Toast Mortem (17 page)

The house was small and old. It was constructed of cobblestone and hadn’t had a lot more done to it other than a modernization effort in the sixties. The front door opened into a short hallway with a stairway to the second story on the back wall. To the left was the kitchen and dining room. To the right was the living room. The living room was Quill’s favorite part of the house. The house stood on the side of a drop to a tributary of the Hemlock River and the living room windows looked out over it. Clare craned her neck as they climbed the stairs and the view from the living room disappeared.

“You can see the river from our bedroom,” Quill said when she got to the tiny landing at the top. “That’s right over the living room. There’s a bath at the head of the stairs here.” She opened the door and showed Clare a tiny tiled shower, a toilet, and a miniscule pedestal sink. “This will be yours.”

“Pink!” Clare said in surprise.

“Very pink,” Quill said. “Pink was the favorite color of Mellesh Peterson, or maybe it was Mrs. Mellesh Peterson. They lived here in the sixties. So all this tile is pink and your bedroom . . .” She opened the door next to the bathroom. “Is also pink. Note that sixties favorite, shag carpeting. And yes, it’s black, to go with the pink walls, but that, I’m told is because Mrs. Mellesh was an Elvis fan.”

“Holy crow,” Clare said.

“We haven’t had time to redo this room, yet.”

Clare edged past her and put her suitcase down on the black shag carpeting. Then she put her hands on her hips and surveyed the garish room. “It looks like Paradise to me.”

“You can see the back of the property from here.” Quill went to the window. This part of the house overlooked a small lawn, kept trimmed by Mike when he could fit it into his schedule.

“All these trees,” Clare murmured. “It’s wonderful. The whole place is wonderful.”

Quill imagined it was, compared to a prison cell.

Clare drew the shabby curtains over the view. “About Bismarck. If the worst should happen . . .”

“I’ll think of something,” Quill promised. “In the meantime, don’t worry about it. Justin’s coming in to talk to you this afternoon.” She hesitated. The hordes of free-food seekers that had descended on the Inn yesterday had played merry havoc with their usual routine. Clare could have slipped out at any point in the afternoon to make the ten-minute trip to the academy and back again. “I truly don’t think there’s anything to worry about. Unless . . .” She made a small, meaningless gesture with both hands.

“Unless I did it?” Clare’s smile was more of a rictus, but at least she made the attempt. “I didn’t kill LeVasque. There’s no reason why you should believe me. You don’t know me all that well. And isn’t there some expression about smiling villains?”

“
One can smile and smile and be a villain
. Yep. Good old Shakespeare.” She searched her not-very-literary memory. “
Hamlet
?”

“Whatever. Anyhow. I’m not a villain. And I didn’t kill anybody, and even though I think anyone can be driven to murder under the right circumstances, I haven’t met those circumstances yet. Although God knows I’ve thought about it. Paul and LeVasque both.”

Quill was suddenly very aware that they were alone in the house. All that stood between Clare and a bolt for freedom was Quill herself.

The door to the bedroom opened with a thud and both women jumped. Bismarck walked in. He looked around the room with approval. (Cats, Quill knew, couldn’t see most colors.) He shoved his head under Quill’s hand, purred loudly, then jumped on the little double bed and settled himself like the Sphinx. Clare sat down and ran her hands over his ears. “I know why Sheriff Kiddermeister didn’t arrest me. It’s too soon for the lab work to come back from forensics, that’s why. But as soon as it does, I think I’m a goner.”

Quill’s breath caught in her throat. She turned the gasp into a cough.

“No, no! This isn’t a belated confession! But, Quill, I used that knife yesterday to chop scallions. I’m almost sure of it. So my fingerprints are going to be all over the damn thing.”

It was seeing the tears in Clare’s eyes for the second time that day that got to Quill. “I’ve never broken a promise to Myles in my life. At least, not without a really good reason. But I can’t see any other way.”

“Sorry? I’m not tracking very well at the moment.”

“Meg and I have got to solve this case. We’ve got to find out who murdered LeVasque.”

“You and Meg?!” Clare burst into laughter. “Oh my goodness. I’m sorry. It’s just that . . .” Clare bit her lip. “Hang on a second. Okay. I’m under control. I think. What’s that line from the movie? You know, the little guy who’s the accountant and the big fat guy who’s the play producer? ‘I’m hysterical!’”

“
The Producers
,” Quill said a little coldly.

“Oh, dear. I hope I haven’t hurt your feelings. But what can you do that the police can’t? I mean, they’re trained investigators with equipment and labs. Not to mention they’re the law and you guys aren’t.”

“Myles says much the same thing,” Quill admitted. “And we aren’t the police, of course, or even private eyes. But think about this: who knows the people and circumstances involved in this case better—the three of us? Or Davy? Or, God help us, the exceptionally horrible Harker, who’s in Hemlock Falls maybe once a year? Do either of these guys have the time to find out what we can find out on our own? This isn’t a drive-by shooting, or a domestic or a gang incident, or even some complicated financial riddle. This is a domestic murder and the reasons for it lie with the people we know. We’ve a unique perspective, and we’re going to use it to find out what really happened in that wine cellar. And then we’ll turn all that knowledge over to the police and let them take it from there.”

“Wow,” Clare said. “Good grief. Maybe you’re right.”

“I hope so. And I’m sorry I got nettled when you became hysterical.”

“And I,” Clare said generously, “am sorry I laughed.” She gave Bismarck a final pat and got off the bed. “So where do we start?”

“We pool all our information, which means a meeting among the three of us.”

“Okay. When?”

“I’ve got to make an appearance at the Chamber meeting, and Meg’s in charge of lunch today while you’re sitting down with Justin. My time with Jack is at four. Let’s say three o’clock in Meg’s room. Nobody will hassle us there.”

“I can’t believe you guys are riding to the rescue like this.”

Quill sighed and looked at her watch. “We haven’t rescued you yet. If I don’t show up right at three, come down to the conference room and rescue
me
, will you? Elmer seems to have a bee in his bonnet about something.” She made a face. “At least I don’t have to worry about people hollering at me over seats for LeVasque’s Welcome Dinner. Thank goodness that’s been cancelled.”

Place all ingredients in a bowl and let sit for one hour. Select four sharp skewers. String the brochettes, al- ternating vegetables and beef. Broil one side for five minutes and the other side for fifteen minutes.

—From
Brilliance in the Kitchen
, B. LeVasque

 

 

She drove to the Inn in a cheerful frame of mind that lasted until she ran into Adela in the hallway that led to the conference room. “Of course we’re going ahead with the Welcome Dinner,” Adela Henry said majestically. “The mayor absolutely refuses to cancel.”

Quill paused. She wanted to point out that the guest of honor was dead but decided against it. She was sure Adela knew that. Adela, who was nothing if not forceful, gave her a nudge between the shoulders. Quill forged ahead. They had permission to use the room from Mrs. Barbarossa, who generously agreed that since WARP was picnicking, they would have no immediate need for it.

Miriam Doncaster was already there, seated at the end of the long mahogany conference table that took up most of the space. The mayor stood in front of the whiteboard. He gave a nervous start at the sight of his wife. Since Elmer always started when he encountered Adela, Quill didn’t take particular notice of this. She did take a quick moment to check out the room. She hadn’t been in it for a while as the WARP members seemed to be fond of meetings. The ceilings were low, since the space had been a keeping room back in the early nineteeth century. The floor was covered in a practical gray Berber. Whiteboards lined three walls of the room. A long credenza sat at the front. Quill saw that the coffee urn was on and the cups neatly stacked.

She sat next to Miriam and greeted her with a smile. Miriam gestured toward the empty seat on her other side with a nod. Her tote bag was on it. “Howie will be here in a minute. He’s sitting in on the meeting with your young suspect.” The librarian admitted to her mid-fifties (Quill didn’t buy that for a minute). She had large blue eyes and ash blond hair. She had a raffish sort of sexuality that had kept Howie interested for the twelve years that Quill had known them.

“She didn’t do it,” Quill said, flatly. Miriam had many virtues, but she was unable to pass up on a piece of gossip. And she and Howie spent a fair amount of time at the Croh Bar most afternoons. So maybe she would pass that on. “Clare’s innocent.”

“Howie thinks so, too,” Miriam said. “Your sister, on the other hand . . .” She rolled her eyes expressively. “Really, Quill. Assault with intent to do bodily harm? My goodness.”

“You know Meg.”

“We all know Meg. It’s a good thing she was hiking with young Martinez.”

Quill refused to speculate about her sister, so she said, “I just ran into Adela.”

Miriam, effectively diverted, gave Adela an appraising look. She had settled next to the hapless mayor. “Where
does
she find those outfits?” Miriam whispered.

Adela was a tall woman, and more than well-proportioned, so she was noticeable to begin with. She had a fondness for dramatic colors, big jewelry, and bouffant hairstyles. Today’s outfit was a pantsuit in deep mauve with a peacock blue blouse.

“She’s gone online,” Quill whispered back. “And it’s all your fault, you know. Your introductory computer program at the library was a big hit.”

“It’s time this village was dragged into the twenty-first century,” Miriam said proudly. “I’m happy about the new computer service, too. You’d be amazed at who comes in to use it. And it’s not just our people.”

“No?”

The room was filling up. Almost everyone had come to the meeting: Harvey Bozzel (Hemlock Falls’s best—and only—advertising executive) walked in with an A-frame rolled up under his arm. Mark Anthony Jefferson strolled in from the bank. Old Mrs. Nickerson from Nickerson’s Hardware hobbled in on her stick. Esther West, who had closed her dress shop and reopened it as a craft store came in wearing her latest creation, a long skirt made entirely of quilting squares. Her new shop was named West’s Best Kountry Krafts! Nobody was sure where the “Ks” had come from. Quill suspected they had been Harvey’s idea. Most signs with an exclamation point were.

Even Nadine Peterson from the Hemlock Hall of Beauty had shown up. Marge and Harland Peterson were there, of course. Quill had never known Marge to miss a Chamber meeting, unless Harland’s cows were calving. And tucked in the corner, her candid blue eyes looking for something to wreck and destroy, was Carol Ann herself. Quill counted the members up. They had more than a quorum.

Miriam’s voice was low and attractive, and since it was almost lost in the rising din, Quill bent her head toward her when she thought she heard the academy mentioned.

“I’m sorry,” Quill said. “Who did you say comes in to use the computers?”

“A couple of people from the culinary academy come in to use the library computer service. That crabby one, especially.”

“Crabbiness seems to be a prerequisite for hiring over there,” Quill said wryly. “Which crabby one in particular? Not Madame herself.”

“She’s got the hatchet nose, doesn’t she? No, it’s the other one. Jellies,” Miriam added vaguely.

“Mrs. Owens.”

“That’s it.”

Quill wrote that down in her minutes book. She knew Clare was innocent. She was just as sure that someone at the academy had killed LeVasque. She was after all the information she could get. She nudged Miriam. “How often does she come in? Mrs. Owens. To go online.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Quite a bit when the academy started up. Then she asked me for advice on what to buy. She comes in once in a while when she’s having problems with her own PC. She’s not very expert. Why do
you
care?” She caught herself. “Oh. Of course. You and Sherlock are at it again.”

This was the second time today someone had slighted her detective abilities, and Quill bridled a little. “I wouldn’t call it ‘at it again,’ as such.”

“I thought you promised Myles you’d butt out of this stuff.”

“I agreed to temper my activities.”

“Temper, huh.”

“And besides. Meg’s Watson.”

“What?”

“I said, Meg’s Watson. I’m Sherlock.”

Quill looked up to see the Chamber members staring at her. Marge Schmidt winked, very deliberately.

Elmer scowled and brought the gavel down on the mahogany tabletop. Esther moved the gavel rest under his hand and went “tsk!”

Things were off to a familiar start.

“I call this emergency meeting of the Hemlock Falls Chamber of Commerce to order.” Elmer whacked the gavel again, for emphasis. “Can we have a reading of the minutes?”

Quill flipped to the page labeled
July Mtg Mins
. Her chief flaw as secretary was forgetting what her contractions meant. She was relieved to see that the heading at least, was clear. The rest of it was problematic. “Hm!” Quill said, as if she were deciding where to start first.