He thumbed through it and set it aside.
“You aren’t angry?”
“Next.”
“Myles, there are all kinds of clues in there—”
“Hedrick Conway didn’t do it. What else have you got?”
“Hedrick is the best suspect we’ve got!” Quill summarized the results of Georgia’s inquiries, ending with Georgia’s discovery of the death of Hedrick’s stepfather.
“The Conway case? Can’t say as it rings any sort of bell at all.” Myles stood up to put his trousers on. Quill watched him with what she recognized as doting admiration. “I can check with a few of the guys I know in Florida. She’s sure there was an indictment? A trial? Does Hedrick have a record? Damn. I’m slipping. I should have checked it myself.”
“She didn’t say there was a trial, no. Myles, do you think it’s Hedrick? It has to be Hedrick. He’s positively inhuman about the deaths of his family. I mean, he hasn’t said a word!”
“There could be a very good reason for that. And you may have given it to me just now. No, I don’t think Hedrick killed his mother and his sister. But the business about his stepfather is a loose end. And I’ll tie it up today.”
“But Hedrick must be the only one with a motive. And what happened to all that money! Maybe there wasn’t any money. Nothing else makes any sense, does it? I mean, the scandal behind the mini-mall turns out to be that a significant competitor is going up a few miles away. Although I don’t know for sure, it’s pretty obvious that Elmer, Howie, and Harvey Bozzel have all invested money in it... although where Harvey gets that kind of money is anybody’s guess.”
“Say that again?”
“The fact that a new mall is going up isn’t a motive for murder. It’s maybe a motive for Elmer not getting reelected if people find out he—”
“No. About Harvey.”
“Well, where would Harvey get the money to invest in the new mall? He didn’t have enough to buy shares in our mall, remember?”
“Damn. I’m losing my grip.” He buckled his belt thoughtfully, then grinned. “It’s your fault, Quill. I should have picked that up, too.”
“Were you very depressed after we broke up?” she asked shyly.
“Guess so.”
“Meg said I was horrible. Doreen said I was horrible. Oh, Myles. I’ve been such a jerk! Look at me! I never cry! And here I am, a leaky faucet.”
“Ssh. Quiet.” He came over. Held her. Kissed the top of her head. “It’s over. The tough part. We’ll just have to be careful from now on. Now, is there anything else?”
Quill, who was beginning to think she should decide to carry a handkerchief as a permanent accessory, rubbed her face on the sheet. “Just a few more things. You know that the reason Marco DeMarco has been so secretive is that his work crews are all ex-convicts.”
“Yep. Next.”
“You knew that?”
“I’ve known it for a while. Had a talk with DeMarco soon after he started the project.”
“And you never told me!”
“I would have, except for a couple of things. First, you would have been down at the site feeding them soup and making sure that nobody was discriminating against their rights.”
“Myles!”
“Second, I didn’t want anyone in town deciding that the usual crimes and misdemeanors in a place like the Falls were the fault of DeMarco’s work crew. I’ve got the records of all the men he’s had working for him, and I’ve kept an eye out.”
“I wouldn’t have said a word.”
“Your behavior would have said a lot. And finally, dear heart, for the past four months we haven’t exactly been communicating.”
“Oh. That’s true.” She bit her finger. “So if it isn’t Hedrick, and it isn’t anyone in town because all the secrets about the mini-mall seem to be secrets that no one would murder for, then who is it? I’m still betting on Hedrick. Unless, Myles, is it someone on the construction crew? With a grudge against the Conways?”
“It’s possible.”
“Who is your chief suspect, then!?”
“There are five people I want to keep my eye on in particular. Paulovich, Fairbanks, Motoyama, and De-Marco. I’d like you to talk to your employees and see if any one of those men was seen walking with Carlyle Con-way the night of the murder. Be discreet. Be quiet. But be complete.”
“That’s four names you gave me. Who’s the fifth?”
“Axminster Stoker.”
“Axminster Stoker?! The man couldn’t hurt a fly. If anything, he’s in danger of being knocked off himself, by Doreen. I can’t believe he killed two people he’s never even met!”
“How do you know he’s never met them? And why do you think he’s incapable of murder? Where does your opinion come from? It’s based on what evidence? That you like him? That you find him inoffensive? Do I need to tell you that some of our worst murderers have been quiet, inoffensive people who the neighbors say could never have hurt a fly?”
“No. No. You’re right. I’m sorry. Just the facts, ma’am, all right? So I’ll include Mr. Stoker. You want me to question them?”
“No, dammit. I don’t want you confronting a potential killer. I want you to talk to the staff. See who could have bumped into Carlyle, literally, since Andy’s sure that someone put on a surgical glove and wiped the poison between her breasts a few minutes before she tried the trick with the sushi.”
“Why do you suspect these five?”
“Stoker worked for the pharmaceutical company that Conway’s fortune came from.”
“He didn’t!”
“It’s how he found out about the Inn. You’re attached to the Golden Pillars Travel Company, right? And they offer packaged tours to corporations; yours is one of them. When Stoker decided to retire, he very efficiently went through the list of vacation spots the company offered its employees. He’s an efficient man.”
“He never indicated in any way that he’d met any of the Conways before!”
“I doubt that he knew the Conway women, or Hedrick himself. The company’s huge, and people like Stoker never met the principal stockholders. But it’s a lead, and we’ve got damn few leads at this point.”
“And DeMarco?”
Myles wandered into her kitchen and began to make coffee. “Now, there’s a guy who might knock a couple of people off as a warning to Hedrick not to print something about the mall. That’s a strong possibility. And I don’t want you going near him, understand?”
“I’m far readier to believe that DeMarco is involved than Axminster.”
Myles flipped the coffeemaker on. “I can’t argue with that. But the second rule about an investigation, Quill, is to follow every lead. Sometimes the trail starts with the tip of a fingernail. As a matter of fact, there was a murder solved years ago that began with the tip of a finger, literally.”
“Ugh! So DeMarco’s a strong contender.”
“The strongest to date.”
“And Mr. Paulovich?”
“Mr. Paulovich knows something he’s not telling me. It’s no more than that. There could be a number of reasons for it. But I don’t like it. He’s lying about it, whatever it is, and until I find out, he’s on the list.”
“What about Lyle Fairbanks?”
Myles removed the coffeepot from the hot plate, and stuck his cup under the filter before the pot was full. “Do you want some of this?”
“I’ll wait a bit, thanks. Lyle Fairbanks?”
“He’s not a suspect as much as he is a potential source. And unlike those others you can talk to him directly. Just be discreet and unobvious. I want a list of where the Kip-lings have been in the last three years, and the dates when each of the members joined. We’ll cross-match that with similar information from Hedrick, and from DeMarco. See if I can come up with some idea of when their paths crossed.” He gulped the coffee. “That’s it.”
“Mr. Motoyama?”
“I’ll handle him.”
“But I could talk to Ken.”
“Exactly.” He smiled. “Even my tolerance has its limits. Quill. I want you to call me as soon as you get anything. And listen, you’re to keep this to yourself, understand? It’s important. Do you promise?”
“I promise. But, Myles—”
“I’ve got to go.” He kissed her. “Dinner tonight?”
“Yes. Wait. Myles. Will the kitchen be open?”
“Up to Andy. He’s in charge of forensics. I’m through with it.”
“If it’s open, I’ll meet you at the usual time. I’ll be busy.”
“Ten-thirty, then, unless I hear from you.” The door closed behind him.
Quill went downstairs to find that the kitchen was open and the dining room empty, and Meg crossly banging her copper pots with a wooden ladle.
“What’s wrong?”
“They moved all my stuff! Poking around in here!” She slammed the Cuisinart to one side of the butcher block counter and glowered. “And we’re open tonight and two of the sous chefs called in with bogus excuses, and nobody who’s supposed to be here for the morning shift has shown up, so I’m going to be short-staffed on top of everything else! Go away!”
“Don’t you want to hear about Myles?”
“Any fool could have predicted that last night,” said Meg loftily.
“Myles doesn’t think Hedrick did it.”
“So?”
“So he’s not upset about the goods book. As a matter of fact”—Quill pulled at her lower lip—-”he didn’t seem to think much of my investigative efforts at all. He assigned me to the sort of thing he’d assign a junior investigator.”
“Go investigate where my underchefs are, will you? I can’t cook tonight without them.”
“I’m sure they’ll turn up.”
“If you’re so sure, then find them!”
“You got it, sis,” said Quill with a fair imitation of Humphrey Bogart. She went through the swinging doors into the dining room, and from there to the foyer. It was going to be a good day. She could feel it. Meg in that kind of mood always cooked superbly. People were starting to arrive for the opening of the mini-mall. They’d eat at the Inn. Meg’s legendary fame would spread. She had some really interesting detective work to do. And Myles ... Quill smiled to herself. There was Myles. Who was going to be very surprised at the quality of her investigation. She crossed into the foyer and saw that the Chinese vases either side of the mahogany desk were filled with giant dahlias. Quill felt the impulse to dance across the floor. Dina was sitting behind the reception desk, winding up a phone conversation. Quill waited until she’d hung up the receiver.
“Finally, Quill! Things are getting back to normal! We’ve got a third of the dining room filled already for lunch, and six reservations for dinner! And it’s not even nine-thirty.” Dina’s face was flushed, and she picked nervously at the phone cord.
“Any messages?”
“Lots. John called in from the site. The kitchen came. He’s going to be there all day making sure it gets in right. He took his PC with him, so I think he said to tell you he’ll have the quarterly numbers by this afternoon. And he wants to know about Mr. Sakura.”
“What about Mr. Sakura?”
“He said, ‘Offer?’ ”
Dina wound the phone cord around her wrist, pulled the phone off the receiver, and said, “Gosh! Sorry!”
Quill paged through the pink slips. “What’s this next message?”
“It’s from Mr. Stoker.”
“I see that. It says ‘will deliver results from A.M. employee meeting, one o’clock.’ What’s that all about?”
Dina shrugged and began erasing an entry into the bookings ledger with careful strokes. Then she rewrote it.
“Dina? What’s going on?”
“Maybe you should find Mr. Stoker and ask him.”
“Well, I needed to see him anyway. I’ll just get my notepad and go find him. Where is he?”
Dina had emptied the contents of her purse on the desk and was intent on sorting through the various gum wrappers, blushers, lipsticks, and Cornell Student Parking stubs that littered the top. “Huh?”
“I said, do you know where he is?”
“Yeah.”
“Well?”
“Oh. You want me to tell you where he is? He’s in the gazebo. With ...” she trailed off in a mutter.
“With whom?”
Dina opened her checkbook, looked at it, and sighed.
“Dina!”
“Yes’m? Gee, I’m not sure who he’s with. Anything else?”
“Meg said that some of the staff haven’t shown up for work. Would you check the roster and make a few calls?”
“Some of them may be at the gazebo,” Dina said with an air of sudden enlightenment.
“They’re where?”
“They’re at the gazebo. With Mr. Stoker. Everybody but me. I told them,” said Dina, “that I would never betray you. Never. Besides. I didn’t invest in the mall anyhow.”
A suspicion of trouble sped across Quill’s mind. “Oh, my goodness.” She swallowed, then said again, “Oh, my goodness.”
“Actually, I think you’d better get out there,” Dina said pointedly, now that the secret was out.
Of course. The news of the discount mall would have spread like wildfire. And everybody in the Inn had cheerfully signed for weekly payroll deductions to make up the amount that she and John had invested in the mini-mall on their behalf. Quill had a cowardly desire to hide in her office.
“Are they, um, expecting me at this meeting? Dina?”
“They didn’t say.”
“I’m not expected at any other meetings right now, am I?” said Quill with hope.
Dina shook her head. “Nope.”
“You think I should go out there.”
“Yep.”
“And John’s where?”
Dina picked up the pink message slip Quill’s nervous fingers had let drop on the desktop. “ ‘At the site. Kitchen came. Here all day. Took PC.’ “
“The rat,” muttered Quill. “The big rat. I would have been happy to go out to the site and supervise the kitchen install. I’m good at that.”
“He didn’t know about.. . . that before he left.” Dina waved vaguely in the direction of the gazebo. A distant sound of applause—and a few belligerent “Right ons!”— drifted through the open door.
“Well, okay,” said Quill.
She walked through the lounge and stopped at the doors leading to the patio. She had a very good view of the gazebo from here. To the left lay the rose garden, the fountain in the middle of the koi pond sending glittering drops into the sunny air. To the right was the curve of the Inn itself, and beyond that, the path over the bridge to the village. In the center, of course, were what looked like the Inn’s entire staff (dressed, Quill noted with burgeoning hope, in dining room and kitchen kit). Doreen stood conspicuously apart. She was carrying a sign that read throw the bum out! which Quill surmised referred to Mr. Stoker, although given Doreen’s attitude toward Quill the past few weeks, she wasn’t entirely sure.
Axminster Stoker stood in the middle of the gazebo, which gave him a two-foot advantage over the heads of the crowd. Quill stretched on tiptoe. Seated behind Axminster in the latticed recesses were Mr. Sakura and his faithful shadow, Motoyama.
Quill cracked the glass doors open and peeked around the corner.
“Empowerment saves jobs!” Axminster’s voice had astonishing carrying power. “It is your right to be in on decisions which affect your future!”
Doreen raised her sign, blew a gigantic raspberry, and shouted, “Three cheers for the boss!”
Quill breathed a small sigh of relief.
“What’s going on?” Georgia’s voice was amused.
“Are you all right?” asked Meg. “We heard all this hoo-ha through the open window. What is it?”
“An employee meeting.”
“I can see that, stupid. They look mad.”
“They do.”
�
�About what?”
“The discount mall, I should imagine. Their investment.” “They care about money? Now!? With the kitchen just reopened? How long is this meeting going to take?”
“Well, you know what Axminster told us about empowering the employees, Meg, these things take time. Problem resolution can take weeks. Months.”
“Bullshit. They want a solution? I’ll give them a solution.”
“Remember our values statement, Meg. Concern. Caring. Commitment.”
“Try Cooking, Cleaning, and Doing Your Damn Job!”
“Well, heck,” Quill said to Georgia and crossed the flagstone patio behind Meg, with (she hoped) firm and unfaltering steps.
“It’s just Stoke,” Georgia said comfortingly. “Doing his thing.”
“Hey!” Meg marched up to the edge of the crowd and elbowed her way purposefully through. “Bjorn. Frank. What the heck are you guys doing here? You called in sick!”
“We’re not sick, exactly,” Frank said. “We just got notice of this meeting, and thought maybe we should be here.”
“It is the employee’s right to strike!” said Axminster excitedly. “When deceived and burdened by the unfair practices of management, it is the employee’s right—no, I should say the employee’s duty to establish direct and unambiguous lines of communication.”
“Boo sucks to you?!” yelled Doreen.
“Boo what to whom?” Meg said. “Is everybody crazy? Hey!” she shouted suddenly. “Stoker!”
“And here is management now!” Axminster beamed. “Come, I would wager, ready to sit down and discuss this issue with the goodwill and trust that characterize the finest Quality leadership in the finest companies. Remember, team. Concern! Caring! Commitment!”
Meg, taking care to avoid the sweet peas, marched into the gazebo, elbowed Axminster out of the way, and leaned out to address the troops.
“You! Bjorn. Frank. We’ve got dinners to cook tonight. Get back in the kitchen.”
“But, Meg,” said Kathleen, her hands twisting nervously in her apron. “About the mini-mall investment—”
“Who wants out?”
Several of the employees raised their hands.
“See Quill. She’ll give you your money back. Anything else?”
“Margaret! We are trying to establish a dialogue here. This is simply not demonstrating proper concern for the integrity of the employees.”
A Puree of Poison Page 21
