A Taste for Murder (23 page)

"The ah - devils - seem to have flown. I think perhaps if you could sit down..."
"There's a whole lot more shakin' to go on," said Willie Max sternly. "And a lotta prayers to holler."
Dookie picked his way apologetically to the front of the room. He gave Keith Baumer a hand and drew him up, then patted him on the shoulder. "Sit down, son."
Baumer sat down, mouth moving soundlessly.
"And you, Mr. Maximilian, we'd like to thank you for your support, but I think..."
"Hell!" Baumer gasped, to mildly disapproving looks from his near neighbors.
"... it's time for you and your followers to go now." Quill held her breath. There was a moment's tense silence. Elmer Henry, Harland Peterson, and Davey joined Dookie, shoulder to shoulder. Byron and Joe-Frank cracked their knuckles ominously. Harland Peterson reached out one large hand and removed the blackjack from Byron's grasp like a mother taking a bottle from a beloved baby.
Quill wondered if she ought to pull the fire alarm. "Thank you, brothers and sisters," said William Maximilian finally. "We'll leave you now, to continue on our mission. Revrund Shuttleworth, with your permission, sir, we'll pass the plate before we go."
"I think not," said Dookie sternly. There was a murmur from the assembly. Quill was impressed. She had never seen Dookie so decisive.
"You're all crazy," said Baumer, who had recovered his breath. Then, perhaps unjust in this sweeping oversimplification, "You're a bunch of fuckin' maniacs!" He stood up, swaying a little, and marched to the door; he turned and glared at William Maximilian. "You'll be hearing from my lawyers, you son of a bitch."
Quill stepped aside to let him pass. One eye rolled wildly at her. He shook his head, as if to get rid of flies. He wobbled down the hall, headed straight, Quill surmised, for the checkout desk and the Marriott on Route 15.
"Brothers and sisters," said William Maximilian, "we'll bid you all farewell."
Quill followed them down the hall, through the lobby, and out the front door. Joe-Frank, Byron, and Willy Max got into Rolling Moses. Joe-Frank turned on the ignition and gunned the motor. Rolling Moses took off like a cat with a stomped-on tail. She turned to Peter Williams, who had accompanied her, propelled, had she known it, more by concern for the look in her eye than a desire to make sure of Rolling Moses' departure.
"Bring me," she said, "Doreen."
"Yes, ma'am."
Quill took a few deep breaths. "And Peter? Mr. Baumer will undoubtedly be checking out. Will you make sure you know where he's headed? He's a material witness to the murder at the Pavilion, and Myles will want to know where he is."
"Yes, ma'am."
Quill went to her office and sat down behind her desk. Doreen tapped at the door, was given leave to enter, and came in.
"Now, I know what you're thinkin'," said Doreen engagingly.
"You can't possibly know what I'm thinking," said Quill coldly. "What I'm thinking is illegal in this state."
"First of all, the Reverend din't have those two with him in Boca Raton," said Doreen, "Honest. He had two helpers from the Sunset Trailer Park. Nice ladies." She paused reflectively. "Not as good at thumping as that there Joe-Frank." She heaved a deep sigh. "Second off, I din't call them."
"If you didn't, who did?" said Quill evenly. "I dunno."
There was a short silence. "So, am I fired?"
Quill remained expressionless.
"If I ain't fired, you gonna fine me?"
Quill picked up the stapler and depressed the arm. Three staples littered her desktop before it jammed. She set it back into place.
"You want me to think twice about this here Rolling Moses religion," guessed Doreen.
"I don't want you to think twice. I want you to forget it. I want it totally, absolutely, entirely erased from your memory. I want no more harassing of the guests. No more Bible verses in soap on bathroom mirrors. No more bugs in the beds. I don't give a damn about the seven plagues of Egypt. This is Hemlock Falls, and there are no grasshoppers, no locusts, no SLUGS allowed. Got that?"
"Got that," said Doreen. "I was kinda going off this, anyways. Thinking maybe of taking up Amway."
"Why do you have to take up anything!" shouted Quill. "Especially now, when I need you and Meg to be relatively sane and even-tempered."
"Somethin' happen?" said Doreen alertly.
"Yes." Quill took several deliberate breaths. She knew Doreen to be absolutely trustworthy in every area but her brief and violent enthusiasms. Well-pretty trustworthy. On the other hand, she didn't have a lot of choice. Someone had to search for clues, and she didn't have the time. "John's back."
"Ayuh," said Doreen. "I haven't had a chance to tell Meg. But Mrs. Hallenbeck knows."
"That one!"
"It was an accident." Quill briefly recapped her conversation with John, leaving out the personal details, but including the sudden invasion of Mrs. Hallenbeck's and her intention to investigate.
"Sheriff is after 'em," said Doreen. "We don't have much time for this here investigating."
"No, that's one of the reasons why I was furious about the evangelist. All those management courses I take, Doreen, I'm supposed to put you on probation for stuff like this. And here I am trusting you with something that's vitally important. It's John's life we're talking about here. I mean, they don't execute people anymore in this state - but another prison sentence? We have to do something."
"Even if he had killed that Mavis..." Doreen began darkly.
"Well, he didn't," said Quill, "and what we have to do is look for that bolt. The one from Harland Peterson's tractor. There's no way it could have fallen into the river, Doreen - and I know Myles and his men didn't pick it up at the scene. So the killer's got it. Motives for Baumer are piling up. I want you to pay particular attention to his room when you look."
"You got it. I'll search the whole dang Inn."
"If you find it, be sure not to pick it up with your bare hands," warned Quill. "There may be fingerprints. Use your work gloves and put it into a Baggie or something. And, Doreen?"
"Yes'm."
"There's really no need to mention this to the sheriff, or Deputy Davey, or any of the patrol guys."
"You don't want them to find out? I thought we were helpin' them."
"Well, we are; it's just that some people might think it was interfering with an official investigation or something." A ware that her management training courses were stem in the admonition to at all times maintain an executive demeanor and that she was, perhaps, being a bit tentative where direct and aggressive behaviors were what led to Maintaining Control of Employees, Quill folded her hands on her desk and said briskly, "Then you'll report back to me the instant you discover something essential. It isn't worth it to waste time coming to me with nonessential information, like Keith Baumer's swiped towels, or something. Come to me when you discover facts that will help us get this investigation over."
"Like the instant I do?" asked Doreen, her eyes on the window behind Quill's desk.
Quill, nettled by the inattention to her best executive style, snapped, "Immediately."
"Like, 'essential' is when the sheriff gets back?"
"Myles?" Quill shook her head. "Now, that's what I mean by essential versus nonessential, Doreen. Myles is a person who's nonessential to our investigation. The discovery of the bolt that clears John, that's essential to the investigation."
"Got it," said Doreen.
Quill began to recover her increasingly elusive sense of being in charge. She'd tackle Tom Peterson first; the prayer breakfast would be breaking up in a few minutes, and she could ask him to stay behind for an extra cup of coffee. Then the Hemlock Diner and Marge and Betty Hall. Then on to the Marriott, where Baumer had presumably settled after his expressed displeasure with the comforts offered by the Inn, and finally, Baumer himself.
She, John, and Doreen would have the case wrapped up and solved in no time.
On the way back to the prayer breakfast, Quill ventured a whistle. It stopped in mid-trill at the sight of a familiar broad back in trooper gray at the front desk. So that's who Doreen had seen out the window.
"Myles?"
He turned, frowning. "Sarah."
"Sarah" was not good. The last time Myles had called her Sarah was early on in their relationship when he'd been contacted by the SoHo precinct station about a misunderstanding over a large number of parking tickets she'd forgotten to pay when she left Manhattan to move to Hemlock Falls. She had lent her car for a few weeks to a fellow artist who was down on his uppers, and between explaining that no, they weren't involved any longer and yes, it was pretty typical of Simon to pull stuff like that, it took a few days before she went back to being Quill.
"Your note said you wouldn't be back until tomorrow."
"I got lucky. Forensics owed me a favor or two, and the autopsy on Mavis was done early this morning. I was on my way back to the station when Davey radioed the complaint to me. What's going on, Quill?"
"Complaint?" Quill craned her neck around Myles's height and pulled a face at Dina, who rolled her eyes expressively.
Myles flipped his notepad open-just for effect, since she'd never known him to forget a thing. "Christian terrorism?"
"That Baumer! Dina! I thought he checked out."
"Nope. Sorry, Quill. He made a lot of phone calls, though." Quill groaned.
"What's been going on?"
Quill explained, downplaying the chest-pounding to a few brotherly taps.
"I'm going to see him. I've got a couple of questions for him myself. I'll be a half-hour or so. Will you be here? I want to talk to you."
"I want to talk to you, too," Quill said glibly, "but I have a few things to do today in the village. Can we meet for an early dinner?"
"Let me rephrase my request," said Myles cordially. "I will see you here in half an hour. Consider it a date, Sarah. The official kind."
"Oh." Quill pulled her lower lip. "Does this mean you won't tell me the results of the autopsy on Mavis?"
"Sure, I'll tell you the results of the autopsy on Mavis. The media already has the results of the autopsy on Mavis because some damn fool at the morgue leaked the results. So you can hear it from me, or you can wait for the six o'clock news. Take your pick."
"I'd rather hear even the weather report from you than some boring old reporter," said Quill earnestly, "or even the price of hogs, or arrivals and departures at La Guardia. The sound of your voice alone sends..."
"You do want to drive me to an early grave," said Myles. Quill wondered if the noise he was making really came from grinding his teeth, as she thought it might. "Mavis had ingested a large amount of alcohol an hour or two before her death. But the amount of alcohol wasn't sufficient to cause a blackout; she also took ten milligrams of Valium about eight o'clock that morning. The Valium and the alcohol weren't sufficient to cause unconsciousness, either."
Quill wondered for a wild moment if the Scotch Bonnet pepper had made her pass out. "She had either taken - or someone had given her - five grains of Seconal, probably in a drink twenty minutes or so before she went on as Clarissa Martin. There was so much junk in her system, it's hard for me to believe that she didn't drown in the ducking pool.
"Seconal," said Myles, "means we can prove premeditation." He looked at her grimly. "You stay here. I'll be back after I talk to Baumer."
Baumer had been drinking with Mavis just before she went on. Quill caught her breath. "Why don't I come up with you?" said Quill. "We can give him the old one-two."
"No."
"Won't you need a witness?" asked Quill. "You know, in case Baumer tells you one thing in private and then lies to you later?"
"No."
"But, Myles, Baumer was with Mavis the whole morning before the play. He ate breakfast with her. He showed up at the play with her."
"And Baumer came down to the station at noon to put up bail for his wife," said Myles. "He was at the station until well after two-thirty. He left to walk down to the Pavilion - a twenty-minute walk from the station, Quill - and I saw him leave."
"But he could have gotten a lift and gotten there early."
"Mavis hadn't had any beer; four or five mint juleps, judging from the stomach contents, and only beer is served at History Days. You know the ordinance. She must have gotten them from a private source, or a bar. Baumer wasn't carrying a Thermos when he left the station."
So Nate would know who she'd been drinking with.
"So Nate will know who she'd been drinking with, since the Croh Bar sure as hell doesn't make mint juleps. Quill, you are not to question Nate. Do you understand me? I love you. I will also put you in jail for obstruction of a criminal investigation."
" 'Oh God of love, and God of reason sa-a-a-y,'" sang Quill, " 'which of you twain shall my poor heart obey?' "
Myles grinned. A reluctant, very small grin, but a grin nonetheless. "Stick to the contralto roles. Your voice cracks on the B flat. Gilbert, not to say Sullivan, would spin in his grave." Quill bobbed a mock curtsy. She watched Myles jog upstairs to beard Baumer in his den, then went into her office to place a call to Nate.
"Nope, sorry, boss," he said. "Bar was busy at one, but I remember the damn mint juleps. I didn't make any on Sunday."
"Was Kathleen waiting tables? She sometimes makes up orders when we're busy."
"Nope. Two of the kids from Cornell were on the early shift. And I don't let them behind my bar."
Quill hung up the phone and pulled out a pad of paper.
She wrote: "Bolt. Must find."
Then she wrote: "Seconal: Who has?"
Followed by: "Follow the money!"
Then: "More matchbooks?"
And last: "Mint juleps: Who can make?" Then she drew a chart.
DUCK POND OPPORTUNITY MOTIVE
Marge Yes, if she and Mavis Set up before
were together hand to get Mavis?
Tom Peterson Yes Business/tainted meat?
Baumer Yes Mavis blackmailing
him?
She scrawled John's name in pencil, so she could erase it, and listed Yes, for opportunity and motive.
She scribbled and drew little arrows under "Motive." She was certain that the duck pond murder had been aimed at Mavis, not Gil. She considered the possibility that Mavis had murdered Gil, and that Marge had murdered Mavis in revenge. The chart exercise began to resemble her note-taking as Chamber secretary. She got irritated, balled it up and threw it in the wastebasket. Mavis couldn't possibly have wanted to murder Gil, at least not until she'd gotten her hands on his car business.
A new chart would serve a more useful function.
THE PAVILION
MOTIVE (ALL HAD OPPORTUNITY)
Marge - Yes, if she stole $300,000; if Mavis was blackmailing her?