A Taste For Murder hf-1

by Claudia Bishop

  "Do you have a list of convention attendees?"

  "As a matter of fact, I do. You can pick one up in any of the meeting rooms they're using, and I just stuck one in my file. Hang on a second." He reached one long arm out to a filing cabinet, and within a few seconds, pulled a manila folder out of the drawer. "Here it is."

  The names were listed alphabetically. Quill scanned the B's. There was no Keith Baumer listed.

  "Are all the convention-goers listed, Sean, including the ones that don't have rooms here?"

  "I believe so. But we were able to accommodate everyone that came in from out of town."

  "Are you at capacity?"

  "About seventy-five per cent. Good for us this time of year."

  The address and phone number of AmaTex headquarters was listed at the top of the page. "Can I use your phone to make a call to AmaTex?"

  "Of course." He eased himself out of his chair. "Tell you what, I'll go get us some Coke."

  Quill waited until his office door swung silently shut behind him. She dialed the 716 area code for Buffalo, hesitated briefly, then the rest of the number.

  "AmaTex Textiles," said a young voice. "Could I speak to Personnel, please?"

  "Human Resources, Compensation and Benefits, Pension Funding, or Training Department?" the voice asked.

  "Urn. I'm checking out a resume. I wanted to confirm a prospective employee's background."

  "One moment, please." Canned music blared onto the line: Tom Jones singing "The Green Green Grass of Home." Quill held the phone away from her ear.

  "Department of Human Resources. This is Miss Shirley, may I help you?"

  "Miss Shirley, this is Sarah Quilliam. I have an application for employment from a gentleman who lists AmaTex Textiles as a reference." Quill felt a modicum of remorse. If word circulated among Baumer's employers that he was job hunting, he'd probably lose his current job for certain.

  "And?" said the insistent voice of Miss Shirley.

  "I'm sorry. His name is Keith Baumer. I asked him for a resume." Quill said hastily, "I wouldn't want you to think he was actively job hunting or anything."

  "How do you spell that last name?"

  Quill spelled it, waited the requested one moment for Miss Shirley to come back on the line, and smiled at Sean as he came back into the room bearing a tray.

  "We have no record of a Mr. Keith Baumer ever being employed by AmaTex Textiles," said Miss Shirley.

  "Are you certain?" said Quill. "How far back do your records go?"

  Miss Shirley chose to take Quill's question as an affront to the efficiency of AmaTex Textiles' record-keeping. "Our files go back fifteen years. They're computerized. And who is this calling again?"

  Quill apologized for the inconvenience, thanked her, and hung up. She turned to Sean. "Have you had any other sales conventions here in the past couple of weeks?"

  "Nope. Not a one. What's up?"

  "I don't know, Sean. This just doesn't make any sense."

  -14-

  Driving back into town, Quill tried to make sense of Baumer's lie, and couldn't. Had Mavis summoned him to Hemlock Falls to increase the blackmail payment? Was the sales convention a cover for involvement in the spoiled-meat scam? Were he and Mavis partners? Quill worked through this possibility. Baumer and Mavis could have made a practice of bilking inns and hotels of insurance monies. Quill got dizzy at the prospect of a litigious Baumer. She grasped the steering wheel firmly, and forged ahead. If so, there was likely to be a record through the cross-index maintained by insurance companies to track fraud. The person who would know about that would be Edward Lancashire.

  If Baumer had made phone calls canceling the Inn business, it was out of malice. Assuming that Baumer and Mavis were partners, why would Baumer murder her? Could Baumer have found out about Mavis' separate deal with Tom and murdered her to keep Mavis from running off with the loot collected from the insurance scams?

  This, Quill thought to herself, was pure supposition. Myles was right. What she needed were facts. Who placed the bolt and the Seconal in John's room? Who fed Mavis those mint juleps?

  She parked at the Inn's back door, and went to find one of the people who could give her the answers.

  Edward Lancashire was sitting at a table in the bar, feet propped up on a neighboring chair, contemplating a painting she'd finished shortly after the Inn had opened. It was an iris, a miniature Dutch variety spread across the canvas in a tidal wave of purple and sun-yellow.

  "A lot of relief in that," he said as she sat down. "Retirement must have seemed good to you, then."

  Quill blushed. "I didn't realize private eyes were art critics, too."

  "I looked at the signature and date before I sat down," he said. "Not too hard to figure out."

  Quill laughed. Nate brought her an iced tea and refilled Edward's coffee. "I quit because I peaked," she said frankly. "There weren't any more edges for me to push."

  "There was a nice article in Art Review about the abrupt f truncation of a promising career." He smiled at Quill's surprise. "Private eyes read Art Review, too. I don't know much about art..."

  "But I know what I like," Quill finished for him. "I could feel it, the fact that the work wasn't growing. To stick with it and repeat myself" - she shuddered - "kind of a little death."

  His eyes wandered back to the painting. "You may have been wrong."

  "I had an idea for the heart of a hybrid tea rose yesterday," she admitted. "A Chrysler Imperial. It's a dumb name for an artificial organism. It was to have been a painting awash with irony and the angst of modem life."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Do you miss it?"

  Quill nodded. "The thing that's important about the rose is that I'm starting to think in concepts again."

  "So it's a hiatus. Not a total break."

  "You're right," said Quill surprised. "Although I hadn't thought of it that way. Somehow, that's a very reassuring idea. Thanks."

  "You're a nice woman, Quill."

  Quill, momentarily tongue-tied, finally said, "Well, you are definitely not a nice guy. How could you trick my poor sister?"

  "So Myles told you I'm not the food critic for L'Aperitif; incognito."

  "Yes."

  "I take it you haven't told her yet. My food is still ipecac- free. I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't, at least until this is all over."

  "What is it, exactly, that's going to be all over?"

  "You mean the investigation?" He sighed, straightened up in his chair, and put his feet on the floor. "I uncover corporate crime. Stolen product. Embezzlement. Industrial espionage. When Armour went through the discovery process to purchase the Hallenbeck Franchise, the auditors discovered a total of three hundred thousand dollars had been drained away from the corporate coffers over a period of time. That's not a lot of money, and normally, in a deal the size of this one, Armour wouldn't have brought someone like me in..."

  So that's why he can afford the Armani suits, Quill thought. "... but the search for the funds led to something a little bigger than that." He stopped and looked into his coffee cup.

  Quill didn't move, afraid that he wouldn't tell her.

  "The origin of the three hundred thousand was interesting. Eventually, we discovered that two managers in the meat division had been diverting meat that didn't pass USDA or Hallenbeck's inspection to third-world countries."

  "Contaminated meat?"

  "Yeah."

  "Any idea who's behind it?"

  "Maybe."

  Edward needed a nudge. "Baumer!" said Quill. "That weasel."

  "Keith Baumer?" Edward grinned. "You really have it in for that guy, don't you? I haven't ruled out Baumer. But the scam occurred both before and after his short career at the company. Mavis, on the other hand, knew all about it. We also know that the three hundred thousand passed through her hands, but it disappeared about a year ago. I haven't been able to track it."

  "Do you think you're close?"

  "To finding the money? My client's not all th
at concerned about recovering the cash, although it'd help pay my fees."

  The Armanis, thought Quill, must be his knock-around clothes. She'd love to see what he wore when he had to dress for the occasion. She examined him through narrowed eyes. Edward, she decided, was not to be forgiven his deception, His client was going to be very impressed when she and John turned up with the photographic evidence of Peterson's involvement.

  "We haven't enough to convict the people responsible for sending the contaminated food overseas." He paused. "A number of children died after eating the meat. Believe it or not, my client's got a conscience. Not all that usual with big business. It's a bit of a pleasure, working for them. They aren't as concerned with the money as they are with nailing the people responsible for the shipments. And we were all pretty sure that Mavis knew who they were, That's why I came here. I was going to offer her a deal; the company wouldn't prosecute for the embezzlement if she'd give us some names."

  "And did she?"

  "Somebody took care of her before I could get to her. I tried to set up a meeting with her Sunday morning, but it was hard to find Mavis alone."

  "Do you think these people are in Hemlock Falls?" said Quill cleverly.

  "I'm pretty close to finding out, But Mavis got herself murdered for another set of reasons entirely. At least, that's what Myles and I think."

  "So you've talked to Myles about this. You don't think John was responsible, do you?"

  "I don't know," said Edward. "There's a lot of physical evidence against him, Quill, And he had a pretty compelling reason."

  "What! The two hundred dollars a month he sent to that miserable Mavis?"

  "No. How much did he tell you about the death of his brother-in-law?"

  "That guy Jackie?" Quill settled back in her chair, trying to remember. "He said that he found his sister in the kitchen... "

  "How did he know she was in the kitchen?"

  "He got a phone call."

  "Did he ever find out who?"

  "He didn't say that he did," Quill, utterly bewildered, pulled her lower lip.

  Edward took her hand and held it. "John was the one who initially reported his suspicions of the tainted meat scandal to company headquarters."

  It took Quill a minute. She felt her face pale, and withdrew her hand from his. "You mean he was set up?"

  "There's a strong suggestion that these people waited for an opportune moment."

  "Oh, God." said Quill. "Poor John."

  "I have an idea that John suspected it, too. He had quite a bit of time to think about it, in prison."

  "And Mavis was the logical informant."

  "That's occurred to both Myles and to me."

  Quill shook her head. "I refuse to believe it."

  "Myles said you were stubborn."

  "Excuse me!" an outraged voice demanded. Quill jumped.

  Mrs. Hallenbeck stood in front of them. The Glare was in full force. "We had an appointment, Sarah. At five o'clock, for tea. It is now five-fifteen. You have kept me waiting." The old lady's face was pink with outrage. "I went to the kitchen, and waited there, thinking perhaps you were wasting your time with that sister of yours. You weren't there. I searched the entire dining room and the lobby, and I find you here, with this man. Do you have an explanation?"

  "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hallenbeck," said Quill. "It's been a long day, and it slipped my mind."

  "It slipped your mind! I've mentioned before that I'm considering offering you Mavis' job. Do you really want to jeopardize that offer?" Her eyes filled with sudden tears. "I have something to report on the progress of our investigation."

  Quill, whose temper had been rising in a way quite unbecoming to an innkeeper of principle, was disarmed by this last statement. She smiled a little ruefully at Edward, then got to her feet. "Why don't we go into the kitchen to have our tea?"

  "The kitchen?"

  "None of the guests are allowed there," said Quill comfortingly. "Just our special friends. We'll have Meg make us something delicious. And then we can pool our information."

  Meg had been out jogging, and her face was flushed and sweaty. "I just stopped to make sure everybody was here and the breads were rising properly," she said as Quill steered Mrs. Hallenbeck into the kitchen. "I'm going up to take a shower."

  "Would you have time to make us some tea?" said Quill. She sent a pleading glance to her sister over Mrs. Hallenbeck's head.

  Mrs. Hallenbeck settled herself into the rocker by the fire- place. "We are going to discuss the progress of our investigation," she said complacently. "I will have hot water only. Out of the tap. With a little lemon."

  "Oh, okay. I could use a cup of coffee." Meg filled the electric teakettle, then her own espresso machine with spring water, and cut three slices of seedcake. "So, how'd it go with Marge?"

  "You wouldn't believe that food, Meg. It's great."

  "It is?"

  Quill nodded emphatically.

  "You're not serious. Jeez!" She bit her forefinger. "How great?"

  "Oh, it's quite good," Mrs. Hallenbeck assured her. "Perhaps you could get a job there after the Inn closes."

  "The Inn is not going to close," said Meg, astonished. "What are you talking about?"

  "Well, that's what I have to report." Mrs. Hallenbeck opened her purse and withdrew her little notebook. "I made notes every half hour. My memory," she admitted, in a rare moment of humility, "is not quite what it was." She cleared her throat. "I sat on the leather couch in the lobby. From there, you can see people going to all parts of the Inn. I thought it would be a good observation post."

  "Yay, Miss Marple!" said Meg, by now fascinated.

  "As I sat there, precisely fifteen people checked out of the Inn early. They were alarmed by the presence of what one party referred to as 'Devil worshippers.' "

  "Oh, no!" said Quill, dismayed.

  "You see my concern for the Inn," said Mrs. Hallenbeck. "I did not record the times of those departures. There were," she said frankly, "too many.

  "You, Sarah, left the breakfast table at eight twenty-two. You stated you were headed for the prayer breakfast, and I had no reason to assume you were lying."

  "Thank you, ma'am," said Quill. The sisters exchanged grins.

  "I finished my breakfast and went to the, er, ladies room." Mrs. Hallenbeck flushed slightly. "When you drink as much hot water as I do, it is convenient to be near a WC. It is very good for the kidneys, however. I took up my post at nine-ten. At nine-eleven, three thugs came out of the lounge, followed by you, Quill, and Peter Williams. You didn't notice me, which led me to conclude that my choice of observation post was correct."

  "Willy Max and the Jerks for Jesus," said Quill.

  "The guests will be back," said Meg. "Just wait for the review from L'Aperitif."

  "You came back three and a half minutes later. You went into your office. Forty-five seconds after that, Keith Baumer crossed the landing upstairs and went down the hall. I got up to look to see who it was. He returned two and one-half minutes later. Seven minutes later, Doreen Muxworthy went into your office. Eleven minutes later, she left and went upstairs. Then, a young man named Harvey Bozzel knocked on your door and went in."

  Meg rolled her eyes at Quill and poured herself a cup of coffee.

  Mrs. Hallenbeck primly took a sip of hot water, replaced the cup in the saucer, and took a delicate bite of seedcake. "How am I doing so far?" She twinkled at Quill.

  "Go on," said Quill. "I think you may have something here."

  "Four minutes later Doreen came downstairs, carrying something in a plastic bag. She went out the front door. About five and one-half minutes after that, the sheriff came in the front door and went upstairs. He was upstairs for about ten minutes. Then he came down and went into your office."

  "The bolt!" Meg cried, and took a triumphant gulp of coffee.

  Quill yelled, "The pills. Baumer planted the pills in John's room! We have proofl"

  Meg howled, "Jeez!" and spat the coffee into the sink.<
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  "Good heavens!" said Mrs. Hallenbeck disapprovingly.

  "What?" said Quill.

  "Something miserable's in that damn coffee. Darn! I swallowed a slug of it, too. Yuck!"

  "Sit down, Meg." Quill pushed her sister anxiously onto a stool. "I'm calling Andy Bishop."

  "Why?" Meg demanded.

  "Why? There's that damn Baumer wandering around the Inn putting God knows what into things, that's why. He knows we're on to him, Meg. Do you feel all right?" Quill, dialing Andy's number on the kitchen phone, looked worriedly over her shoulder.