"Mary Lennox."
"She said there were some really cute shops they should see, so they all went off."
Quill stared at her, unseeing. "They didn't receive any faxes, did they?"
"Faxes? No."
"Or any messages of any kind?"
"No. Honestly, Quill, I know you think that someone's knocking them off, but really, they just wanted to go shopping. And you know how some of these ladies are. Shop, shop, shop. Mall queens. It's easy to forget the time when you're hanging out shopping. I should know." Her face lit up. "See? I told you. Here they come."
Relief washed over Quill like a warm shower. Robin and Freddie bustled in the door. They carried large tote bags (recycled boating cushions, Freddie had told her. And it's free!) decorated with glued-on seashells.
"Yoo-hooo!" Robin said. "Are we very late? You have such a wonderful village, Quill! And we had the best time at that Esther's shop. You told us about her, remember. You're doing so much for us, we thought we'd do something for you, so we went down and talked to Esther about setting up a gift shop here, at the Inn. She was thrilled, wasn't she, Freddie?"
"Thrilled isn't the word. My, I'm thirsty! Are we too late for our nice tea?"
"Let me take those bags for you," Quill said. "Dina? Would you run these up to room 210? Why don't you both come into the dining room and we'll ask Meg to make another cream tea." Good grief, she thought, as she ushered them to their regular table, I sound like a nanny. She made an effort to take the maternal note out of her tones and lower her voice. "Where's Mary?"
Robin smiled. "At that cute little garden shop near the post office. She'll be along directly."
Quill, unaware that she'd been tense, found herself relaxing. "The Garden Gate? That's new. The mayor's wife was the driving force behind that. It's staffed with the Ladies Auxiliary. Mary can't get into any trouble there."
Dismayed, Freddie cried, "I'd forgotten all about that! Do you think we should go back for her?"
"The path through the park is public. And I don't
think Mr let's call him X …"
"Oh, do let's call him X," Freddie said. "It's much easier to handle this if we treat it as a game."
"Mr. X he shall be. It's unlikely he'd try to snatch a woman of Mary's age and station off the streets of Hemlock Falls. But just in case, let me give Davy Kiddermeister a call. I'll ask him to pick her up and bring her home after she's through talking to Adela." She excused herself to ask Dina to make the call, stopped to ask Kathleen to serve the tea in the dining room instead of the gazebo, and returned to find Robin shrieking with laughter.
"Can you see it? Mary being stopped and carried home by a policeman?"
"That young man needs something useful to occupy him," Freddie said sternly. "What sort of progress has he made on these killings? None as far as I can see. Now, we …" She turned, beaming, to Quill. "We met your friend. The one that came in late last night? My land, what a gorgeous man. Now that's my idea of a lawman."
"If we were only twenty years younger," Robin said, "there'd be a fight over him. Freddie, do you remember that darling Cuban man we met in Florida on that buying trip?"
"You go to Florida on buying trips?" Quill said.
"The five of us had a little clothing business while we lived in New York," Robin explained. "It did pretty well, actually."
"It did? Good heavens," Quill said sympathetically. "How did you all manage?"
"Oh, it did well enough for us to quit our day jobs, as they say," Robin said. A little smile played around her lips. "We did quite well, as a matter of fact."
"Let's not embarrass Quill with our reminiscences," Freddie said briskly. "And here's the tea. My." She bit into a cream scone with a blissful sigh, then mumbled, "I wish he were on this case."
"Myles? In a way we're both on this case, Freddie."
"Have you talked to Myles about the Plan?"
"Not yet." To her chagrin, Quill found herself saying, as though she were a TV cop, "We discuss our cases frequently, of course."
"There were others?" Freddie said. "You've solved other murders?"
"Mary told us there were," Robin said. "Honestly, Freddie, your memory."
"If I lose it altogether, who cares? I sure won't know it." This sent both of them into gales of laughter.
Quill shouted, "I'd like all three of you to gather all the correspondence you've had with Mr. Vinge so we can go over it together." She bit her lip and lowered her voice. "There are a great many things we can learn from the letters. As I told Myles this morning, this is a case that's going to be solved through forensics, not guesswork. For a start, we'll track his address and find him. We'll see if he has alibis for the times of the two murders. We'll send the letters off for fingerprinting, and see if there's any cross match with known criminals."
"My goodness," Freddie said, impressed. "Do you charge for being a detective, Quill?"
Robin sighed and rolled her eyes. "Of course she doesn't! Whoever heard of an amateur detective charging a fee?"
"You should charge," Freddie said through a mouthful of Devonshire cream. "That is, if you solve the case. Anyhow, we don't have those letters with us. We'll have to call home and see if someone will put it in the mail for us."
"The sheriff's office here will call your local police— you're all from Trenton now, aren't you? If you can tell the police where to look, they'll collect the letters for you. They'll probably send the evidence by courier."
"We wouldn't want to put them to any trouble," Robin said doubtfully.
"Trouble? Robin, this is a murder case!"
"Oh, dear." Robin worked her lips. "I just hate the idea of having strange men go through my things."
Quill made a conscious effort to be calm and reassuring. "Then we'll have a policewoman do it."
"You know what, Freddie? We can call Mr. Kauffman. He lives just down the hall. He has keys."
"He waters your plants when you're gone, that sort of thing?"
"No live plants, dear. Plastic is much easier. It's just in case we forget something. Let's give Mr. Kauffman a call, Freddie."
"I think we should wait to see what Mary says. The letters are in her apartment." She worked her fingers nervously. "I wouldn't like to authorize anything like that without her consent."
"Where is she?" Robin added fretfully.
"Quill!" Dina appeared at the archway to the foyer, her face pale. "Could you come here a minute, please?"
"Sure. Will you two excuse me?"
Dina took her by the arm and pulled her out of earshot. "He says she's not there."
"Mary Lennox isn't at the Garden Gate?"
"Adela Henry said she took off for the Inn more than half an hour ago. She should have been right behind Freddie and Robin."
"Oh, no!"
"Davy's calling the firemen and state troopers. And Myles, of course. Should we help them search?"
"She can't have gotten far. She can't. Maybe she's just lost."
"I'd like to help," Dina said quietly.
"Put the answer phone on. And for God's sake, let me know as soon as you hear anything."
"I will."
"Dina, have you seen Paul Pfieffer? He was out at the winery with me this afternoon and I haven't seen him since."
"Paul Pfieffer? You think he's behind this?"
"Just tell Myles I haven't seen him since about a quarter to three. I'd better get back to Robin and Freddie. This will be harder on them than it will on us."
The evening dragged on with no word. Meg and Doreen joined them at dinner, leaving Bjarne in charge of the kitchen. They retired to the Tavern Bar and appropriated a large center table. Two events kept Freddie and Robin from sinking into tearful despair: Selena brought back a disgraced Max, who once again had been harassing Mr. Peterson's hens ("I take him home. I bathe him. He is a monster! Next time, I as dog warden tell you, it is the last!"). On hearing of Mary's disappearance, she cast a very worried look at Quill, accepted a glass of wine, and taught them
curses in Spanish. Cursing in a language not your own, she'd explained, did not seem bad at all. She left, after she actually got Freddie to giggle. Marge stumped in at ten o'clock and kept them entertained with a series of disreputable stories about her rowdy girlhood.
But the periods in between were grim.
A small band of the searchers came in just after 12:30, Myles in the lead. His face was impassive. Davy Kiddermeister, Andy Bishop, and Dina hung back. All of them looked exhausted and dirty. Quill half-rose from her chair. Myles smelled of smoke. He nodded in response to her terrified look. "We found her," he said.
Freddie started to shriek. Max sprang up from his place by Quill's chair and began to bark. Robin sat helplessly as tears ran down her face.
"The same as the others?" Sympathetic tears choked Quill's throat. "She's—you smell of smoke."
Robin's nails sunk into Quill's arm. "You said you'd save us! You said you'd save us!"
"Oh, Andy," Meg said, helplessly. "Can't we do something?"
"I think it'd be a good idea to check them into the hospital for the next few days." Andy's face was sober.
"And then I think we should try and get hold of some relatives and send them home. This has gone way too far."
"What if Mr. Vinge calls, and we're not here?" Freddie sobbed. "After everything that's happened, we're going to lose this, too?"
"Mr. Vinge's already called," Andy said grimly. "Three times too often. What do you think, Myles? We've got plenty of space."
"You'll put a guard on the door," Myles said to Davy. "And, Andy, by all means, call the families. It will be easier on them if the families are here. But if they want to stay, I'd encourage it. Just for easier access to what they know."
"I'll call your daughter, Freddie." Quill clasped her hand. "Do you have her number? Her address?" Freddie sniffed hard, then wrote a Washington number on one of the napkins. The writing was shaky.
Andy shook his head. "What a night. All right, I've got room in the Jeep if I clear out the back. I'll drive them over myself." He left at a jog.
"Here," Marge said to Doreen. "I'll take young Freddie. You grab on to Robin, Doreen. Meg, you wanna pack up the stuff from their rooms? Quill? Do sumthin' about that damn dog, will ya?"
Quill curled her fingers in Max's fur. He licked her hand eagerly. He was trembling, but under her hand, he stopped his frantic barking. Marge hoisted Freddie out of her chair by the back of her neck and swiveled her head, her fierce gaze taking in the assembled group one by one. "I'm damn pooped, myself. Everybody go home and get some sleep. We're not goin' to solve anything tonight." Her sharp little eyes rested on Myles. "That right, Sher'f?"
Myles nodded.
" 'Kay, then." Then, as pragmatic as ever, "Quill, you got some time tomorrow, we still got business to talk over. No time to do it tonight, I guess."
Quill held Max by the ruff. She was so tired, the room was a blur. A terrible vision was in her mind: Mary Lennox, bound and burning. Ironic that her way of death should recall her 16th-century namesake. "Lunchtime," she found herself saying. "But, Marge …"
"You wanna come to my place, I'll have Betty make something tasty." Marge's bellicose look softened. "Sounds hard, but we gotta get movin' if we're gonna save your place." She jerked her chin at Doreen. "Let's get rolling, folks."
Meg silently led them out of the room. Dina sank into Meg's chair with a sigh and covered her face with her hands.
"You coming back to the scene, Myles?" Davy's khaki shirt was grass-stained. Twigs snarled his fair hair.
"No. Just call me when you've confirmed the strangulation."
"Yessir." He touched one finger to his hat. "Quill? See you sometime tomorrow. Sorry we missed that dinner. I was looking forward to it. Dina, I'll have one of the boys drop you off at the dorm."
"I brought my car, David. I can get myself home." Her bright brown eyes were dull; the circles under them were almost purple.
"Doreen has a few Stranded Traveler's kits in the housekeeping closet, Dina," Quill said. "Why don't you pick one and use one of the rooms tonight. I've got clothes you can borrow in the morning."
"Okay. Thanks, Quill." She took a deep breath. "Anything I can do for you before I turn in?"
"Just get some sleep. I've got to call Freddie's daughter."
"I'll walk you up," Davy said. "I probably won't see you for a couple of days. Dee."
She put her hand on his chest and looked up at him. "Just catch this guy, David. I've never seen anything more horrible in my life. She was burned to death. The smell was awful. Awful. I'll never forget it, never." Her voice rose, almost out of control. "He's a monster. Only a monster could do that to that poor woman."
Quill watched them leave. Max squirmed impatiently under her hand, and she let him go. He licked her hand, then settled back onto the floor with a grunt. Myles sat down next to her, and she put her hand over his. "You're exhausted, poor darling. Did you get anything to eat?"
"Marge sent Betty Hall out with sandwiches and coffee. Her turn, Betty said, since the Inn fed the volunteers twice before."
"Where did you find her?"
"The overpass on 96 near the Syracuse exit. Motorist used his cell phone and called to report a fire in the ditch."
"It wasn't …" She shook her head with a rueful sigh. "It seems stupid to call him X."
"No. The phone's registered to a restaurant supply company in Rochester. Guy's a salesman for them. Just passing through on his regular route."
"Not Jason Carmichael?"
"Yes. You know him?"
"He sold us the Aga. Nice guy."
Quill's head ached from too much wine that evening, and too little sleep the night before. She rubbed her face vigorously. It helped a little. "I asked Freddie and Robin for the correspondence with Mr. Vinge. Mary's the secretary of their little company, so it's at her place. We can get the police in Trenton to pick it up, can't we? She was a little nervous about having strangers in her home, so she was going to call a friend of theirs to collect it. Neither of those poor women—I keep thinking of them as the survivors, Myles!—is going to be in any shape to take care of that in the morning, so I'll do it. Do you know anyone in the Trenton P.D.?"
"Yes," he said after a moment, "I do. Or I did. I'll be damned."
"You seem surprised."
"Hadn't thought of him in years. I don't even know if he's still there."
"It might make Robin feel better if a friend of yours took care of it. You made quite an impression on them today."
He closed his eyes. "This shouldn't have happened."
"Freddie and Robin will be safe enough now at the hospital. How can you blame yourself? If anyone should feel responsible, I should. I left them alone all day. Dina's right. This murderer's a monster. Did she tell you, by the way, that I haven't seen Paul Pfieffer since the meeting at Summerhill this afternoon? Doreen checked his room three times this evening—he's disappeared."
"He bought a round-trip ticket to Albany by phone this morning." Myles looked at his watch. "I mean yesterday morning, departing at four and returning to the Syracuse airport about eleven. The Albany P.D. put a plainclothesman on him. He got into Albany at five, had dinner with a lobbyist and state senator for our district here, then he returned on his scheduled ticket. My guess is that he's upstairs and asleep right now."
"I left the Summerhills at quarter to three. He was still there."
"And it's an hour from the winery to the Syracuse airport. Pretty good alibi. Quill."
"No kidding. All right, what about—"
"Hey." His voice was gentle. "We're both all in. Let's go to sleep and we'll take this on in the morning."
"I need to call Freddie's daughter, first. You go ahead. I'll meet you upstairs."
They walked together to the foyer, and she left him to go to her office. Max walked toward Myles, looked back at Quill, sat down, scratched himself vigorously, then decided to accompany his mistress.
In her office. Quill sat down at her desk and
smoothed the napkin on her desk. No names, just a phone number with the 301 area code. Maryland, then. She should be able to get here quickly, even if she had to drive.
Quill dialed the number. The phone rang for a long time, then a blurry female voice answered, "Yes!?"
Quill introduced herself, and asked if this was Freddie Patch's daughter.
The blurriness disappeared. "Yes. It is. Who is this again?"
"Sarah Quilliam. I'm afraid there's been another death. It's not Freddie," she said hastily. "But she's frightened. We checked her into our local hospital— she's not ill, it's just a lot more comfortable for them— and the local sheriff's department has put a guard on the room. And we're working on finding the man who's doing this. But she could really use your help."
"I'm sorry," said the voice distantly. "You said she's under police protection?"
"Yes. Twenty-four hours a day. And, of course, the hospital is a very secure place."
"Then she's fine, isn't she? Thank you for calling. Miss Quilliam."
The dial tone rang in Quill's ear. "I don't believe it," she said to the dog. "I do not believe this." Max whined. Quill sat back and stared at the ceiling. "Pfieffer's out of it. Max. But you know what? I never did follow up on Mr. Thorne Smith." She turned her computer on and went online.
She banged into her rooms a few minutes later, her face pink with excitement. Myles was sitting on her couch, a drink in one hand, watching the spring moon. "Thorne Smith." she said, "is the name of some bone-head mystery writer who—"
"Wrote the Topper stories," Myles said. "Yes. I should have remembered. My friend in the Trenton P.D.—"
"But, Myles! It's Mr. Vinge! It has to be!"
"The guy I knew at the Trenton P.D.? I don't think so."
"What?! What are you talking about?! "
"Name then was Henry T. Smith. My friend in Trenton."
Quill's fatigue slowed her up. Once it hit her, she was wide awake. "What? Oh, no, Myles. Not another undercover officer! I can't stand it!"
A Touch of the Grape Page 17