Murder Well-Done

by Claudia Bishop

  She turned on the overhead light. Doreen had been in to clean, and the room was neat. Quill and Meg had managed to save the chestnut floor in this particular set of rooms, and the yellow, striated wood gleamed softly in the lamplight. The suite was two rooms. In the living room, a Queen Anne style sofa sat in front of the small fireplace next to a wing chair covered in a Williamsburg print. The coffee table held a filled ashtray and a half-empty glass. Quill picked up the glass and sniffed. Scotch. So the senator had been in the room after Doreen had cleaned. She searched the small secretary that stood under the window. The stationery with the Inn logo was there, and a partially filled pack of matches, but that was it. No briefcase, no notes, no documents.

  She went into the bedroom. The king-sized bed was covered with a wedding-ring quilt. The cherry rocking chair next to the four-poster held a crumpled envelope. Quill picked it up. It was empty. The return address was for the Golden Pillar Travel Agency. Typed on the front of the envelope were the words: "Enclosed, please find your ticket! Thank you for your business." It was addressed by hand to Marlon Guppa.

  Quill opened the armoire: empty. Maybe Santini'd stopped off at the Croh Bar in town after skiing and forgotten the time. She'd known quite a few Hemlockians to stop off at the Croh Bar and forget what day of the week it was. Except that he wouldn't take his suitcase, his clothes, his briefcase, and the contents of an envelope from a travel agency to go skiing, or drink at the Croh Bar, or go anywhere at all in Hemlock Falls.

  Poor Claire. Poor Myles. She picked up the phone by the bed and dialed the kitchen. Meg answered, her voice impatient.

  "Is Myles there?"

  "I was just about to feed him. I will feed him and my twenty guests if you'll get off the phone!"

  "Tell him it looks like Santini's skipped town. I'm in his room and everything's gone." There was a short silence. "Wow," said Meg. "Sorry I snapped. Well, there's one good thing. At least I won't be serving a murderer."

  Quill thought of Tutti and her two "boys." "I wouldn't be too sure about that."

  The Mclntoshes had taken a pair of adjoining rooms on the same floor as the Adams suite. Quill let herself out of Santini's room and walked down the hall to 246. She mentally rehearsed a few lines: Elaine, Vittorio. I'm so sorry, but the senator seems to have skipped. Very probably with the cash from the murder of Nora Cahill in his pocket. And to avoid prosecution for two murders.

  She raised her hand to knock and heard the sound of angry voices; Vittorio's harsh and bullying, Elaine's soft and tearful. Quill turned away. She'd go downstairs and give the room a call from the front desk. Vittorio's voice rose; there was the sound of a blow. Elaine cried out.

  Quill's reaction was instant and unconsidered. She whirled and pounded on the door. The voices within stopped, except for the soft sounds of Elaine's tears. Quill pounded on the door again. Vittorio jerked it open and pushed his angry bulk into the hall. "What the hell do you want?"

  "Tutti was a little concerned and asked me to come up and find you. Dinner's waiting."

  "Beat it." Quill placed her palm against Vittorio's shoulder and shoved him out of the way. She walked into the bedroom. It was chaotic: clothes were draped over every available surface, cosmetics littered the small dressing table under the window, and three suitcases lay open on the floor. It was the bedroom of an untidy child.

  Elaine sat on the edge of her bed, rubbing her wrist. She was in a silk full slip, pale pink. She looked at Quill with swimming eyes.

  Vittorio came partway in and half-knocked, half-slammed the open door with his fist. He was wearing a dinner jacket. The smell of a heavy after-shave - Polo, Quill thought - floated across the room.

  "You coming down, Lanie?" She sat very still.

  "Elaine!"

  She stirred. "Yes, Vic. I'll be right there."

  "You. It's Quilliam, right?" He jerked his head toward the hall. "I told you to beat it."

  "I'll just give Elaine a hand."

  He gave a short, unpleasant laugh. "Suit yourself."

  "Close the door on your way out," Quill said softly.

  Elaine jumped when it slammed shut. Quill sat down next to her on the bed and gently lifted her arm. "This is why you wear the long-sleeved blouses?"

  "He doesn't mean it," Elaine said, so quietly that Quill had to bend her head to hear her.

  Quill touched her wrist gently. "That's already pretty red. And the ones farther up look old. It must have been going on for a while."

  Elaine dabbed at her eyes with a Kleenex. "My make-up's a mess. And I've got to get down there to the dinner." She got up and crossed to the dressing table.

  "Elaine, there're lots of people that can help you. There's even a group in the village, attached to the hospital. It's a shelter. The woman that runs it is terrific. Why don't you let me give her a call?"

  Elaine dabbed at her face with a powder puff, then reapplied her eyeliner.

  "Meg's good - um - friend is our local internist. He's a pretty good listener. Would you like to talk to him?"

  Elaine picked up a red lipstick, set it down, and selected a gloss. She turned and went to the closet and took out a long filmy dress in pink. Full sleeves. High collar. She bent to step into the dress.

  Quill's stomach lurched. She pinched her own knee hard, then managed to say lightly, "I didn't know Vittorio smoked."

  A faint smile crossed Elaine's face. She pulled her slip away from her chest and looked down at her breasts. "He quit for almost twenty years. This business with Al got him started again."

  "What business with AI?"

  She shook her head.

  "Can I get you some antibiotic cream?"

  "I'll be fine."

  "You shouldn't let those bums go. And you shouldn't irritate them with cloth." Quill's voice rose; she was shaking with anger. "Why don't you do something to help yourself? And if you can't, let me. Does Claire know?"

  "Oh, no!" Elaine turned pale. "Claire worships her father."

  "I'll bet." Quill rubbed her face with both hands. "What about Tutti? Could she be any help? Now that's stupid. He's her son."

  Elaine zipped her dress up, slipped into a pair of pink high-heeled shoes, and took up a pearl-beaded purse. She looked at herself in the mirror, then took a double row set of pearls from the top of the dresser and fastened them around her neck.

  "What do you think?"

  "Elaine."

  She smiled. "He won't do it anymore. He promised."

  "Elaine, every battered woman in the world believes that. You've got to do something to help yourself."

  "Oh, no I don't. You don't know Tutti. She'll fix it. She'll fix everything."

  Quill walked to the dining room with her. Vittorio was seated at the head of the table. The chair at the foot, near Claire, was still empty. Quill seated Elaine at Vittorio's right. She was afraid to say anything. Even to do anything. She'd heard that abusers took revenge when they were confronted-not on people like her, who would fight back, but on their original victims.

  Tutti, at Vittorio's left, cast a shrewd glance at Quill, and said, "Doesn't Elaine look wonderful, Vic?"

  "Yeah. Great. How long are we supposed to wait to eat?"

  "I'm sure Al will be here any minute, Daddy." Claire crumbled a piece of bread between her fingers. "He's late all the time. And you said he had some appointments, Marlon, didn't you? With that little creepy person? The mayor?"

  "Yes, Miss McIntosh. But he should have been back by now."

  Quill let her gaze rest on Marlon for a long moment. His dark brown eyes shifted under her steady gaze. "The sheriff's in the kitchen right now. Why don't I ask him to put out a call? If the senator's in the village, someone should know where he is. Maybe he got lost on his way back to the Inn."

  Marlon jumped. "Oh. Hell. We don't need to do that, Miss Quilliam. He'll show up sooner or later."

  "In the meantime," Tutti said firmly, "I would like to eat. Your sister's prepared quite a meal for us, Sarah. I can't wait. The senator will jus
t have to eat leftovers."

  "I'll let the kitchen know." She smiled. She hoped no one noticed how strained it was. She resisted the impulse to whistle a few bars of "Flying Down to Rio." "Enjoy your meal, everyone. And let us know if there's anything else you need.... "

  "... like a bridegroom," she muttered as she walked into the kitchen. Myles, Meg, and John were sitting at the counter, all three of them eating potted rabbit. Quill put her hands on her hips and glared at them. "Myles, I thought you'd be halfway to the airport by now. You're not going to let him get away?"

  "What's this?" John asked. "I just got here."

  "Santini's skipped. As in beat feet, left town, took a powder?" Meg said flatly.

  John whistled. "Wow."

  'Myles swallowed a bite of rabbit and said calmly, "You're sure about that, Quill?"

  "I don't know what other explanation there could be, Myles. His room's empty. His suitcase is gone. There's an empty airline ticket envelope. If you ask me, he took that blackmail money from Nora Cahill and just... skipped, and Tutti set it up. Why aren't you after him?"

  "Wow," Meg said again. "Does Claire know?"

  "No. And they want to start eating."

  "Oh. Good." Meg hopped off the stool. "Bjarne! Guys! We're ready."

  Quill took Meg's place at the counter and absently began to eat the rabbit. "This is just great," she said. "I'm so glad everyone's reacting to my hot tip. Myles. Are you going to put out an APB on Santini or not? He's probably halfway to Argentina now, or wherever it is that international felons escape to." She put her fork down. "I'm sorry. That sounded bitchy. It's just that this is so awful. Poor Claire's in there and I don't know which is worse, being jilted or being married to a murderer."

  "There's no law or statute against refusing to get married. And the senator isn't our murderer. Santini couldn't have killed either Nora or Dorset," said Myles. "Santini was out with the mayor and Evan Blight the night of the murders, from about eight until well after midnight."

  "When did you find that out?" asked Quill.

  "This afternoon. One of the women involved in the - er - fracas with S. O. A. P. wanted to swear out a complaint against Blight and the mayor. It was a good opportunity to find out just what goes on at those meetings."

  "What does?" demanded Quill.

  Myles grinned. "Never mind. The alibi is supported by something else. Those computer files of Cahill's. It was a complete plan to sweep small-town America with a campaign called R. O. A. R., Return Our American Rights. You have the honor, Quill, of being the first candidate to kick this campaign off. Dorset, Bristol, and a number of other small town dignitaries from across New York State were involved."

  Quill bit her lip. "So Santini didn't do it! Who, then?"

  John got up suddenly, his face grim: "Your hat, Quill. Where is it?"

  "The storeroom."

  "Hang on a minute." John disappeared into the back and reappeared with the hat. He set it on the counter carefully, avoiding touching the bloody spot inside. "Take a look at this, Myles."

  "Swell," said Quill. "Myles? Where are you going? You haven't finished your rabbit."

  Myles stood up. His face was calm. "What you just told me about Santini being missing? It doesn't make sense. Tutti McIntosh was funding this whole R. O. A. R campaign. It was designed to put the senator back into his seat in four years. Al struck me as the sort of person who'd marry the devil herself for gain."

  "Thanks for the pronoun," Quill grumbled. "So what do you think? Why else would Al skip out on his wedding?"

  "We need Doreen," said Myles. "And that dog. There's hair, blood, and bone on the inside of that hat. And neither of our corpses had a head wound."

  Quill's winter clothes were still damp from the day before. She drew on the snow pants, the ski jacket, and the knitted hat with a shiver. Doreen stamped impatiently outside the kitchen door. Her winter gear consisted of a leather flight jacket (courtesy of a former husband), several sweaters, stocking cap, and flannel lined jeans. For some reason, she'd stuffed Tatiana into a baby's sweater. The little dog pranced in the snow with more than its usual arrogance.

  "She actually looks pretty chic," Meg muttered in Quill's ear. "You going to be warm enough?"

  "I think so."

  "Be careful. You, too, John."

  Meg stood at the door until they reached the maintenance building. Quill turned and waved.

  They set off on foot down the circular drive to the Inn and into the park near the Gorge. It was going to snow again, and soon. Clouds drifted past the moon like passing sailboats.

  John walked with his head down, hands thrust in his pockets. Quill walked next to Myles, skipping occasionally to keep up with his long strides. Doreen zigzagged back and forth, once in a while throwing a snowball for the dog.

  Tatiana was the happiest of the group.

  "Right about here, sheriff." Doreen took a sharp left and plunged into a grove of pine. The way was narrow here, the paths clogged with snow. Quill grabbed on to the back of Myles's anorak to help her keep to her feet.

  The dog stopped. Raised its head. Sniffed. Broke into shrill barks and leaped forward, plunging through the drifts. John broke into a run. So did Myles. Doreen and Quill trudged along behind.

  "I smell smoke," said Quill.

  "S. O. A. P." Doreen said briefly. "They cooked that durn cow here last night. You shoulda seen it."

  "Did you see it?"

  Doreen turned her head in the dark. The whites of her eyes gleamed. She said with a chuckle, "Me'n Marge? We follered that Elmer and Harland last night. You shoulda seen them guys. Half of `em buck nekkid `ceptin' that bozo Blight. He's too smart to jump around in a gol-durned blizzard with no clothes on. But there they all was, jumping and hollering around this big old fire, with this big old steer carcass a-turnin' and a-turnin' over the fir eon this here spit."

  Which was there they found the body of Alphonse Santini, turning slowly over a dying fire, under the moonlit sky.

  -12-

  "Thank the good Lord he wasn't skewered," said Doreen. She and Quill stood huddled together under the pine tree. It was cold and getting colder, but Quill would have had to be nearly comatose with the chill to approach the slow-burning fire. Myles and John kicked the slow coals away from the body. The remnants glowed like wolf eyes in the dark.

  Myles squatted and examined the ropes that bound Santini. John knelt in the snow beside him. "You can see where the dogs' scurried in the snow," said John. "Here and here. Do you think it was the head wound that killed him?"

  "Most likely. Two shots behind the right ear. But I've been wrong before." He lowered his head in thought. Then, "Quill?"

  "We're over here."

  "You saw the videotape of Nora's murder what, once?"

  "That's right."

  "Think about it. Think hard about it. Pretend that you're going to paint the scene."

  Quill edged nearer. Doreen bent and picked up Tatiana, who was for once silent. Quill closed her eyes.

  "Anything you can remember about the figure in your coat and hat. The least thing, Quill."

  "It was a man, I'm sure of that. His arms were longer than my sleeves. And he was my height, because the coat hit his leg where it hits mine."

  "About five eight, then," Myles said to John. "Any idea of weight, Quill?"

  Quill shook her head.

  "Anything else?"

  Quill went over the videotape in her mind. Nora getting out of the car. Nora falling, her hands outstretched, her fingers spread in a final gesture of death....

  "Dorset. Dorset did it, too!" she exclaimed. "That must have been how he knew."

  "Did what?"

  "Nora spread her fingers like this." Quills tripped her glove from her hand and held it up. Her first two fingers formed a V. "Vittorio! Myles. It's Vittorio! It must be. That would explain what Elaine said. And all that crazy stuff about Tutti and the s‚ance."

  "The s‚ance wasn't all that crazy," Doreen grumbled. "I think there's a lot
to it."

  "Tutti msut have seen that videotape. Nobody knew about that hat. NO one except me, Dorset, and the murderer. And Elain told me - that Vittorio's scum, Myles, just scum - but Elaine told me that Tutti would find a way to keep him in line so he wouldn't beat her up anymore."

  "Those long-sleeved blouses," John said softly, "I should have known. Damn him."