Murder Well-Done (15 page)

"You don't know that he's nutty," quill said.
"That's true. I don't know that he's nutty. But he's written a nutty book. Do you know what state of mind you have to be in to write a book?"
"No," said Quill, "and neither do you."
"I know that I have to be in a custard frame of mind to make custard. And dough is my world when I bake brioche. I," Meg continued, jumped up and waving her hands, "am one with the pig when I am in a roasting sort of mood."
"I see things are back to normal," John said, tapping at the door and walking in. There were dark circles under his eyes. Andy Bishop, the local internist, was right behind him, black bag in hand.
"Therefore," Meg shouted triumphantly, "Evan Blight is a fruitcake because it's a fruitcake sort of book he's written. Andy! My love!"
Andy Bishop skied in winter and played tennis in the summer and was always faintly tanned. He was slender, well-knit, and a mere head taller than Meg, who stood five foot two with shoes. He gave her a sunny, intimate smile, and then looked with concern at Quill.
"How are you feeling/"
"A little stiff and a lot sleepy. Otherwise, fine."
"Let me just do a few physicianly things, then I'll let you alone."
"Andy, I'm fine. Who called you ,anyway?"
"Let's just say I was in the neighborhood. Hey!" Meg wound her arms tightly around his neck and gave him a noisy kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, sweetheart, but you have to let me do my medical thing, here." He looked down at her. "Are you okay? I'm not going to have two patients on my hands, am I?"
"You are going to have no patients," said Meg. "I'm giddy with relief, I think. And Quill's okay, at least physically. And who did call you? Not that I wouldn't have, sooner, or later. Probably sooner."
"Doreen. Due to a little case of frostbite."
"John!" Quill leaped to her feet, penitent. "Are you okay? I didn't even think! And I had your parka!"
John made a slight movement in protest, and Andy went on smoothly, "As I said, I was in the neighborhood. Sit right there, Quill, and let me take your flood pressure and your temperature."
"Do it," said Doreen, forestalling protest. "You might check her for nits, while you're at it, Doc."
"DoREEN!" shrieked Meg.
Quill held her arm out while Andy wrapped the blood pressure cuff around it and made an inquiring face at John.
"I'm fine," he said.
"Everybody's fine," Andy said absently. "Ninety-three over sixty, Quill. I wish I had your metabolism. You're looking a little thin, though. Lost any weight recently?"
"Mmm," said Quill.
"At least five pounds," said Meg. "Courtesy of that rat, the ex-sheriff McHale."
"Meg," said Quill, "don't."
"Well, he is a rat, If he'd stuck around the way he was supposed to, you never would have ended up in the clink. It's all," Meg said obscurely, "his fault."
Myles, who was lousy at entrance lines, cleared his throat in a perfunctory way. He stood at the open door, his khaki raincoat rumpled, his battered leather bag in hand, a day's worth ,of stubble on his cheeks.
The silence was profound.
"Quill," said Andy, "I don't like this pulse rate at all."
"Well," said Doreen, "I can get back to work, I guess." She punched Myles on the shoulder as she passed. "Don't tell anyone it's good to see ya." John grinned, slapped him on the back and shook his hand, and followed Doreen out the door. Meg snapped Andy's doctor's bag shut, handed him the blood pressure cuff, and pulled him toward the hall.
"I haven't finished the physical," he protested.
"Is she anywhere near sick?"
"Well, no. A little shocky, maybe, but..."
"Then you're being persistent." She eyed Myles with enormous goodwill. "Not that I have any objections to persistent men. On the contrary. See you for breakfast, Sis."
"Don't call me Sis," Quill said automatically.
The door closed to a second, uncomfortable silence. Quill sat down on the couch and covered her face with her hands. She held herself very still, then said between them, "Did Howie call you? Or John?"
"No." She heard him set his suitcase on the floor, then the rustle of his raincoat as he tossed it over a chair.
"There's coffee in the kitchen."
"Would you like some?"
She nodded. He crossed the carpet with his quiet, measured step. The coffee gurgled into the cups. He set it down and she felt the heat of the cup next to her knee, which was wedged against the oak chest she used for a coffee table. Myles settled next to her. He smelled of foreign places, of cigarette smoke, and - faintly - of fatigue.
"Were you on a smoking flight?"
He laughed. "Are you going to take your hands away from your face?"
Quill shook her head no.
"Why not?"
"If I do, I'll cry. If I start to cry, I won't stop. And I've got a busy day ahead. My hands," she explained, "are sort of holding my face on."
"I see."
"Did you..." Her throat was clogged and she stopped to swallow. "Did you hear what happened?"
"Just now. Downstairs. From Dina. Of course, having had experience with Dina's reportage before, I'm taking a lot of it under advertisement. I take it you didn't run over a little kid."
Quill shook her head.
There was a different note to his voice, a note she'd only heard once before, the day she'd been shot. "And you weren't raped by Frank Dorset."
"Good heavens, no." Quill took her hands away from her face.
"And the s‚ance this afternoon isn't your method of determining who killed Nora Cahill and Dorset."
"The what?" Quill sat up straight and took a healthy swig of coffee. "S‚ance. Tutti," she said darkly. "Oh, swell." She looked directly at him for the first time since he'd come back. "I suppose you heard all about Nora Cahill and the videotape and my missing coat and hat."
"Your coat? You mean that ratty - er - cherished sort of down thing you weir in the winter?"
Quill nodded, then gave a coherent account of the last two days.
Myles asked a few questions, then said, "I think I have the gist of it." He got up and put on his raincoat.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to have a little talk with the mayor. To inquire about the availability of the sheriff's job."
"Myles!" She set her cup down and rose to follow him.
"Later, dear heart. After this mess is cleared up."
The door clicked shut behind him. Quill slipped off her robe and began to dress.
"Wow, you look fabulous." Dina made a credible attempt at a wolf whistle as Quill came down the stairs into the foyer. "Where'd that sweater come from? And I love the lace at the throat. Medieval. You look medieval." She wriggled her eyebrows. "And happy. Sheriff McHale came down the stairs about ten minutes ago and he looked happy, too." She sighed. "I sure feel better. Sheriff McHale said that of course you didn't stab that creep Dorset when he tried to - you know - that somebody else did it. Stabbed Dorset, I mean."
"Nobody tried to you - know. Especially Dorset."
"But Davy told Kathleen who told me that Dorset tried to... and somebody stabbed him."
"Somebody sure did. But it wasn't me. I. Whatever."
"Well, Sheriff McHale will find out who did it. And who killed Nora Cahill, too. Unless you and Meg find out first, like you've done before. Although, really, all either one of you has to do is ask Tutti. She's going to find out this afternoon, you know."
Quill, who was absolutely famished, stopped on her way to the dining room and turned around. "Which reminds me. What's this about a s‚ance?"
"At one-thirty. Just after lunch."
"I didn't ask when it was. I asked what about it?"
"What about it?"
"Is it Claire's grandmother? Mrs. McIntosh?"
"You mean Tutti? Yep. And Tatiana."
"Tutti and her dog? The dog's psychic, too?"
Dina looked uncertain.
"Who's attending?"
"You mean who's going to be at the..." She quailed at Quill's expression.
Quill reminded herself that Dina was one of the brightest Ph.D. candidates at the limnology department at Cornell University. The fact that she knew far more about freshwater ponds and copepods than real life had stopped astonishing Quill, but it didn't keep her from occasional irritation.
Dina said (meekly enough to make Quill feel badly about her momentary ill temper), "Tutti invited Tatiana, Claire, Mrs. McIntosh - the one that's Claire's mom, that is - Mayor Henry, and that Mr. Blight."
"Evan Blight? I didn't have him listed for check in until this afternoon."
"Well, he showed up this morning. Said he'd been out all night under the hunter's moon and wanted the amenities of a civilized existence before he returned to the primitive glory of the woods... that's what he said, Quill, honest to God."
"It's not what he said, it's about where he was. Out all night? Where?"
"In the Gorge. Mayor Henry picked him up at the Ithaca airport, I guess, and they went off for one of those S. O. A. P. meetings. Anyhow, when the mayor brought him in this morning, I told him that you were in jail for murder and that's why you couldn't meet him yourself." She smiled sunnily. "I remembered what you told all us employees about being meticulously courteous to guests, and being in jail was a pretty dam good reason you couldn't meet him."
"I suppose it was," said Quill. She reflected briefly on the fact that she'd spent the best part of the previous night in the cold embrace of a corpse, survived with seeming equanimity the unexpected (and emotionally cataclysmic) return of her lover, and that it was twenty-four-year-old Dina Muir who was going to drive her to hysterics. "And after you'd welcomed a best-selling writer with the news that his host was in the slam for murder one, what did he do? I mean other than ask about the availability of rooms at the Marriott?"
"He had a reservation here. John made it himself. Well, he walked in with Mayor Henry and, Quill, you know me, I'm not one to gossip, because gossip is tacky, but my goodness, they smelled!"
"They smelled? Like what?"
"Like... like... I don't... dirt."
"They smelled like dirt?"
"Yep. And the mayor looked like he hadn't shaved since the elections, and of course Mr. Blight has that ratty-sorry-that long beard, and there were all kinds of twigs in it."
"Dina. I'm starving. I want my breakfast."
"You want me to hurry up," Dina said wisely. "So they came in smelling like - you know - and Tutti was bombing around waiting for that icky Claire to come downstairs for breakfast, and Tutti started prophesying the minute she saw Evan Blight. He said she - Tutti, I mean - had the spirit of the ancient wise women, and like that. He was very impressed." She added with a slight tone of injury, "I mean, you and Meg dismiss things you can't hear or touch or see awfully easily, Quill, if you don't mind my saying so. So she got him to come to the s‚ance."
"What did she proph - never mind. I don't think I want to know. Where is this s‚ance going to be held?"
"The Proven‡al suite. Where Tutti's staying. Quill?"
"What."
"Could I? I mean, I definitely, absolutely did NOT ask Tutti to invite me, but I did say that I was pretty good at taking care of little dogs."
"You mean you want to go to the s‚ance?" Quill thought about this. Prone to breathless exaggeration as she was, there was always a strong foundation of truth to Dina's stories. And if Evan Blight and the men of S. O. A. P. had been rattling around the woods last night, she wanted details. Even details from Beyond.
"Sure. I don't mind if you take the time. Ask Kathleen if she'll cover the desk for you."
"Great. Look. You have a good breakfast."
"Thanks."
Quill walked through the foyer and into the dining room.
At nine o'clock on a Thursday morning in December, the Inn had very few breakfast guests. She hadn't been expecting Claire McIntosh (who normally rose around eleven), or Elaine (who never seemed to sleep at all, but roamed the halls in agitated fits), or Al Santini, but she wasn't surprised to see them at the table overlooking the Gorge. Vittorio sat with them, looking ill-tempered.
She was surprised to see Marge Schmidt and Betty Hall. Their Hemlock Hometown Diner did a brisk business in the mornings, beginning with the dairy farmers who came in after milking at six a.m., and ending with the early coffee breaks at ten-thirty of the business people on Main Street. Quill wondered who was covering the shop for them, then figured Marge had probably left out the coffee urn, cups, some of Betty's fry cakes, and a coffee can for cash.
Marge waved her over. Quill, whose stomach was now positively demanding breakfast, gave a cheerful wave in response and kept on going toward the kitchen. Marge placed two fingers between her lips and whistled, then pointed to the empty chair at their table.
Senator Santini jumped and looked nervously over his shoulder. Claire sent a sullen glare in Marge and Betty's direction. Elaine twisted her napkin into a tortured shape then dropped it on the floor. Vittorio shoveled Gruyere scrambled eggs into his mouth and didn't react at all.
Kathleen came bounding through the swinging doors from the kitchen, and Quill stopped her with a gesture. "Could you bring me some breakfast? I'll be at table five with Marge and Betty."
"Sure thing. Meg's whipped up a bunch of stuff. Raspberry crepes, eggs Florentine, some of that Breton sausage. And fresh grapefruit juice."
"Great."
"Uh-Quill? Could I talk to you a second before you talk to Ms. Schmidt?" Kathleen gazed at the carpet and rubbed at a spot with one toe. "Hmm. I thought Doreen got that out. She sure hates that little dog."
"What is it, Kath? If I don't get some breakfast I'm going to fall over dead."
"Yeah. Sure. Look, Quill. About David."
"Your brother?"
"He was just following that jerk's orders. Dorset, I mean. And now that Myles is back..."
Quill checked her watch. As far as she could tell, Myles had been back in Hemlock Falls for approximately forty-five minutes. And apparently the whole town knew it.
Kathleen took a deep breath. "Could you maybe put in a good word for him? For Davy, I mean?" She made a face in the direction of Marge and Betty's table. "There's a lot of folks around here that are pretty upset with him. That hidden camera wasn't his idea, you know. It was Dorset and that judge."
"Justice, not judge," said Quill. "There's a big difference. You mean Bernie Bristol."
"Davy," Kathleen said desperately, "didn't have a thing to do with it. And when the camera caught people speeding, well, what's he supposed to do? Just ignore it? He was only doing his job." She darted a look at Marge and away again.
"Marge got a ticket?" Quill guessed.
Kathleen nodded miserably. "Yesterday afternoon. And, of course, everyone's furious with what Dorset tried to do to you - "
"They are?" said Quill, pleased.