Dread on Arrival (24 page)

“Yes, I did know that, as a matter of fact.”

“Creepola, that Eddie, definitely,” Mrs. Barcini said. “But it’s too bad he’s dead.”

“Oh, well,” the Barcinis chorused.

Kathleen brought out the pâté and the entrees all at once, accurately guessing that this particular party wanted a lot of food and fast.

Quill rose from her seat. “I’ve got to go up and be with my little boy right now. I’m sure I’ll see you all later. And we’d like to offer you the lunch as a courtesy, for … umm … confusing your registration.”

“So there it is,” Quill said to Myles that night. “The Barcinis are rude, disruptive, annoying, and I’m mortally certain they’re going to give some of our quieter guests heart attacks … but they’re the good guys, Myles. Or at least they seem to be.” She fought to keep her eyes open. She’d missed talking to him the night before and she wanted desperately to talk to him now, but she was so tired she couldn’t see straight. “So this morning I started out with five major suspects—and the two I’ve talked to in depth turn out not to be suspects at all. I haven’t seen Melanie Myers around all day—Doreen told me she’s been holed up in her room ever since Edmund died. If she doesn’t come down to breakfast, I’ll knock on her door. To see if she’s all right, if nothing else. As for Jukka Angstrom …”

“Quill.” Myles’s voice was firm. “You know how I feel about this—” He paused. She could tell he was struggling with both his temper and the right words. “This curiosity you have about this case. I don’t have to say it again, do I? You’re dealing with someone who’s taken the life of another human being. It’s dangerous. You are a mother. My wife. We need you, Jack and I. Please, please, do not continue with this. Leave it to the professionals. Wait until I come home.”

“But Davy asked me …”

“He was out of line,” Myles said harshly. “I love you. Leave this case alone. If you want me to beg, I will.”

Quill didn’t say anything. Her own temper was up. She made it a rule not to quarrel with Myles during these phone calls, not if she could help it. He was too far away. His absences stressed their marriage, as much as she liked to think they didn’t.

“Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll leave it alone. Unless …”

“Unless
what
?”

“Unless I run across something accidentally that Davy needs to know.” She waited, and then asked, “Are you grinding your teeth?”

“Of course not,” he snapped. “I’ll live with that, I suppose. I have to.”

“Hey, here’s something I know you aren’t going to go ballistic over.” She got out of bed and went to her dresser, where she’d left the computer printout Davy had given her that morning. “We have the results from the cross-check on the burglaries. You want me to read it to you? Myles?”

“Yes. I’m here. Just struggling with my temper.”

“Me, too. Listen, now. The only things that the burgled homes have in common are that they were all insured with Marge, so we can discount that, and that every householder was a member of the Hemlock Falls Historical Society.”

“Run those names by me again?”

Quill read them out, beginning with the Ackermans and ending up with the Petersons.

Myles didn’t say anything for a very long minute. Then he started to laugh. He laughed so hard that Quill heard him put the phone down.

He picked it back up again, “Okay, supersleuth. I don’t have any proof. But this is what must have happened.”

16

∼Quiche Quilliam∼

3 extra large eggs blended with enough heavy cream to make 12 oz2 teaspoons combined kosher salt, freshly ground pepper, and freshly ground nutmeg½ cup grated Gruyère cheese6 strips maple-cured bacon, fried crisp9-inch baked pie shellBlend eggs and cream with a wire whisk. Whisk in seasonings and cheese. Place fried bacon in the baked pie shell. Pour the quiche mixture into pie shell. Top with grated Parmesan or Swiss cheese. Bake for thirty to thirty-five minutes in a preheated 375-degree oven. Quill marched into Schmidt Realty the next morning and slammed her tote down on Marge’s desk.

“Marge Peterson-Schmidt, you are a shameless woman. And a burglar. If I had any actual proof, I’d rat you out to Davy Kiddermeister so fast it’d make your head spin.”

Marge opened her mouth and then closed it. Her face turned red. For once, she was speechless.

The speechlessness turned out to be momentary.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Quill leaned over the desk. “You most certainly do. Every single burglary committed in Hemlock Falls in the last four weeks has been you rummaging around for fifteen-year-old records from the historical society. Just before Meg and I moved here, when Myles had just arrived as sheriff, the historical society put on a push to redistrict the village. They won. As it stands right now, the house you live in with your legal spouse, Harland Peterson, is within the town tax rolls but outside the village tax rolls. You are
not a
legal resident of this village.”

“I am, too.” Marge shouted.

“You are not! Want me to go to Albany and check the tax registry?”

Marge growled like an attack dog.

“I won’t,” Quill said mildly. “I just wanted you to know I can. You can’t run for mayor.”

“Carol Ann’s not a resident, either,” Marge said, rather feebly.

“As you pointed out yesterday. Which is what put me on to you. Why in the world would you be checking on eligibility requirements to be mayor, unless it was on your own behalf? So neither one of you can run for mayor. Ha.”

Marge ground her teeth, an activity Quill had read about but never actually witnessed. “Nobody’s going to remember that redistricting stuff.”

“Probably not. But you had to be sure that nobody would come across those old records while they were rummaging around for artifacts for
Ancestor’s Attic
. Certainly not Carol Ann, who wasn’t even around here then.”

Marge eyed her suspiciously, “So what are you going to do?”

Quill sat down in the visitor’s chair. “Nothing. I just wanted you to know that I know.” She added, in a prim way, “I will leave it to your conscience.”

Marge brightened. “Well, then. No problem.”

“Well, then, nothing. I’m assuming that your conscience will preclude you running for office.”

“I’ll think about it. I can do this town a lot of good, you know.”

“I’m sure you can. But I’m just as sure you’ll do the right thing and let Elmer run unopposed.”

“You’re going to make Carol Ann drop out, too?”

Quill tugged at the curl over her ear so hard it hurt. “I have to. It’s not right to make you drop out and let her run.”

“That means she’s going to be poking around my kitchen. Yours, too.”

“I realize that.”

“But you’re going to wreck things anyway. Figures.” She slammed the metal desk drawer open and shut several times, maybe to calm herself down. Quill wasn’t sure.

“How’d you figure it out?”

“I didn’t. Myles did.”

“You got no proof. About the burglaries, that is.”

“No. Myles said it was a wag. A wild-assed guess. He was sheriff when the redistricting was such a hot item, and he was pretty impressed with you scouting out Carol Ann’s ineligibility to run, and he was really curious about why nothing was actually taken from the homes that reported the burglaries. If you’d paid out on some of those claims, he might not have leaped to the conclusion he did. But he knows you, he knows Hemlock Falls, so he did.”

“Like I said, prove it,” Marge said doggedly.

“We don’t need to prove it. Nobody was harmed, nothing was taken except some old records, and you aren’t doing it anymore, are you? So we’ll drop it. But why did you think swiping those old records would keep your residency from coming to light?”

Marge shook her head. “No reason why it should. I live in the town. Won’t occur to anybody I don’t live in the village, too.” She slammed open the file drawer again and took out a thick folder. “Got all the records except those in the tax office. Anybody wants to check, they’ll have to truck on up to Albany. Figured that’s far enough away so nobody’d take the time and trouble.” She dropped the files back into the drawer. “So there’s your proof. Arrest me, already.”

“You know I’m not going to do any such thing.”

Marge pursed her lips. “You sure?”

“I am not a snitch.”

“You’re a snoop.”

“I grant you the snoop part. I am bringing this to your attention. That’s all. From here on in, it’s your call.”

Marge muttered something under her breath.

“Just one thing. Myles is sure you didn’t take those wedding rings out of Edmund Tree’s room. I don’t think you did, either, unless you were trying to make the whole burglary thing more convincing?”

Marge scowled ferociously. “Of course I didn’t steal any wedding rings.”

“I didn’t think so. As a matter of fact, I have a pretty good idea of who did, now that this has been cleared up.”

Marge ignored her, caught up in her outrage. “You actually thought I was a thief! What the heck do you take me for?”

Quill felt the need for some tact. “A great resource for information to help Davy Kiddermeister find out who murdered Edmund Tree,” she said promptly. “Did you come up with any background information that would help him? I’m not investigating, or anything, but Davy’s always up at the Inn to see Dina, and I could pass this along to him, if you like.”

“If I like? I thought Quilliam Snoopers Inc. was back in business. You asked me for this.” Marge motioned to the briefcase by her feet.

“Only on behalf of the sheriff’s department. As a concerned citizen.”

“I suppose Myles has his knickers in a twist again. Can’t say as I blame him. Look what happened to Dina the last time you started poking around.”

Quill did feel incredibly guilty about that. “Maybe you ought to take that straight to Davy. Leave me out of it altogether.”

“No, no. Davy’s growing into the job, but you’re not so bad at this detecting business …”

Quill made a polite noise of demurral.

“… Though we all know Myles is the real brains of the outfit.”

“That is not true.”

Marge smirked. “Gotcha. I owe you one for this mayor’s business.”

“Excuse me,” Quill said hotly. “But was I the one sneaking around Miriam Doncaster’s basement in the middle of the night? I think not.”

Marge waved both hands, as if flagging down a speeder. “Hello? Can we put this behind us, please? You want the stuff I got on Tree or not?”

“Yes,” Quill said. “I do.”

“Shut up for minute, then. I got your message about adding the Bryants and Angstrom to the list. I didn’t have time to get actual records, you understand, but the info is solid.” Marge reached down, put her briefcase on the desk, and rummaged a bit. “Here we go. Tree’s assets total twenty-three million, give or take a couple million depending on the stock market. Liabilities are almost none. The guy paid as he went. He’s got some tax shelters set up so there’s depreciation and what have you, but it’s minimal. Stupid way to be wealthy, but there you are. Has a reputation for being tighter than a tick. Expenses out everything he can on that TV show. If he lived, you could have turned him in for suspected tax evasion. There’s a bounty, you know.”

“There is?”

“You betcha. Check it out. Anyhow, moving on to Jukka Angstrom … Angstrom is upside down on his Park Avenue condo and behind on his mortgage. He’s gonna lose it unless he tap-dances pretty darn fast. Had a pile of legal expenses on that price-fixing charge, and the Sotheby’s board refused to pay his legal bills. The Bryants, on the other hand, are not so rich, but not so poor, either. Not a lot of debt, or no more than they can handle. Guy I talked to said the Feds inquire once in a while about Andrea’s offshore accounts, but there’s no ongoing investigation into them.” There was a trace of admiration in Marge’s voice when she added, “That Andrea’s no slouch, when it comes to the money side of things.”

“So Angstrom’s the only one who might be desperate?”

Marge shrugged. “Depends on what you mean by desperate. He’s negotiating to turn the condo back to the bank. He’s got a good set of lawyers. He’ll probably pull that off. He’s got too much in other assets to declare bankruptcy at the moment, but you never know. I’ve been in tighter spots myself and sailed on through okay.” She tucked her notes back into her briefcase and plunked it on the floor. “So what’s all this tell you?” She squinted at Quill. “You look funny. Not funny ha-ha. Funny peculiar.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Believe what?”

She looked at Marge with dismay. “Nobody’s got a real motive. I’ve only got one suspect left. If I were investigating, that is. Which I’m not.”

“Yeah, well, you need anything else, don’t call me.”

Quill picked her tote up and prepared to leave. “You’re not permanently mad at me are you?”

“Nope.”

“Are you still going to run for mayor?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

When Quill went out the door, Marge was busy at the shredder. She sighed and drove back to the Inn to find her sister.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” she said to Meg half an hour later. “If the historical society had missed the notes on that old redistricting battle, somebody would have hollered by now. But there goes any solid proof that Marge was the burglar.”