A Carol for a Corpse (20 page)

“. . . If it is a murder,” Dina said. “Davy says . . .”

“Davy can say what he likes, Dina. It’s murder. There’s a pile of evidence. But it’s all circumstantial. But our problem is bigger than that. We have no credible leads. No tangible clues. Nothing to give us the faintest indication of who did this and why.”

“The ‘why’ isn’t hard,” Meg muttered. “Zeke Kingsfield was a jerk.”

“Exactly,” Quill said. “And the fact that he was a jerk gives us our first lead.”

“It does?” Marge said. “I know a lot of jerks. And nobody’s murdering them.”

“You’re exactly right, too,” Quill said. “So let’s take a look at his particular brand of obnoxious behavior and see where it takes us. With luck, we’re going to end up with a list of questions. If we get those questions answered, we’ll be well on our way to finding out who did this.

“First, it’s clear that Zeke rode roughshod over the people living at Gorgeous Gorges trailer park. Will Frazier is a man who feels responsible for their welfare. And both Marge and I saw Will Frazier run out of the church about seven o’clock last night, vowing to find Zeke and call him to account. Not twenty minutes later, somebody hit me over the head, when I was walking in an area not five hundred yards from the spot where Zeke went into the gorge. So the first question is: where was Will last night between the hours of seven, when he left the church, and six o’clock this morning, when whoever it was sent Zeke tumbling into the gorge?”

Doreen raised her hand. “I think I might be able to find out some of that. Will’s girlfriend sent me an app to work as a maid last month. I didn’t follow up, because we were layin’ people off instead of hiring. But I can start with her. And I don’t mind walking up to Will and askin’ him straight out if he can prove where he was last night.”

Quill had her sketchpad in front of her. She made a note. “Good. Next, and this is critical,
what happened to the trip wire?
”

“Do we know for sure it’s a wire?” Dina asked. “Did you actually see the cut it made in the tree and the post?”

“Those are two good questions,” Quill said. “I suppose it could have been a rope.”

“It’s easy enough to tell.” Dina rummaged in her backpack. “You know what I can do? My cell phone has a camera function.” She pulled it out of a side pocket and brandished it. “I’ll go down to the murder site and take a couple of pictures. Maybe we can get a better grip on what we’re looking for.”

“Seems like a long shot to me,” Marge said. “Whether it’s a wire or a rope, it’s probably long gone by now.”

“It might not be as easy to dispose of as you think,” Quill said. “Zeke went out at first light. Mike found him forty-five minutes later. It takes at least twenty minutes to get to that spot in the trail from the departure point by the vegetable garden. Whoever was hidden in the woods had to gather up the wire and get out fast.”

“Maybe they hid in the woods all day,” Dina suggested.

“I doubt it. It was twenty degrees out there. And it was risky, once the police and the emergency crew showed up.”

“The police searched the area and didn’t find anything or anyone,” Meg said. “I agree with Quill. The murderer had to take the wire with him.” Then she added conscientiously, “Or her. And it had to be at least forty feet long to run from the tree to the fence post. That’s a lot of wire. Or rope.”

“Dumpsters,” Dina said. “I’ll check Dumpsters. I’d better make a note of all this.” She tapped at her cell phone with one finger. “I’m text messaging myself,” she explained.

“Now,” Quill said. “Let’s take another look at motive.”

“I’ll give you something interesting for motive,” Doreen said. “That Lydia’s got a motive. Kingsfield didn’t sleep in his own bed.”

“Really?” Meg said. “Now
that’s
interesting.”

“How can you be sure he didn’t sleep in his own bed, Doreen?” Marge asked skeptically. “You see him in somebody else’s?”

Doreen looked at Marge pityingly. “You don’t know much about innkeepin’, do ya?”

“It’s like this,” Dina explained carefully. “When you, like, work at a place like this, you end up knowing a lot more about people than they might want you to know.”

“It’s inevitable,” Quill apologized.

“Comes with the territory,” Meg said.

Doreen shrugged. “Only one side of the mattress was laid on. Only one pillow was wrinkled. Only one set of towels used in the bathroom. And before you wonder how I know it was that Lydia that was there and not him, there was makeup all over the towels and Opium perfume all over the pillow. Some kinds of perfume,” Doreen added ruminatively, “leave an awful stink.”

“Do you know where Kingsfield
did
sleep?” Marge asked.

“That LaToya’s,” Doreen said. “Both sides of the bed slept in, and as far as the sheets . . .”

Quill cleared her throat. Doreen clamped her mouth shut.

“Hah,” Marge said. She looked a bit flummoxed. “I never thought about it before, but if you run a hotel you see a lot. I’ll bet you get some kind of divorce lawyers nosing around here.”

“Once in a while we do,” Quill said. Fred Sims’ face flashed into her mind. “Well, I’ll be!”

“What?” Meg demanded.

“Nothing. That is, nothing I want to say anything about right now.” She made a note to herself in her sketchpad:
Check out Sims!

“And the last rule of innkeeping is keep your lips zipped,” Dina said sunnily. “That’s the first thing I learned when I got hired.”

“So we got a jealous wife?” Marge said. “And maybe a jealous mistress?”

Quill looked thoughtful. “I don’t know, to tell you the truth. I mean—it seemed as if they were a devoted couple. But who really knows? And it didn’t seem to me that LaToya was all that fond of Zeke. But you never know, do you? And of course, as his wife, Lydia probably inherits a large chunk of those billions.”

“Billions would be a strong motive for a lot of women,” Meg agreed. “I think you should tackle that one, Quill. If Lydia’s going to talk to anyone, she’s going to talk to you.”

Quill nodded agreement. “So I’ll talk to her and to LaToya. In an offhand sort of way, of course. We certainly need to know where the two of them were the night of the murder.”

“That’s easy enough,” Meg said. “Ajit was shooting the dancing elves. LaToya was there all the time. As for Lydia— she was in Syracuse with Zeke.”

“So LaToya’s a good suspect?” Dina said eagerly.

Meg looked doubtful. “Well—she was never out of my sight long enough to zip down the side of the gorge to the ski trail, bash Quill on the head, roll the log into place, and zip back up again. That had to take at least twenty-five minutes.”

“Are you sure the log was moved last night?” Marge asked. “Couldn’t it have been moved early this morning?”

Quill shook her head. “It was buried under the snow when I saw it. Mike finished grooming the trail about quarter to six last night, and he swears the trail was free of debris. I believe him. And it stopped snowing around ten thirty. So the log had to have been moved into place between those times.”

“The incident Quill had in the woods narrows the time still further,” Meg added. “And I think the murderer came back down in the early morning and set up the wire just to make sure the plan worked.”

“Mike snowmobiled over any tracks the murderer may have made,” Quill said. “And of course, the police and the ambulance people stamped around the crime scene, too.”

“LaToya and Will are the only suspects so far?” Marge complained. “This case seems pretty skimpy to me.”

“Oh, there’re more suspects,” Quill said. “Marge, do you think you could find out where Charley Comstock was last night?”

“Charley?” Marge seemed taken aback. “Well, now. Come to think of it, he was pretty dam’ antsy when I started pushing him on the banking arrangements Kingsfield had with the First National.” She grinned. “Oh, yeah. I can check out old Charley.”

“And then,” Quill said, “there’s Mr. Albert McWhirter.”

“Old Scrooge?” Marge looked even more startled. “You suspect him?”

“I don’t know that I really suspect anyone at this point,” Quill said with perfect truth. “But I do have some questions. For example, why did McWhirter ask for this particular assignment?”

Marge shrugged. “Meg’s food is famous? He’s an art lover and wanted to meet you?”

“He hasn’t said a word about art to me. And he won’t
eat
Meg’s food, so why would he care that it’s famous? He says he has stomach trouble and he’s had to avoid rich food for years. He’s not behaving like any consultant I’ve ever heard of before. Why do I keep stumbling over him in unlikely places? At the Chamber meetings. At choir practice. What’s at either of those places that would interest a restaurant consultant? And there’s another mystery I’d like solved. Who is this Fred Sims, and who is he to the other guests here at the Inn?”

“Fred Sims?” Doreen said. “That nosy guy in two-fourteen? You just gimme a hour, I’ll get into that cruddy old briefcase he carries and I’ll find out for sure.”

“We don’t want to do anything illegal,” Quill said.

“Not too illegal,” Meg said. “I think you should check him out the first chance you get, Doreen.”

“Let’s get back to McWhirter.” Quill leaned forward and tapped her forefinger on the table. “I was there when McWhirter and Zeke ran into each other. It was pretty clear that they knew each other. And even clearer that they didn’t like each other.” Quill turned to Marge. “How much do you know about his background?”

“I can find out more. Make a few calls.”

Quill closed her sketchpad and looked at them gravely. “So. There it is. It’s a start. How much time should we give ourselves before we meet and see how the case is coming along?”

“I say we get right on it.” Meg thumped the table energetically with her fist. “Lydia’s lawyers are going to show up any minute and put a lien on my brand-new Garland stove, if we let them. What if we meet in Quill’s room tomorrow right about this time?” She looked at her watch. “That’s three thirty tomorrow. Gives us twenty-four hours to come up with some results.”

“I’m off to look at the crime scene.” Dina leaped to her feet. “One for all and all for one!”

Quill sighed. “Or something like that.”

“I’m off to nail Charley Comstock,” Marge said with relish. “If there’s any fast-breaking news, Quill, I’ll give you a call.” She turned and marched out of the Lounge without wasting any more words.

“And I’m goin’ to talk to the housekeeping staff. Tell ’em to keep their eyes peeled.” Doreen, too, left the room abruptly.

Dina pushed her glasses up her nose and sat down again, with a thump. “I’ll get my parka on and go out to get pictures of that tree before it gets dark. But before you start your detecting, Quill, Elizabeth wants to see you in the kitchen.”

“She wants to see
me
in the kitchen,” Meg corrected her.

“Nope, she said Quill, specifically.”

Ajit, Bernie, and Benny came into the Lounge and waved at them. Quill decided it was as good an opportunity as any to discover Lydia’s plans for the future. “Tell Elizabeth I’ll be along directly, would you, Dina?” She made her way amid the sparsely populated tables and greeted the
Good Taste
crew with a warm smile and a conventional expression of sympathy. “You three must be exhausted. I’m so sorry about your loss.”

Ajit shrugged, charmingly. “Thank you. It was certainly unexpected.”

“Actually,” Benny said, “we’re better off without him.” He jumped. “That’s my ankle you just kicked Bernie, thank you very much. And why should I pretend that we’re crying in our beer? We’re not. Zeke was nothing more or less than a panderer to popular taste, Quill. He was putting a lot of pressure on Lydia to subvert the show.”

“He was?” They had selected a table for four. She settled into the unoccupied chair, as Nate came up to them. “Can I ask Nate to bring you all something?”

“Ajit’s a club soda man,” Benny said. “But Bernie and I will have a Cosmopolitan. Or maybe a margarita, Bernie. What do you think?”

“I think it’s far too early in the day for a sweet drink. I’ll have a white vermouth.”

“You’re right, ducky. The same for me, Nate.”

Nate, who never needed to write orders down, said, “You got it,” and lumbered back to the bar.

“I haven’t had a chance to talk to Lydia today,” Quill said. “I did see her at the . . . out near the gorge, of course.”

“And she was ranting about suing you, I expect,” Bernie said. “That’s just her way, sweetie. I wouldn’t take it to heart.”

“You mean she’s decided not to sue us?” Quill said hopefully.

“Goodness no. I think the chief wolf in her pack of lawyers is already headed this way. What I meant is that it’s nothing personal.”

Quill, reflecting that it felt very personal, said merely, “I suppose you’ll be heading on back to New York?”

“Oh, no. Not until we’ve taped all of the establishing shots.” Ajit accepted his club soda with a brilliant smile. Quill found herself wondering what it would be like to paint him. It’d be difficult. That kind of beauty always tempted an artist into sentimentality. “Zeke’s accident will make little or no difference to the plans for
Good Taste
. The budget for the show comes from the magazine. And although Zeke’s name is on the letterhead, so to speak, he actually doesn’t own any of the company.”

“He doesn’t?” Quill was startled. “But I thought he personally bought
L’Aperitif
.”

Ajit’s smile held an acidic edge. “Sure. If you believe what you read about Zeke. But what you read about Zeke is a lot different from the reality. Magna Publications spun off
L’Aperitif
to Kingsfield Publishing. I think Zeke actually may own some stock in Magna. And he may even own stock in Kingsfield Publishing. But not necessarily. Both are publicly held companies. Both are traded over the stock exchange. For all I know, your investment banker’s put some of your savings into KP. The point is, he could just be a figurehead and not wield any real voting power at all.”