A Touch of the Grape: A Hemlock Falls Mystery (Hemlock Falls Mystery series) (22 page)

Quill rubbed her face with both hands. "One of the many many reasons I love you, Myles, is that you always make sense. I'll talk to Meg."

"Good. Let's take a look at the other problem. Do you want some advice on how to look at these crimes?"

Quill eyed him a little warily. She gave herself a few moments and queried the Reference Library about Thorne Smith. Then she said, "Yes. I think I do."

"Talk to Andy directly about the autopsy results. Go over the evidence bags Davy's collected yourself. Don't take his word for it, or let him give you a list. You said Doreen went through the room where Ellen Dunbarton was murdered?"

"She found a few things. Nothing that seemed important."

"Every anomaly, no matter how small, is vital in an investigation. What about your suspect?"

The screen blinked invitingly at her. She ignored it.
"Paul Pfieffer, Myles. It has to be. He's got the business background. If his second career as a direct market salesman came out, it would jeopardize his job with the state.
And he's got that jumpy, anal retentive attitude a lot of state employees seem to have.

"Then there's Thorne Smith. He's been at the Marriott during the entire time the Crafty Ladies have been here. He's slick, smooth, and you only have to look at him to realize how much he likes money.

"The other alternative is just plain Mr. X. There's no reason for this murderer to show himself. Quite the reverse. But if it is Mr. X, I have no idea where to begin looking for him. It's probably that X lives in Hemlock
Falls, don't you think? Why else have the Crafty Ladies
check in here? We have how many people living in the village? Three thousand and some odd. I don't know
how to begin. The murders Meg and I have solved in the
past have risen out of personal motives. The players
have always been onstage before. This could be a Patri
cia Cornwell situation, don't you think? By that I mean forensics are going to solve this case, not intuition and deduction. Oh, I considered the fact that it's someone we've known for years, like Marge. But come on! Or
the Summerhills, or one of the Petersons—
anyone
could
be involved. But it doesn't add up."

"If it doesn't add up, it's because we don't have enough facts in place." She was pleased by his use of
the pronoun. Myles had always resisted her involvement
in his cases in the past. On the other hand, he wasn't the sheriff now, he was a private investigator himself. He drummed his fingers on the table. "Do you mind if I poke around a bit myself? This case is interesting."

"Davy and the fire chief would love to have you poke
around a bit. They keep asking me when you're coming home."

"I'll see what I can do."

"You'll tell me everything, Myles, won't you?" she said anxiously. "I mean, I feel that all of this is my responsibility. I worry that—" She felt tears behind her eyes. "Oh, nuts. It's nuts. What's the matter with me? You're much better at everything than I am." She frowned fiercely at Max, who had curled up at her feet. "The cavalry's come over the hill, Max, and the white
wimmin have been saved from a fate worse than death."
She switched the frown to Myles. "I'm so
glad
I amuse you."

He rubbed his chin, partly. Quill suspected, to conceal
the grin on his face. "Listen to me, Quill. That some
what incoherent metaphor implies that either I or you or
perhaps both of us want the kind of marriage where there's a general and a private. I'm speaking of a marriage in principle, you understand, since you're so skittish about the fact. We aren't a paramilitary
organization, my darling. We're two overlapping circles,
right?" He made a circle out of the thumbs and forefingers of both hands and held them up. "We, Myles and Quill, are in the center. Quill
qua
Quill is to the left.
Myles
qua
Myles is to the right. Together, but separate."
His glance fell on Max, whose tail thumped approval at the tone of voice, if not the sentiment. "I suppose we've got to include that damn dog, too."

Quill, the query about Thorne Smith forgotten, shut down the computer, and turned off the light. "Myles," she said into the dark. "Have I told you lately that I love you?"

Quill came downstairs at seven o'clock the next morn
ing, feeling guilty. She'd had every intention of getting up at six to help Meg in the kitchen, but the alarm had wakened Myles, of course, and there you were, she thought. She felt wonderful. Three cheers for the snake in the apple tree.

"Quill!" Freddie Patch's worried voice stopped her
headlong rush to the kitchen. The three remaining Crafty Ladies were seated at their regular table. "Could we talk
to you for a minute?"

They all had coffee and orange juice at least, Quill
noticed. Poor Meg. If she accepted that loan from Myles,
they could afford help, at least until this was all over. "Of course. I just want to check on Meg, then I'll be right back."

Quill pushed open one of the double doors to the
kitchen and peeked in. Doreen was standing at the work-
table, hulling strawberries. Meg was at the oven with a pan of uncooked muffins. "Hi, guys!" She walked in. Doreen sniffed. Meg slapped the muffins on the oven rack and slammed the door shut. "Sorry I'm late."

"Everything's under control," Meg said. "Except my normally excellent temper. We can't close the kitchen
because we need the income, as pitiful as it is, from the
two and one half guests that are staying here. We can't get help because we're broke—" She stopped herself, and looked closely at her sister "Is Myles home?"

"Did you hear him come in last night?"

"Nope. Slept like a log. An overworked, underpaid— make that no-paid—log. Andy wanted to take my blood
pressure three times last evening because he thought I
was dead. I have none. Because I am dead. On the other
hand, you're blooming. I'll bet your blood pressure is just fine. You worked as hard as I did yesterday, and
you had about the same amount of sleep, and goodness
knows you are even more worried than I am about the lack of money, but you don't look dead. Since I am a part-time and, if I do say so myself, highly qualified
amateur detective, I deduced, cleverly, that Myles came
home."

"I'm impressed," Quill said. "I really am."

"Also, he come by for coffee a few minutes ago." Doreen dumped the hulled strawberries into a colander and began trimming a new pint. "He left that"—she nodded toward a white envelope on the counter—"in case you and Miss Hissy here wanted to take that loan."

Quill picked up the envelope and opened it. The check
for fifty thousand was inside.

"I'm goin' to the bank this morning," Doreen offered. "To deposit my paycheck. If I got one. I can take that there with me."

Quill looked a question at Meg.

"Are you out of your mind? Of course we should take
it!"

"What if we can't pay it back?" Quill asked quietly.

"You remember those 401k's John set up for us."

"He said never never never touch them."

"When needs must, or whatever that expression is.
I'll guarantee my twenty-five thousand from my 401k,
Quill. You do what you want."

"It's all we've got left."

Meg shrugged. "So? I can always get a job as a chef. You can teach art to the artless."

"And I'll take in laundry," Doreen said. "You laugh,
Meg. I done it before."

"I'm not laughing."

"You want I should deposit that there?"

"Yes," said Quill. "Go ahead. And the paychecks should be in the morning's mail, Doreen. That payroll service on Main Street is doing them."

"I don't need mine for a while yet. But I'll see Kathleen gets hers. And Mike."

Quill didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything. But she gave Doreen a kiss, and made a face at her sister.

"This here order's ready for table five," Doreen scolded. "You get it right on out."

Quill took the three bowls of strawberries, brioche, and a jug of cream to the ladies at table five. "I'd like to sit with you for a while," Quill said. "But if we get guests in for breakfast, I'm going to have to wait on them. Our waitress—um—called in sick."

"The financial situation hasn't improved any?" Fred
die said, with unexpected shrewdness. "You can always tell when you have to lay off the help. I'm so sorry. And
I'm afraid we're going to add to your troubles. We're leaving."

Quill had been too busy to notice before, but none of
the three women at the table looked at all well. Freddie's
soft white hair hadn't been combed. Mary's eyes were deeply shadowed. Robin's hands trembled as she ate her toast. Quill sat in the vacant fourth chair and looked at them with concern. "Did anything happen last night?"

"Noises in the corridor." Robin shuddered. "We didn't sleep at all."

"I'm afraid that must have been a friend of mine. It was very late when he got in."

"Terrible sighs and moans."

Quill kept her composure. "Max the dog, I should think. He went out early this morning."

"We don't feel safe here," Freddie said softly. "We just don't feel safe."

"I don't blame you at all. But do you think moving is going to help?"

"We can't leave Hemlock Falls until Mr. Vinge comes, we just can't!" Mary cried. "There's all this money at stake."

More than they've seen in their whole lives, Quill thought, and sighed. "I understand. But I want to ask you something. What if Mr. Vinge killed Fran and Ellen?"

Freddie's soft mouth formed an astonished "O."

"Mr. Vinge?" Robin said. "Mr. Vinge? But he's going to pay us! Why would he want to hurt us?"

"I see what you're saying," Mary said slowly. "It's because he owes us, isn't it? It's because we've come up with all these good ideas. He wants to keep them for himself."

"I'm afraid so. At least, that's my theory." They looked, if it were possible, even more frightened than
before. Quill made her voice as reassuring as she could.
"You know what? You all need some food. Have your breakfast, and then we'll talk about it. I," said Quill, "have a plan."

"To help us? We can eat and talk at the same time," Freddie said eagerly. "We do it all the time at canasta club. What's your plan. Quill? Here. See? I'm eating my strawberries." She placed a spoonful of them in her mouth and chewed energetically.

"Are we going to be decoys?" Freddie asked. "Like on the cop shows?"

"The decoys always get into trouble on the cop shows
on TV, Freddie," Mary said. "I'm sure Quill has a better plan than that."

Actually, Quill didn't have a better plan than that. "I wasn't thinking of using you as decoys, exactly. More along the lines of getting Mr. Vinge to show himself. Without danger to any of you. But first, I need to know where he is, and how to reach him."

"Good morning," said a dry voice in Quill's ear. "I assume, since these people are having breakfast, that food is available."

"Mr. Pfieffer!" Quill jumped, recovered herself, and
got to her feet reluctantly. "I'll be right with you. Please
have a seat where you would like. Freddie? Mary? Robin? I'll see you all for tea? As usual?" She invested her voice with heavy significance.

"Tea? Our usual tea?" Freddie blinked in confusion.

Mary poked her sharply. "You know!" She hissed loudly, "The Plan!"

"Oh, of course." She dimpled. "You know," she confided, "this is quite exciting."

"At three, then," Quill said loudly. "In the gazebo."

"Three, at the gazebo." Robin dug into her capacious
purse and withdrew a little pen and a cloth covered note
book. "Recycled detergent carton," she explained
proudly, displaying the notebook. White powder show
ered onto her strawberries. "You just find a few scraps
of cloth, trim the cardboard with a pair of pinking shears, and staple the unused backs of Christmas cards together
for the paper. Very sturdy, and of course it doesn't cost a dime. You have to buy the pen, though." She put on her reading glasses, squinted at the opened pages, and said as she wrote, "Th-re-ee oo'-clock. Gazebo. There! We'll see you then!"

Paul Pfieffer cleared his throat in a pay-some-attention-to-me! way, and Quill nodded hastily. "You all stay right around here, today, please. I don't want to lose anyone else."

Quill was rushed off her feet in the next hour, and the
kitchen crew was put under a severe strain. It hadn't
taken the village gossip mill long to discover Mr. Pfief
fer's whereabouts or to catch wind of the presence of the rich investment counselor from Boston. Nineteen of
the twenty-four members of the Chamber of Commerce
showed up, "just for coffee and a little something," as well as the Kiwanis, the Lions Club, the Ladies Auxil
iary, and what seemed like an entire busload of the Hem
lock Falls Future Farmers of America. As far as Quill
was concerned, the absentees were more important than
those present. "Marge and Betty haven't poked their
heads in all morning," she said hurriedly to Meg, "and
neither have Selena and Hugh Summerhill. Worse yet. Harvey isn't here. Harvey's always where the real action
is. And everyone manages to drop casually into the con
versation: 'Seen that Mr. Pfieffer around?' or 'Heard some fella from Boston was here,' and there'll be a sig
nificant pause. Well, tough. Pfieffer ate and went, and I
haven't seen Mr. Smith at all."