“Can’t tell you,” he replied, without turning his head.
“Does anyone live there now?”
“Haven’t seen anyone since I took over as observer at the tower. Nate Adams tells me the estate has a private air field. No planes have taken off or landed while I’ve been on duty.”
“I thought I saw a light just now in an upstairs window.”
“Probably a reflection from the car headlights,” Salt answered carelessly.
The car passed Old Henry’s cabin and crept on until it came to a crossroad. Several buildings were clustered on either side of the main highway.
“Guess I’ll stop at Mattie’s garage,” Salt said.
As he pulled up on a gravel runway, a masculine looking woman came to the door of the car. She was in her mid-thirties and wore a man’s coat much too large for her. The girls guessed, and correctly, that she was Mattie Williams, owner of the garage and filling station.
“How many will you have?” she asked Salt, briskly clearing the windshield of snow.
The photographer replied that he did not require gasoline, but wanted at least a quart of alcohol.