A Taste for Murder (21 page)

Quill, unable to think of an adequate response, heated a cup of weak coffee in the microwave and handed it to Mrs. Hallenbeck. She sipped it and gave it back to Quill with a demand for more hot water. "You are extremely dirty," she said to John. "I suppose you have been hiding out."
"Do you remember me, Mrs. Hallenbeck? I thought you might have when you checked in three days ago, but you. didn't say anything. Did Mavis tell you about me?"
"I thought I'd seen you before. I mentioned it to Mavis. She said I was mistaken. I am rarely mistaken."
"I worked for your husband a long time ago, in the accounting department."
"My husband?" Mrs. Hallenbeck didn't seem to hear John. She mumbled slightly. Her eyes clouded. She held her coffee cup out to Quill with a wordless demand that it be taken away. Quill put it in the small sink in her kitchen, and wondered what to do. Finally Mrs. Hallenbeck said in a querulous voice, quite unlike her usual crisp tones, "You remember my dear Leslie? Of course, he would have been Mr. Hallenbeck to you. Well, I don't recall you specifically. There were so many employees. They all simply adored Leslie. As I did."
Quill and John exchanged a cautious look. "I only met Mr. Hallenbeck once a year, at the company Christmas party," John said. "I saw you there too, of course, but we never spoke before you came here."
"I should have remembered you if I had. I am frequently complimented on the accuracy of my memory."
The spell, or whatever it was, seemed to have passed. Quill wondered at the harshness of memory; a husband's suicide would be an intolerable burden to bear, the guilt horrific. Had John's quiet reference to her dead husband touched off memories too painful to bear?
The morning sun poked an exploratory finger through the southeast window. Its light made Quill aware of just how old eighty-three was. Blood, muscle, and bone all shrink, she thought, as though a tide has ebbed. Does the spirit shrink, too, and the healthy young become the senile old? Or does it wear away, as the physical does, to leave bedrock character behind? She thought of her own mother, and her mother's loving, changeless heart trapped in a body diminished, but not conquered, by age. She couldn't begin to make sense of it, and wouldn't bother.
"You have not yet given me a reason as to why the police haven't been called. What are you going to do about him?" Mrs. Hallenbeck jerked her chin at John. Her eyes were suddenly clear and shrewd. "He's wanted for murder, I understand."
"It's a mistake," said Quill. "And John's going to clear that up. He'll be back managing the Inn again. In the meantime I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't say anything about seeing him here. We're keeping it a bit quiet until John gets a chance to talk to the sheriff himself."
"So you're going to solve the murders. Huh! It's obvious to me that he did it. Killed that Mr. Gilmeister and Mavis, too." Her eyes widened in alarm. "You're not going to kill me are you?"
"But he didn't, Mrs. Hallenbeck. He's innocent. And why in the world would anyone want to kill you?" The doubt was back; perhaps she was senile.
"I know things, of course. I know all about Mavis, and what she was like." Her hands shook. Her lips tightened in disgust. "Dreadful girl. I should have fired her years ago. I am far too tender-hearted. It's very easy to take advantage of me." She looked at Quill out of the comer of her eye. "As an example, I believe it was Mavis who staged that little - ah - incident with the balcony for the insurance money. I'm afraid she's done it before. If that is so, I have a great deal to make up for. You will, of course, present the bill for repairs to me. Sometimes I believe that all the trouble that has come since then is a result of Mavis' foolishness. If I had kept better control of her, if I had refused to allow her to go out with those appalling people, the rest of this would never have happened." She pursed her lips, and said anxiously, "You don't think people will blame me, do you? I confess to feeling a small portion of responsibility for what happened to her, and to Mr. Gilmeister. I believe the trap on the ducking stool was set for her. I should have managed her better. But I've never had a head for people like Leslie had."
Quill, reeling from the news that Mavis had made a career of conning hotels, couldn't respond for a moment.
"I don't think that's true, Mrs. Hallenbeck," said John. "I didn't know you well, and you know what employee gossip is like, but everyone agreed that you were probably better at managing the business than your husband. And successful business is all about how well you manage people. Mr. Hallenbeck always used to say that at the Christmas parties. My boss, Carl Atkinson? You may remember him. He had the greatest respect for your abilities. Someone with your kind of intelligence doesn't suddenly lose it. You can't blame yourself for Mavis' behavior."
Mrs. Hallenbeck smiled primly. Moving quietly, as though not to startle a small animal, John got up from the couch. "Can I get you another cup of coffee?"
"Just a little, perhaps. Quite weak. I am very sensitive to caffeine." Quill heard John making a fresh pot. She waited. She wasn't entirely sure what he was up to, with these flagrant compliments, but at least Mrs. Hallenbeck hadn't reached for the phone to call the cops yet. "I think," said John, coming back into the room, "that Mrs. Hallenbeck could be very helpful in the investigation to clear my name."
"Oh," said Quill, enlightened. "Yes. Absolutely."
"I?" said Mrs. Hallenbeck with a gratified inflection.
"The reasons for Mavis' murder must rest in her past. I left the company a long while ago, Mrs. Hallenbeck, and I have very little idea of what went on in the past five years or so. You were there. You knew Mavis. You've even had her living with you for... how long?"
"Just a year. My son insisted that I have a companion to live with me."
"So, you know her better than any of us. Now, Quill and I have a suspicion that Mavis was a blackmailer."
"Wouldn't surprise me in the least," said Mrs. Hallenbeck. "I had a suspicion of that right along."
"You did?" said Quill, fascinated. "And you didn't get rid of her, or anything?"
"Well, she wasn't blackmailing me. And Mavis could be a great deal of fun, you know. Huh. Blackmail. Who, do you suppose?"
"That's what we were hoping you could tell us," said Quill. "Had you heard her mention Marge before, for example? In any way that would lead you to believe that she had something on her?"
"Marge Schmidt? No. I mean, of course, they worked together way back when. Margie was good, I'll give her that. Never had a proper respect for me or for Mr. Hallenbeck, but then, with that background, what can you expect? Blue-collar all the way, high-school education, no proper home life at all. But she was quite efficient at running the East Coast operations. I told Mr. Hallenbeck he should offer Marge more money when she quit. The profit margin in that was never the same after she left. I would guess," said Mrs. Hallenbeck with a twinkle, "that Mavis met her match in Marge Schmidt."
"You must have a good reason to suspect Mavis of blackmail," said John. "Think back. Any phone conversations, or letters, or people she mentioned? Especially if you've seen them here."
"Gil Gilmeister never worked for Doggone Good Dogs, for example?" said Quill. "Or Tom Peterson?"
"Oh, no. The first time Mavis met Tom was at the play rehearsal when Marge introduced him to both of us."
"And then you went to dinner with Gil at the diner."
"Yes. Marge had a loan outstanding against Mr. Gilmeister's half of the auto business. She suggested that I buy him out. Mavis knew that my investments hadn't been doing too well lately. The market these past few years has been simply appalling. I used to get quite a decent return on my portfolio, and it's been halved. Halved. I'm seriously considering suing my broker."
"How did you leave it with Gil?" asked John.
"I wasn't averse to a good return. I told Mavis to speak to his partner, Tom Peterson, to get an idea of what the business could do under decent management."
"Did she speak to him?"
"Yes. She was never one to let grass grow under her feet, I'll tell you that. Mr. Gilmeister, Marge, and Mr. Baumer brought me back to the Inn, while Mavis went across the green - to whatever it is that you call it...."
"The Pavilion," supplied Quill.
"Yes, where the - incident occurred - to speak to Tom. Gil was most anxious for a quick decision. He didn't seem a bad sort, apart from his drinking problem. Whereas Keith... Tcha! A dreadful employee and a dreadful man."
"Keith," said Quill stupidly. "You mean Keith Baumer?"
"Yes, do you know him? Of course, he's staying here, isn't he? He was there when Mavis..." She shuddered. "I know there is a great deal of violence in the world today. I know at my age I should be more immune to it. But I cannot get the incident out of my mind. I dreamed about it, last night."
"Mrs. Hallenbeck!" Quill uncurled her clenched fists and forced herself to speak in a normal tone of voice. "Did you know Keith Baumer before you met him here at the Inn?"
"Of course. He was Meat Manager for the Central portion of the United States."
"For Doggone Good Dogs?"
"Yes." Mrs. Hallenbeck's tone was impatient. "As I was saying, I wonder if I should see that nice Dr. Bishop about my disrupted sleep. I've never needed much sleep, even as a young woman, but - "
"Mrs. Hallenbeck," said John. "You may have solved the case!"
"I?" A look of utter confusion crossed her face. "What do you mean? What did I say?"
"When did Keith Baumer work at Doggone Good Dogs?" John was marvelous, thought Quill, quiet, unexcited, yet properly deferential.
"Is it important?" said Mrs. Hallenbeck, her cheeks flushed. "You mean he and Mavis may have known each other before? That they had arranged to meet here? Of course! Mavis suggested we come to this place. There could be some reason for him to... to have made the accident happen? Well!" She was obviously pleased with herself. "I have an excellent memory. Let me think a moment. He was Meat Manager for about four years, approximately ten years ago, before your time, Mr. Raintree."
"And Mavis was Director of Human Resources at that time?"
"Not then. She was part of the department. She moved on to become Mr. Hallenbeck's assistant. Human Resources was headed at that time by a fiery young woman, most impractical. A Democrat, I believe. At any rate, Keith was fired under a cloud, as they say."
"Not embezzlement?" said John.
"No. Something to do with the way things are run nowadays. Stupid laws, when it's usually all the woman's fault. The way these young girls dress!"
"Sexual harassment," said Quill, "it figures."
"That was it. How clever of you, Sarah."
"How clever of you!" Impulsively, Quill walked over and gave her a hug. "This could be it, John!" She sank to her knees beside Mrs. Hallenbeck's chair. "Listen. We're going to need some time to track down Baumer's movements. My guess is that we can discover enough evidence to put him away for a long, long time."
"You mean you think he killed Mavis?" She looked old and bewildered. Her lips moved soundlessly for a moment; and then she looked at John. "I thought he killed Mavis!"
"No, Mrs. Hallenbeck, that's one of the things you are going to help us to accomplish. Remember? We're all working together to clear John's name."
"We're investigating," said Mrs. Hallenbeck with satisfaction. "You and I."
"And John. It's almost seven-thirty now, Mrs. Hallenbeck. Why don't you go down to the dining room? Meg and I usually eat about now, and you can join us. Just ask Peter to seat you at our table. Tell him I told you to sit there. I'm going to bathe and change, and then I'll join you." She helped the old woman out of her chair and escorted her to the door. "Remember. John isn't going to go to the police until the sheriff gets back. We have twenty-four hours to solve these murders. So part of your job as a member of the investigation team is not to let anyone know that John's come back."
Mrs. Hallenbeck nodded wisely. "I'll be downstairs, waiting for you, and" - she leaned forward and whispered in Quill's ear - "I shall be on the alert for clues."
Giddy from both lack of sleep and relief, Quill collapsed on her sofa with a sigh when the door closed on Amelia Hallenbeck.
John, more reserved, said, "It's not over yet. I'm going to spend the rest of the day with my hacker friend. I'll pull Baumer's address from the register and see what we can find in his financial records. But, I don't know, Quill. This all seems pretty tenuous."
"I'll talk to Marge, Tom Peterson, and Baumer himself, after I get back from the Marriott," said Quill confidently. "John, we'll solve this by the time Myles gets back. Let me know where I can call you. Is your friend in Ithaca or something?"
"No. Here in town. I'll give you the phone number." He wrote it down and handed it to her.
"You mean all this time you've been in Hemlock Falls?"
"Yes. And yes, Quill, I was within a block of the Pavilion when someone pulled that hood over Mavis' head. To someone like Myles, I'm still the ideal suspect. I had means, motive, and opportunity, for both murders."
He left as quietly as he had come. The coffee John made was untouched. She gulped two quick cups. Then she stripped out of her robe and nightgown and gritting her teeth, took a shower as cold as she could stand it. She dressed and went downstairs to breakfast. Meg would be fascinated with recent developments.
Meg, smoking one of her infrequent cigarettes, was propped back in her chair at their table, staring at the wall over Mrs. Hallenbeck's head. Mrs. Hallenbeck herself was tucking into a souffl‚. Quill dropped into the chair next to her; she noticed through her haze of fatigue that Meg's hair was flat.
"Morning, Meg."
Her sister's gaze dropped from the wall to Quill's face with the suddenness of a bird after a worm. "Have you entirely lost your mind?" Meg demanded.
Quill put down her orange juice. Mrs. Hallenbeck couldn't have told Meg about John already. "I don't think so. Why?"
"Why? WHY?! We've got forty people showing up for breakfast in twenty-two minutes. Expecting food, I'll bet. Does anyone need to tell the chef about forty people arriving for brunch on a Monday when we average twenty servings in the dining room total, if we're lucky? Well!?"
"Forty?" said Quill bewildered.
"If that sanctimonious prat Tom Peterson hadn't called to confirm he had reservations, they would have all shown up to eat what? What, Quill?! Do I send out to the Burger King down the road for what they laughingly refer to as breakfast croissants?"