“I’ll think about it. I can do this town a lot of good, you know.”
“I’m sure you can. But I’m just as sure you’ll do the right thing and let Elmer run unopposed.”
“You’re going to make Carol Ann drop out, too?”
Quill tugged at the curl over her ear so hard it hurt. “I have to. It’s not right to make you drop out and let her run.”
“That means she’s going to be poking around my kitchen. Yours, too.”
“I realize that.”
“But you’re going to wreck things anyway. Figures.” She slammed the metal desk drawer open and shut several times, maybe to calm herself down. Quill wasn’t sure.
“How’d you figure it out?”
“I didn’t. Myles did.”
“You got no proof. About the burglaries, that is.”
“No. Myles said it was a wag. A wild-assed guess. He was sheriff when the redistricting was such a hot item, and he was pretty impressed with you scouting out Carol Ann’s ineligibility to run, and he was really curious about why nothing was actually taken from the homes that reported the burglaries. If you’d paid out on some of those claims, he might not have leaped to the conclusion he did. But he knows you, he knows Hemlock Falls, so he did.”
“Like I said, prove it,” Marge said doggedly.
“We don’t need to prove it. Nobody was harmed, nothing was taken except some old records, and you aren’t doing it anymore, are you? So we’ll drop it. But why did you think swiping those old records would keep your residency from coming to light?”
Marge shook her head. “No reason why it should. I live in the town. Won’t occur to anybody I don’t live in the village, too.” She slammed open the file drawer again and took out a thick folder. “Got all the records except those in the tax office. Anybody wants to check, they’ll have to truck on up to Albany. Figured that’s far enough away so nobody’d take the time and trouble.” She dropped the files back into the drawer. “So there’s your proof. Arrest me, already.”
“You know I’m not going to do any such thing.”
Marge pursed her lips. “You sure?”
“I am not a snitch.”
“You’re a snoop.”
“I grant you the snoop part. I am bringing this to your attention. That’s all. From here on in, it’s your call.”
Marge muttered something under her breath.
“Just one thing. Myles is sure you didn’t take those wedding rings out of Edmund Tree’s room. I don’t think you did, either, unless you were trying to make the whole burglary thing more convincing?”
Marge scowled ferociously. “Of course I didn’t steal any wedding rings.”
“I didn’t think so. As a matter of fact, I have a pretty good idea of who did, now that this has been cleared up.”
Marge ignored her, caught up in her outrage. “You actually thought I was a thief! What the heck do you take me for?”
Quill felt the need for some tact. “A great resource for information to help Davy Kiddermeister find out who murdered Edmund Tree,” she said promptly. “Did you come up with any background information that would help him? I’m not investigating, or anything, but Davy’s always up at the Inn to see Dina, and I could pass this along to him, if you like.”
“If I like? I thought Quilliam Snoopers Inc. was back in business. You asked me for this.” Marge motioned to the briefcase by her feet.
“Only on behalf of the sheriff’s department. As a concerned citizen.”
“I suppose Myles has his knickers in a twist again. Can’t say as I blame him. Look what happened to Dina the last time you started poking around.”
Quill did feel incredibly guilty about that. “Maybe you ought to take that straight to Davy. Leave me out of it altogether.”
“No, no. Davy’s growing into the job, but you’re not so bad at this detecting business …”
Quill made a polite noise of demurral.
“… Though we all know Myles is the real brains of the outfit.”
“That is not true.”
Marge smirked. “Gotcha. I owe you one for this mayor’s business.”
“Excuse me,” Quill said hotly. “But was I the one sneaking around Miriam Doncaster’s basement in the middle of the night? I think not.”
Marge waved both hands, as if flagging down a speeder. “Hello? Can we put this behind us, please? You want the stuff I got on Tree or not?”
“Yes,” Quill said. “I do.”
“Shut up for minute, then. I got your message about adding the Bryants and Angstrom to the list. I didn’t have time to get actual records, you understand, but the info is solid.” Marge reached down, put her briefcase on the desk, and rummaged a bit. “Here we go. Tree’s assets total twenty-three million, give or take a couple million depending on the stock market. Liabilities are almost none. The guy paid as he went. He’s got some tax shelters set up so there’s depreciation and what have you, but it’s minimal. Stupid way to be wealthy, but there you are. Has a reputation for being tighter than a tick. Expenses out everything he can on that TV show. If he lived, you could have turned him in for suspected tax evasion. There’s a bounty, you know.”
“There is?”
“You betcha. Check it out. Anyhow, moving on to Jukka Angstrom … Angstrom is upside down on his Park Avenue condo and behind on his mortgage. He’s gonna lose it unless he tap-dances pretty darn fast. Had a pile of legal expenses on that price-fixing charge, and the Sotheby’s board refused to pay his legal bills. The Bryants, on the other hand, are not so rich, but not so poor, either. Not a lot of debt, or no more than they can handle. Guy I talked to said the Feds inquire once in a while about Andrea’s offshore accounts, but there’s no ongoing investigation into them.” There was a trace of admiration in Marge’s voice when she added, “That Andrea’s no slouch, when it comes to the money side of things.”
“So Angstrom’s the only one who might be desperate?”
Marge shrugged. “Depends on what you mean by desperate. He’s negotiating to turn the condo back to the bank. He’s got a good set of lawyers. He’ll probably pull that off. He’s got too much in other assets to declare bankruptcy at the moment, but you never know. I’ve been in tighter spots myself and sailed on through okay.” She tucked her notes back into her briefcase and plunked it on the floor. “So what’s all this tell you?” She squinted at Quill. “You look funny. Not funny ha-ha. Funny peculiar.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Believe what?”
She looked at Marge with dismay. “Nobody’s got a real motive. I’ve only got one suspect left. If I were investigating, that is. Which I’m not.”
“Yeah, well, you need anything else, don’t call me.”
Quill picked her tote up and prepared to leave. “You’re not permanently mad at me are you?”
“Nope.”
“Are you still going to run for mayor?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
When Quill went out the door, Marge was busy at the shredder. She sighed and drove back to the Inn to find her sister.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” she said to Meg half an hour later. “If the historical society had missed the notes on that old redistricting battle, somebody would have hollered by now. But there goes any solid proof that Marge was the burglar.”
“Let me get this straight.” Meg stretched herself out on Quill’s office sofa and stared at the tin ceiling. “Carol Ann doesn’t meet the residency requirements to run for mayor. Marge is blackmailing her into staying out of our kitchens by threatening to torpedo her campaign.”
“Right.”
“You found out Marge doesn’t meet the residency requirements, either. If you tell on Marge, you have to tell on Carol Ann.”
“It’s only fair.”
“And then Carol Ann’s inspecting our kitchens?”
“Maybe she’ll flunk the state exam.”
“Carol Ann studies to go to the hairdresser
!”
“It wouldn’t be fair, Meg.”
Meg sat straight up and shouted: “Are you crazy? Let them both duke it out!’
“If I don’t tell Davy about Marge being the B and A burglar, what if he arrests someone else for the burglaries?”
Meg kept on shouting. “What if he does? Whoever it is didn’t do it!”
“Meg, innocent people get convicted of crimes they didn’t commit all the time!”
“Once in a while, maybe!” She was still shouting. “I’d hardly call it routine!”
Dina opened the office door and peeked in. “We can hear you in reception.”
“Who cares!” Meg roared.
Dina pushed her spectacles up her nose with her forefinger. “I don’t, since you do it all the time. But it might disturb the guests. Which might be a good thing, now that I think about it. That Melanie Myers hasn’t been out of her room since Edmund Tree died right in front of us, and housekeeping’s starting to worry. Maybe all this shouting will get her out in the hallway to see if the Inn’s on fire or something.”
“You think I should check on her?” Quill asked.
“You’d better,” Meg said. She got to her feet and tucked her T-shirt into her sweatpants. She wore clogs on the days she was in the kitchen. Quill looked at the color of her socks; volcano red. She should have waited to tell Meg about Marge and the mayor’s race. Meg’s socks were a reliable indicator of her mood. “If you don’t go up and see if she’s still alive, I suppose I’d better.”
“Oh my God.” Dina’s face was pale. “I didn’t even think of that. You don’t suppose she’d actually …”
“No,” Meg said flatly. “That girl is way too self-involved to do anything silly. Besides, she’s ordered room service five times since the hoorah at Bonne Goutè, and potential suicides don’t eat pasta, eggs, beef Quilliam, and every variety of dessert we make, all within a thirty-six-hour period.”
“Oh my god,” Dina said. “She’s eating herself to death.”
“She’s fine,” Meg said. “I think.”
Quill wasn’t so sure, either. “How long has she been in her room, Dina?”
“Doreen says the do not disturb sign hasn’t gone down once, and housekeeping hasn’t been in at all. They knock and she shrieks ‘go away.’”
“I’ll go on up right now. Dina, make sure we can get her home phone number if we need it. And see if you can track down Jukka Angstrom. He seems to know her pretty well. If she won’t let me in, she might respond to him.”
“Should I call the hospital? See if Dr. Bishop’s on call?”
“Not yet. Make sure you’ve got the number handy, though.” She patted her pockets. “I’ll need a house key, in case she won’t open up.”
“Right here.” Dina held it out.
Quill took the key and went out and up the stairs. She was anxious. And remorseful. She should have checked on the poor girl sooner than this. Melanie’s over-involvement had been obvious to everyone. She remembered Rose Ellen’s malicious dig at the girl: Edmund’s little dog.
She’d never forgive herself if Melanie had given in to her grief and harmed herself.
Melanie was registered in room 226, a room Quill particularly liked. The color scheme was deep rose, celery, cream, and hunter green. There was a fine Adams-style mantel over the small brick fireplace. All the even-numbered rooms overlooked the Gorge and the waterfall. But 226 was a corner unit, and the balcony wrapped around the side of the building, so that there was a view of the rose gardens, too.
The do not disturb sign dangled from the doorknob. Quill put her ear to the door panel, knocked loudly, and called, “Melanie?”
No answer.
Quill knocked again, and then grabbed the doorknob. “Melanie? It’s Sarah McHale. I’m going to come into your room now. I want to see that you’re all right.”
Somebody stirred behind the door. Then, Melanie’s voice, angry and hoarse: “Go away!”
“I’m sorry, but I have to come in. We’re concerned about you. Are you ready? I’m putting the key in the lock.”
She opened the door to the scent of fresh air. The French doors to the balcony were open. Quill felt a stab of fear—the girl wouldn’t have flung herself over the side, would she? She hurried in, and then stopped. Melanie was on the bed, the duvet pulled up around her shoulders. The red dress she had worn the night of the murder was flung onto the bureau. Wadded Kleenex littered the floor. A service tray piled with dirty dishes sat on the small round table near the balcony. The air near the bed smelled of shampoo.
“Leave me alone!”
Quill went into the bathroom. Used towels littered the floor. She took a washcloth from the wicker basket on the sink, rinsed it in cool water and wrung it out. She went back into the bedroom, drew the occasional chair up to the bed and sat down.
“Are you deaf? I said leave me alone!”
“I can’t do that, Melanie. I’m very concerned about you.” Quill drew the duvet down around the girl’s shoulders. Melanie’s face was clean. Her hair was combed. She wore a long T-shirt with a unicorn on it. Quill patted her cheeks with the washcloth.
“I know you feel terrible about Edmund’s death.”
Melanie closed her eyes. “She did it,” she hissed. “That bitch. She knew he wanted me. He was going to marry me, not her. She knew it. She couldn’t stand it. If she couldn’t have him, she wasn’t going to let anyone else have him.”
Quill wiped her face, then took Melanie’s hands one at a time, and ran the cloth over her closed fists.
Rose Ellen’s wedding rings were on her third finger, left hand.
Quill unfolded her fingers gently one by one. Melanie stared down at her palm. “He bought them for me, you know.”
“Here, let me help you sit up.”
Quill put her arm around her shoulders and eased her up against the headboard.
“The thing is, they don’t fit.” Melanie tugged at the rings. “They’re too tight.”
“Rose Ellen’s fingers are pretty small.”
Melanie stared at her. “He didn’t buy them for her. He bought them for me. Edmund was always forgetting things like my ring size. I’m his assistant. I had to do things like that for him.”
“Did you order the rings for him?’
“No.” Her eyes shifted away from Quill’s steady gaze. “They were supposed to be a surprise for me, I think.”
“How did you find out about the surprise?”
“We were all at dinner. Rose Ellen started talking about rings, rings, rings to Jukka Angstrom, and she was whining that Edmund wouldn’t give them to her to wear so she could show them off. He was just stringing her along. He meant to give them to me the whole time. So I got up to go to the bathroom, only I went to his room and took the rings. So she wouldn’t get them. The cuff links, too. As a keepsake until we were together.”
“Why did you go down the fire escape?”
She darted a glance at Quill. “Who says I went down the fire escape?”
“I heard you.”
She shrugged. “Edmund hated not having the elevators come right away when he wanted them so he kept propping them open on the second floor. He insisted that I always use the stairs. There was somebody on the inside stairs when I left, so I ran up one floor and got stuck when the people below kept on coming up. The fire escape was the best way out.”
Quill studied the clean hair, the fresh T-shirt, and remembered what Meg had said about Melanie’s frequent use of the room service menu. “You know that Edmund was murdered, don’t you?”
The big blue eyes welled over. Melanie wailed, “Yes. She did it! She slaughtered him.”
“Actually,” Quill said coolly, “the police suspect you.”
Melanie froze with her mouth open. Then she shoved herself upright. “What!”
“It’s a pretty familiar motive,” Quill continued, “and you know small-town policemen. Wealthy girl from the city. Crush on her boss. Boss falls in love with somebody else.
She poisons him. How did you express it? ‘If she couldn’t have him, no one else could.’”
“Who, me? Don’t be ridiculous!”
“If they find your fingerprints on the bottle, the jig’s up.”
“What bottle? What are you talking about?”
“Did Rose Ellen give you anything to hold when you were up on the second floor of her shop? She’s pretty clever and I wouldn’t put it past her to try and set you up.”
“I’ve only been in the shop once, I swear to God. And that bi—”
“Rose Ellen,” Quill said a little sternly.
“Fine, Rose Ellen, then, never even gave me a cup of tea, much less a bottle of poison.” Melanie jumped out of bed and paced around the floor. “Oh God, oh God, let me think. What did I touch when I was in there? I picked up some of the Depression glass. Is that it? Was the poison in a Depression glass? Because she must have, like, wrapped it in tissue paper or something. But I didn’t kill him, Mrs. McHale. I swear to God I didn’t.”
Quill looked at her for a while. Then she said, “Give me the rings.” Melanie scowled, but dropped them into Quill’s palm.
“Thank you. Now, tell me about Edmund Tree.”
Melanie stopped pacing and started biting her fingernails. “It’s older guys, you know? They’re so much smoother. They make things so much easier.”
“Things like intimacy?”
“Well that, sure.” She looked down at her generous breasts with a terrifying combination of world-weariness, innocence, and an unpleasant glee. “These puppies get all the guys going. Have since I was twelve years old. But it’s the other stuff. Nice cars. Great restaurants. Cool clothes. Edmund was locked into all the good clubs. I mean, with that kind of money, who wouldn’t be? He got me the job on the show because he could take me out, get me stuff, and it was all in the budget.”
Quill resisted the temptation to put her head in her hands and howl.
“He liked it, that I was so jealous of Rose Ellen,” she said with another flash of that too-adult cynicism. “So I kind of played it up. Then he’d take me somewhere really cool, just to piss her off, or he’d have the show budget spring for something extra nice. You wouldn’t believe the wheels he got for me back in New York. I suppose I’ll have to give the car up now.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder with a flick of her hand. “All the stuff belongs to the show. I guess that’s over, now that he’s dead. I could say the clothes and car are part of my salary. They were. He told me they were part of my salary.”
Dread on Arrival Page 19
