Murder Well-Done (14 page)

"Fuck you, Murchison."
Howie's voice never rose above its mild tone of inquiry. "I don't know what the hell you're planning, Dorset. You know as well as I do that, at the very least, I can have this arrest tossed out because you prevented me from seeing my client privately. I'll tell you this. No matter where you are in the next few days, I'll prosecute you to the fullest extent the law allows - and maybe a little more than that. This woman has friends. She and her sister have a national reputation. You step an inch over the line, and it'll be safer for you in jail than out."
"You don't scare me, Murchison."
"Then you're a fool. Give me that key."
"Howie," said Quill, "don't. For one thing, what if there's a fire? For another, he'd be a real idiot to assault my, um - virtue - after you and John and Meg have witnessed all of this. You guys go and do what you have to do to get me out of here - okay?"
"You're sure, Quillie?" Meg, pale, rubbed her face with both hands. "I really think I ought to stay with you."
"I'm sure. I'll be all right. Just go away and do what you have to do to get me out of here."
"We'll be back in the morning," said Howie. "I'll drive to Ithaca tonight, get Judge Anderson out of bed, and be back about six. Try and get some sleep." He frowned. "Dorset? Watch yourself."
At first Quill was grateful for the overhead light. The cell block was very quiet. Outside it had started to snow again, and the whisper/slide of a heavy fall brushed against the barred window. She lay back on the thin mattress, pulling the blanket over her shoulders, wriggling her stockinged feet through the folds at the bottom, trying to warm them. Meg's paring knife made a lump in her pocket, and she ended up sticking it under the pillow.
She fell into a broken doze, jerked awake every now and then by the relentless overhead light when her eyelids blinked half open. Eventually, she slid into heavy sleep.
She woke to whispered voices.
Confused, she sat up, swung her feet to the floor, and encountered cold concrete.
"... in there right now," came a murmur, "trust me... "
A response, derisive.
"... show ya..."
The metal door swung open. Dorset's lanky figure shambled through the flood of light from the office. Quill blinked, blinded by the overhead light. Dorset whistled as you whistle for a dog. There was someone behind him. Shorter than Dorset, about Quill's own height. Shapeless in her down coat. Face concealed by her fur hat.
Suddenly, the overhead light went out.
She flung her hand up, shading her eyes against the glare from the office door. The man? woman? behind the sheriff stepped back, arm upraised. Light flashed against steel. The arm came down, once.
Dorset screamed. And again.
Dorset twisted, hands scrabbling for the unknown face. Quill willed her eyes open, strained against the dark.
The knife came down a third time, hard. Blood came from Dorset's mouth and nose. He cried, "Uh! Uh!" and fell in a clatter of boots and keys, arms outstretched.
The door to the office slammed shut. The cell was totally dark. There was a fumbling in the dark. The cell door clicked open. Quill shoved herself against the cold wall and grabbed the paring knife from beneath the pillow. She held it steady, blade out. There was the sound of dragging, then a shove and a grunt. Dorset's body rolled against her feet. She gasped and flung herself away, bruising her hands and knees on the iron bed frame.
A clatter and rattle of something dropped. The cell door clanged shut, and the lock clicked. The door to outside opened; the down-coated figure slipped through. Quill went to her knees and fumbled along the floor. She felt the knife, the butcher knife.
"Sheriff? Sheriff?"
"No," said Dorset. "No. Help. Help."
There was a horrible gurgle, like waste bubbling from a clogged pipe.
It didn't take him long to die.
-7-
"Drink that tea right up," Doreen said with rough affection. "It's a mercy that bozo didn't come after you, too."
Quill, freshly showered and in a white terry cloth robe, drank half a cup of the Red Zinger and sat on her couch. Meg moved restlessly around the room, successively picking up a small ceramic vase, a replica of a Chinese horse, then a crystal swan, and putting each one down again. "You can't pin down the time of the murder any more exactly than about dawn?" asked Meg.
"John said he didn't stop to look at the time when he heard me scream, and Davy didn't give me my watch back until you and Howie came with the order for release." Quill looked at it. "But it's eight-thirty now, in case you were wondering."
"Oh, ha."
"Howie must have gotten that judge up in the middle of the night. I can't believe you guys came back for me before the sun was up."
"Anderson was pretty annoyed at Howie."
"You went with Howie to Ithaca?"
"What did you expect me to do? Got to sleep?! Besides, the roads were awful and I didn't think he should go alone."
"Well, thanks."
"I didn't do a darn thing, except ride shotgun." Meg sat next to Quill with a thump. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes. The worst was not being able to help him. And not being able to see."
"And he didn't say a word about who did it?"
"He couldn't," Quill said dryly. "Not once the blood started to... never mind."
"I don't know why you're wasting perfectly good sympathy on that bozo. It's a mercy whoever killed Dorset didn't kill you, too," Doreen reiterated.
The snow had stopped and sunlight streamed in through the window. She looked old. AQuill sighed. Myles had told her once that each murder had more than one victim, that every violent death resulted in little murders of the living.
"Quill survived because the murderer wanted Dorset's killing to be pinned on her," said Meg. "If John hadn't been sitting outside her cell window and seen him take off, there wouldn't have been a thing Howie could have done to get Quill out of jail. The knife that killed him was from our kitchen, her fingerprints were on it, and a spare key was found inside the cell under the mattress, proving that Quill could have locked herself in and tried to blame the murder on person or persons unknown."
"Somebody did some good thinking ahead." Doreen scowled. "John didn't see who it was, either?"
Meg shook her head. "Too dark. And he couldn't exactly walk in and ask Dorset what the heck he was up to, could he? He wasn't after any visitors to the sheriff's office. John was worried about Quill and was planning on standing guard outside the cell window all night. And a good thing, too. Otherwise... otherwise... " Meg trailed off.
"Otherwise," Quill said cheerfully, "I would still be locked up, although without a corpse in my bed. I just wish the killer hadn't taken off with the key to the cell door, or that I'd know the other key was under the pillow. It seemed to take hours before John located Dave and let me out."
Meg drummed her fingers on her knee. "Wait until we find that creep."
"When are we gong to have time to find that creep, Meg? We've got Santini's bachelor party tonight, not to mention the terrace party for S. O. A. P."
"And who is going to catch this killer?"
"They're sending the state troopers to investigate. Until we find another sheriff, they'll be in charge of it."
"We gotta do somethin'," muttered Doreen.
Quill set her teacup on the oak chest and got to her feet. "What we've got to do is keep the Inn running smoothly. I'm going to get dressed and meet you guys in the kitchen."
"It is a full day," Meg admitted. "The rest of the Santini wedding party is checking in this morning, and that nutty Evan Blight is checking in this afternoon."