JIM

"What made you think that?" Hamilton asked sharply.

"She-she made a kind of gesture, l-like she was saying she was coming and she didn't stop and talk to Melinda, my-my nie-nephew, like she always did." Perspiration was beginning to streak the older man's forehead.

"Did anyone else besides the performers go down that passage?" Bud asked.

"Nobody, except for the staff, of course. They change there, too. But we were always told never to go down there, and no one would dare. Kim would throw us out if we broke a rule," said Bobbi-Jean.

Hamilton waited a while, letting Bobbi-Jean swelter in front of him. "How many minutes after that did you leave?" hea sked at last.

"Five or so," the response was immediate.

"Who was still in the bar after you saw Darlene leave?" Bud's manner was suddenly easier, less stiff, though his tone had not changed.

"Th-the other singers," said Bobbi-Jean. He had taken out a tiny lace handkerchief from a small purse and was dabbing at the beads of moisture on his forehead, leaving white, pasty marks on the pancake. "Melinda, of course, as well as Marlene and Helen, who brought us up here." The handkerchief was now working feverishly. "We belong to the same club," he added, now speaking even more softly. "And there were others. Almost everyone without kids, I think."

"At that time," said Bud slowly, "do you recall seeing Kim in the club?" The jowls quivered as Bobbi-Jean shook his head. "Or Christine Ewell? or Betty Ewell or Jill?"

The answer to each was "No" in all cases, and were identical to the answers supplied later by Melinda, Marlene and Helen, who like Bobbi-Jean, were all distraught by the tragedy, but would come back again if the camp was still open later in the year.

Continued in TVia #93

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