A Taste for Murder

by Claudia Bishop

  Quill, reeling from the news that Mavis had made a career of conning hotels, couldn’t respond for a moment.

  “I don’t think that’s true, Mrs. Hallenbeck,” said John. “I didn’t know you well, and you know what employee gossip is like, but everyone agreed that you were probably better at managing the business than your husband. And successful business is all about how well you manage people. Mr. Hallenbeck always used to say that at the Christmas parties. My boss, Carl Atkinson? You may remember him. He had the greatest respect for your abilities. Someone with your kind of intelligence doesn’t suddenly lose it. You can’t blame yourself for Mavis’ behavior.”

  Mrs. Hallenbeck smiled primly. Moving quietly, as though not to startle a small animal, John got up from the couch. “Can I get you another cup of coffee?”

  “Just a little, perhaps. Quite weak. I am very sensitive to caffeine.” Quill heard John making a fresh pot. She waited. She wasn’t entirely sure what he was up to, with these flagrant compliments, but at least Mrs. Hallenbeck hadn’t reached for the phone to call the cops yet. “I think,” said John, coming back into the room, “that Mrs. Hallenbeck could be very helpful in the investigation to clear my name.”

  “Oh,” said Quill, enlightened. “Yes. Absolutely.”

  “I?” said Mrs. Hallenbeck with a gratified inflection.

  “The reasons for Mavis’ murder must rest in her past. I left the company a long while ago, Mrs. Hallenbeck, and I have very little idea of what went on in the past five years or so. You were there. You knew Mavis. You’ve even had her living with you for… how long?”

  “Just a year. My son insisted that I have a companion to live with me.”

  “So, you know her better than any of us. Now, Quill and I have a suspicion that Mavis was a blackmailer.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me in the least,” said Mrs. Hallenbeck. “I had a suspicion of that right along.”

  “You did?” said Quill, fascinated. “And you didn’t get rid of her, or anything?”

  “Well, she wasn’t blackmailing me. And Mavis could be a great deal of fun, you know. Huh. Blackmail. Who, do you suppose?”

  “That’s what we were hoping you could tell us,” said Quill. “Had you heard her mention Marge before, for example? In any way that would lead you to believe that she had something on her?”

  “Marge Schmidt? No. I mean, of course, they worked together way back when. Margie was good, I’ll give her that. Never had a proper respect for me or for Mr. Hallenbeck, but then, with that background, what can you expect? Blue-collar all the way, high-school education, no proper home life at all. But she was quite efficient at running the East Coast operations. I told Mr. Hallenbeck he should offer Marge more money when she quit. The profit margin in that was never the same after she left. I would guess,” said Mrs. Hallenbeck with a twinkle, “that Mavis met her match in Marge Schmidt.”

  “You must have a good reason to suspect Mavis of blackmail,” said John. “Think back. Any phone conversations, or letters, or people she mentioned? Especially if you’ve seen them here.”

  “Gil Gilmeister never worked for Doggone Good Dogs, for example?” said Quill. “Or Tom Peterson?”

  “Oh, no. The first time Mavis met Tom was at the play rehearsal when Marge introduced him to both of us.”

  “And then you went to dinner with Gil at the diner.”

  “Yes. Marge had a loan outstanding against Mr. Gilmeister’s half of the auto business. She suggested that I buy him out. Mavis knew that my investments hadn’t been doing too well lately. The market these past few years has been simply appalling. I used to get quite a decent return on my portfolio, and it’s been halved. Halved. I’m seriously considering suing my broker.”

  “How did you leave it with Gil?” asked John.

  “I wasn’t averse to a good return. I told Mavis to speak to his partner, Tom Peterson, to get an idea of what the business could do under decent management.”

  “Did she speak to him?”

  “Yes. She was never one to let grass grow under her feet, I’ll tell you that. Mr. Gilmeister, Marge, and Mr. Baumer brought me back to the Inn, while Mavis went across the green - to whatever it is that you call it… .”

  “The Pavilion,” supplied Quill.

  “Yes, where the - incident occurred - to speak to Tom. Gil was most anxious for a quick decision. He didn’t seem a bad sort, apart from his drinking problem. Whereas Keith … Tcha! A dreadful employee and a dreadful man.”

  “Keith,” said Quill stupidly. “You mean Keith Baumer?”

  “Yes, do you know him? Of course, he’s staying here, isn’t he? He was there when Mavis…” She shuddered. “I know there is a great deal of violence in the world today. I know at my age I should be more immune to it. But I cannot get the incident out of my mind. I dreamed about it, last night.”

  “Mrs. Hallenbeck!” Quill uncurled her clenched fists and forced herself to speak in a normal tone of voice. “Did you know Keith Baumer before you met him here at the Inn?”

  “Of course. He was Meat Manager for the Central portion of the United States.”

  “For Doggone Good Dogs?”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Hallenbeck’s tone was impatient. “As I was saying, I wonder if I should see that nice Dr. Bishop about my disrupted sleep. I’ve never needed much sleep, even as a young woman, but - “

  “Mrs. Hallenbeck,” said John. “You may have solved the case!”

  “I?” A look of utter confusion crossed her face. “What do you mean? What did I say?”

  “When did Keith Baumer work at Doggone Good Dogs?” John was marvelous, thought Quill, quiet, unexcited, yet properly deferential.

  “Is it important?” said Mrs. Hallenbeck, her cheeks flushed. “You mean he and Mavis may have known each other before? That they had arranged to meet here? Of course! Mavis suggested we come to this place. There could be some reason for him to … to have made the accident happen? Well!” She was obviously pleased with herself. “I have an excellent memory. Let me think a moment. He was Meat Manager for about four years, approximately ten years ago, before your time, Mr. Raintree.”

  “And Mavis was Director of Human Resources at that time?”

  “Not then. She was part of the department. She moved on to become Mr. Hallenbeck’s assistant. Human Resources was headed at that time by a fiery young woman, most impractical. A Democrat, I believe. At any rate, Keith was fired under a cloud, as they say.”

  “Not embezzlement?” said John.

  “No. Something to do with the way things are run nowadays. Stupid laws, when it’s usually all the woman’s fault. The way these young girls dress!”

  “Sexual harassment,” said Quill, “it figures.”

  “That was it. How clever of you, Sarah.”

  “How clever of you!” Impulsively, Quill walked over and gave her a hug. “This could be it, John!” She sank to her knees beside Mrs. Hallenbeck’s chair. “Listen. We’re going to need some time to track down Baumer’s movements. My guess is that we can discover enough evidence to put him away for a long, long time.”

  “You mean you think he killed Mavis?” She looked old and bewildered. Her lips moved soundlessly for a moment; and then she looked at John. “I thought he killed Mavis!”

  “No, Mrs. Hallenbeck, that’s one of the things you are going to help us to accomplish. Remember? We’re all working together to clear John’s name.”

  “We’re investigating,” said Mrs. Hallenbeck with satisfaction. “You and I.”

  “And John. It’s almost seven-thirty now, Mrs. Hallenbeck. Why don’t you go down to the dining room? Meg and I usually eat about now, and you can join us. Just ask Peter to seat you at our table. Tell him I told you to sit there. I’m going to bathe and change, and then I’ll join you.” She helped the old woman out of her chair and escorted her to the door. “Remember. John isn’t going to go to the police until the sheriff gets back. We have twenty-four hours to solve these murders. So part of your job as a member
of the investigation team is not to let anyone know that John’s come back.”

  Mrs. Hallenbeck nodded wisely. “I’ll be downstairs, waiting for you, and” - she leaned forward and whispered in Quill’s ear - “I shall be on the alert for clues.”

  Giddy from both lack of sleep and relief, Quill collapsed on her sofa with a sigh when the door closed on Amelia Hallenbeck.

  John, more reserved, said, “It’s not over yet. I’m going to spend the rest of the day with my hacker friend. I’ll pull Baumer’s address from the register and see what we can find in his financial records. But, I don’t know, Quill. This all seems pretty tenuous.”

  “I’ll talk to Marge, Tom Peterson, and Baumer himself, after I get back from the Marriott,” said Quill confidently. “John, we’ll solve this by the time Myles gets back. Let me know where I can call you. Is your friend in Ithaca or something?”

  “No. Here in town. I’ll give you the phone number.” He wrote it down and handed it to her.

  “You mean all this time you’ve been in Hemlock Falls?”

  “Yes. And yes, Quill, I was within a block of the Pavilion when someone pulled that hood over Mavis’ head. To someone like Myles, I’m still the ideal suspect. I had means, motive, and opportunity, for both murders.”

  He left as quietly as he had come. The coffee John made was untouched. She gulped two quick cups. Then she stripped out of her robe and nightgown and gritting her teeth, took a shower as cold as she could stand it. She dressed and went downstairs to breakfast. Meg would be fascinated with recent developments.

  Meg, smoking one of her infrequent cigarettes, was propped back in her chair at their table, staring at the wall over Mrs. Hallenbeck’s head. Mrs. Hallenbeck herself was tucking into a soufflé. Quill dropped into the chair next to her; she noticed through her haze of fatigue that Meg’s hair was flat.

  “Morning, Meg.”

  Her sister’s gaze dropped from the wall to Quill’s face with the suddenness of a bird after a worm. “Have you entirely lost your mind?” Meg demanded.

  Quill put down her orange juice. Mrs. Hallenbeck couldn’t have told Meg about John already. “I don’t think so. Why?”

  “Why? WHY?! We’ve got forty people showing up for breakfast in twenty-two minutes. Expecting food, I’ll bet. Does anyone need to tell the chef about forty people arriving for brunch on a Monday when we average twenty servings in the dining room total, if we’re lucky? Well!?”

  “Forty?” said Quill bewildered.

  “If that sanctimonious prat Tom Peterson hadn’t called to confirm he had reservations, they would have all shown up to eat what? What, Quill?! Do I send out to the Burger King down the road for what they laughingly refer to as breakfast croissants?”

  “Dookie’s prayer meeting! Meg, I’m so sorry, it completely went out of my …”

  “Do you know what I’ve got in stock? Do you? Doughnuts! Four dozen Little Debbie doughnuts that the bread guy left here by mistake. Those doughnuts are so filled with artificial crap that people’s arteries seize up just looking at them!”

  “Meg, I’m really sorry. Honestly, there’s been so much going on, it just…”

  “Fell out of what passes for your mind.” Meg stubbed out her cigarette, raked her hair back with both hands, and shoved herself away from the table. “This is just it for my reputation. Just it. You want me, I’ll be in the storeroom. Hanging from the rafters.”

  The swinging door to the kitchen banged shut. Silence descended on the dining room.

  “That is a very rude young woman,” said Mrs. Hallenbeck.

  “It’s just Meg,” said Quill. “You watch. She’s probably whipped up a bunch of omelettes, or quiche, or Eggs à la Reine, and the deacons will think they’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  “You don’t seem perturbed by the temper tantrum.”

  “Meg’s cooking is her life. She takes it seriously. It’s part of what makes her great. Running this kitchen is the best thing that ever happened to her.”

  “She should be married,” said Mrs. Hallenbeck. “It would settle her down. You wouldn’t have to spend so much time taking her abuse.”

  “She was married. To the sweetest man I’ve ever met. He was a stockbroker, and I swear, when he died I thought Meg was going to die. But we invested in the Inn together, and you wouldn’t believe the change in her. It took a year or more for Meg to get over his death. The cooking was what did it.”

  “How did the young man die?”

  “Automobile accident. He was thirty.”

  “She should manage on her own,” said Mrs. Hallenbeck. “If you’ll pardon an old woman’s interference, my dear, she needs to lead her own life. You’ve cocooned her here.”

  “Do you think so?” Quill’s eyelids drooped and she jerked herself awake. “Sorry, I used to be able to stay up all night in college. I seem to have lost the knack.”

  Mrs. Hallenbeck patted her hand. “Why don’t you go up and take a nap? I will sit here and be alert for any unusual circumstances. I have a notepad, right here” - she tapped her black purse - “and I will write down anything untoward.”

  “You know, I think I will. I’m sorry we missed our breakfast” - Quill yawned - “but you’re right. I’m not going to be much good at investigation if I’m falling asleep on my feet. I’ll just check and make sure that everything’s set up in the Banquet Room for the prayer meeting, and then take maybe an hour’s nap.”

  “I will meet you for tea,” said Mrs. Hallenbeck, “at five o’clock.” Quill got up, and she added, “You know, my dear, you might think seriously about retiring from the Inn. It’s a great responsibility, far too much to carry alone. Perhaps we could talk, at teatime, about other things you could do. Painting for instance. When do you ever have time to paint?”

  “Not much recently, that’s true. But I love the life, Mrs. Hallenbeck. It has a lot of rewards that might not be obvious to the outside eye. The Inn is a very peaceful place, you know. The past few days are definitely an exception. Our guests are almost always nice, like you, and come here to relax. Like this prayer meeting this morning,” said Quill earnestly, aware somewhere in her sleep-deprived brain that she was rattling on, ” - nice people, church people, peacefully praying in the Banquet …”

  “Ah, Quill?” Peter Williams tugged at her elbow. Quill blinked at him. “We’ve got major trouble with the prayer meeting.”

  -12-

  “They came in a van about half an hour ago,” said Peter as they walked through the lobby to the Banquet Room.

  “They?” said Quill. The coffee she’d drunk to stay awake must have been decaf; either she was asleep on her feet or Peter didn’t make sense. “They who?”

  “Right out there.” He pointed to the front door.

  Quill opened the door and went outside. A white Chevy Lumina van was parked on the drive. The side panels were lettered in a screaming orange. “We Save Sinners!” Quill read aloud. “Call 1-800-222-PRAY!” She walked slowly around the van. “THE ROLLING MOSES - The Rev. William Maximilian” was printed on the hood in black Gothic letters intertwined with lightning strikes. Quill shut her eyes and opened them again. The design was still there. And the phone number. They were both very familiar.

  Those pamphlets Doreen was carrying around in her apron pocket.

  The license plates on the van read “Florida, the Sunshine State.” The inspection sticker was a year out of date.

  “Quill?” Peter called to her from the lobby. He sounded worried. “They’re starting the prayer breakfast now.”

  Quill drifted slowly back in. “I don’t think I want to know what’s going on,” she said dreamily. “I’m on overload. As a matter of fact, I’m going upstairs to take a quick nap.” She thought of her nice comfortable queen-sized bed with the muslin comforter and the cool white sheets.

  Peter hesitated. “I’m the last one to judge by appearances …

  “Yes,” said Quill. “But these guys showed up at the prayer meeting this morning. They lo
ok pretty… unsavory, I guess you’d say. They said Doreen had called that 1-800 number and they were here to … to …”

  “To what?”

  “Perform an exorcism,” said Peter.

  “A what?”

  “To rid the Inn of succubi and other stuff. I thought we’d better sit in.”

  Quill walked the short length of the hall to the Banquet Room. Most of the deacons were already there; Quill saw Harland Peterson, Elmer Henry, and Tom Peterson and smiled “Hello.”

  Dookie Shuttleworth stood by the open door, looking con-t fused. He started forward when he saw Quill, took her hand, I and patted it warmly. “We haven’t seen you in quite a while, Quill. Please come in and join us.” He drew her into the Banquet Room.

  Despite the short notice, Meg and the kitchen crew had done themselves proud. The staff had set up a long buffet table; Kathleen Kiddermeister was making crepes to order at one end. Chafing dishes filled with The Sausage, bacon, caramelized apple, puffed potatoes, and a large Heavenly Hoggs Ham were displayed along the rest of the table length. Bowls of fresh strawberries and blueberries sat in the center of round cloth-covered dining tables set with Spode china. The room was filled with most of the regulars of the Hemlock Falls Word Of God Reform Church - and a few who weren’t. Doreen sat at a table with Esther West. The ubiquitous Keith Baumer had apparently invited himself and was swallowing food at an enormous rate. Quill decided testily to put the cost for Baumer’s breakfast on his bill instead of the one that went to the church.

  She paused to reconsider. She wouldn’t throw Baumer out. She’d perform a charitable act. Let Baumer horn in if he wanted to. She was becoming more and more convinced that he was the best suspect of all. She was not averse to supporting the admonition to let the condemned eat a hearty meal; the food in prison would be a punishment all the greater in contrast.