    He paused at the door to check the black cotton and his eyes narrowed as he saw the cotton was snapped. He pushed open the door and entered the stuffy little room. He looked around. Nothing had apparently been disturbed, but he knew someone had been in there.
    He stepped cautiously out and looked to right and left, then he went around to the back of the cabin and checked that the suitcase was still under the pile of deck chairs. Satisfied, he took a shower, put on slacks and a shirt and went along to the kitchen for dinner.
    He was the only one to sit down at the table. Neither Nina nor Manuel was there and Solo was busy at the stove. Solo grinned cheerfully at him.
    ‘You go ahead,’ he said. ‘I see you were giving lessons, hey? Nice cuddly girls, hey? Everyone is very pleased, Harry. I’m pleased too.’
    Joe produced a plate of Chicken Maryland with fried bananas.
    ‘You’re trying to make me fat,’ Harry said.
    Solo laughed.
    ‘You need good food . . . a big man like you. You need food like 1 need food.’ He paused to peer into the oven. ‘Mrs. Carlos was asking about you. She’s very interested in you.’ Solo shut
    the oven door and winked at Harry. ‘She’s my best and richest customer.’
    Harry cut into the chicken.
    ‘What did she want to know?’
    ‘Who you are . . . where you come from . . . how you got here . . .’
    Harry regarded the morsel of chicken on his fork.
    ‘How I got here? What’s that mean?’
    Solo began to baste the five chickens turning on the rotor grill.
    ‘Women ask the goddamnedest questions. She wanted to know if you came by road.’
    Harry laid down his fork.
    ‘So what did you tell her?’
    Solo stared at him.
    ‘I told her you came with Randy on the thumb. Did I say anything wrong?’
    Harry shook his head.
    ‘That’s how we came. Is she staying for dinner?’
    ‘She never has dinner here. Lunch . . . not dinner. She’s gone home.’
    Solo began to cut up the chickens, whistling under his breath.
    Harry ate. So she now knew who he was and her question made it certain she was the woman in the Mustang. So what followed?
    He finished his meal without enjoying it, then got to his feet.
    ‘I’m going to the bar. Randy might need a hand.’
    ‘Sure,’ Solo was scarcely listening. He was arranging with loving care pieces of chicken on a salver, adding fried bananas, cherries and pineapple.
    Harry walked past the restaurant. There were some forty people dining. Manuel was darting around the tables. Nina, in a scarlet pyjama suit, was standing at a table talking to four men. They were looking up at her, laughing, their eyes stripping her.
    Harry entered the deserted bar. Randy was washing glasses.
    He looked at Harry, lifting his eyebrows inquiringly.
    Harry quickly told him that he had collected the suitcase, that he had run into Lepski and was now sure that Mrs. Carlos was the woman in the Mustang.
    Randy listened, a glass suspended in his hand, his eyes startled.
    ‘Not Mrs. Carlos . . . that’s crazy!’ he said when Harry paused. ‘I don’t dig for that.’
    ‘Then why did she ask if we came by road?’ Harry sat on a stool and rested his elbows on the counter. ‘The same build: the same accent. . . and now this question. It’s her all right.’
    Randy put down the glass.
    ‘But she’s stinking rich! What . . . I mean . . . what the hell does it mean?’
    Harry lit a cigarette.
    ‘I don’t know. Maybe we’ll get a clue from the suitcase. When are you free?’
    ‘Not before 23.30.’
    ‘Okay. I’ll wait for you.’ Nodding, Harry left the bar. He walked along the path that led past the kitchen and glanced through the open window. Solo was occupied, his back turned. Joe was standing by him, holding a dish. Without stopping Harry continued on towards his cabin. As he approached the shrubbery screening the cabins he became aware of a