A Touch of the Grape: A Hemlock Falls Mystery (Hemlock Falls Mystery series) (21 page)

"And just what have the gossip mills been saying?" she asked sweetly.

"Ah. Well."

"Who was it?" Quill demanded. "You know me, Howie. When my dander's up, I don't quit."

"Dander," Howie mused. "Now there's a word from my grandmother's days."

"I've been talking all night to women who might well
be your grandmother, Howie Murchison. So. Was it Es
ther at one of her shrimp and mayonnaise lunches you
don't think anyone knows about? Or was it Miriam Doncaster, at an
intime
little dinner in Syracuse? Who's been
talking about us?"

"Does everybody in town know about my dates?"

"That," said Quill ruthlessly, "is the price you pay for being an eligible bachelor. About the gossip: You tell me what you've heard, and I'll tell you if it's true."

"That your mortgage's a month overdue." "Blabbermouth Jefferson. And he's right. And?"

"That you're furious with Marge because she made an offer to buy out the Inn and you think she's trying to drive you out of business."

"Esther," said Quill. "And John?"

"That you rejected John for Myles, and he's run off to nurse a broken heart in Grand Rapids. No, call me a liar. Long Island, that was it."

"That either came from my very own dear sister or Miriam Doncaster. Probably Miriam. Trust the town librarian for the romantic view."

"Are you in trouble. Quill?"

She closed her eyes. She could see Howie sitting in his leather armchair, gray, balding, slightly paunchy.
He'd have on his disgraceful loafers and be drinking one
more glass of wine than he should. "I'll manage, Howie."

"You call me if you need me. My pension's secure. I don't need the fee."

"You're a sweetie. Now. Just let me be sure I understand this. One, under the circumstances I described to
you, this Mr. Vinge would definitely owe the Crafty La
dies a substantial sum of money if he took their ideas and used them to change his business procedures. Oh, and if he profited by the ideas."

"That's not exactly what I said, but it'll do."

"Two. If there are no Crafty Ladies around to make the claim, he's home free."

"That's an assumption you made. Quill, not I." "Hey, it gives me enough to start on. I've got to solve this case, Howie. I know what you didn't tell me about town gossip. That Meg and I set that fire for the insurance money. We didn't."

"I take it you two are planning on solving this case?"

"We don't get that money unless I clear our name. We need it. But there's worse, Howie. I'm afraid there are going to be more murders. What do you think of that?"

He sighed. "You have any idea when Myles will be back?"

"Nope. I can handle this on my own. Thanks, Howie.
You can go to bed now."

"I'm going to. Take care of yourself."

It was late, after eleven. Quill prowled the Inn, making sure the doors were locked and the windows shut and bolted from the inside. Max had disappeared again, sometime earlier. Quill hoped he wasn't after more chickens. Farmers in Hemlock Falls shot dogs who chased their chickens. She wondered who had let him
out, and then recalled the door. His makeshift dog door;
damn it all. She got a hammer from the kitchen tool kit, went into the Tavern Bar and crawled under the table concealing the hole. She'd have to ask Mike to take care of it in the morning. In the meantime, she whacked a few fourpenny nails in place and tested the frame by pushing hard against it. It held.

She went to her room, suddenly exhausted. She forced herself to brush her teeth, shower, then fell into bed. She looked at the clock: 12:30, and Meg would need help in
the kitchen at six.

She slept.

"Dammit, Max!" she said. She pushed at the source of the warm breath on her cheek and rolled over. She
pulled the covers over her head. Something pulled them
down. Furious, she sat up and turned on the bedside lamp.

"Who the hell is Max?"

"Myles!" She held out her arms. "Oh, thank goodness. Myles!"

The thin spring moon spread a fan of pale light across the floor. Quill lay with her head against Myles' shoulder. She rubbed her cheek across his bare chest.

"Max snores," Myles said.

Quill propped herself on her elbow and looked over her side of the bed. Max lay tucked in a ball on the
floor. His forepaws jerked. He was dreaming. She really did have to get the window under the table in the Tavern Bar fixed; maybe Myles could fit it with a spring hinge.
She turned to look at Myles, a broad-shouldered shape in the dark. He hadn't really taken to Max yet. As a
matter of fact, nobody had. Maybe she'd try again to fix
the dog door herself. "I've been meaning to give him a bath." She yawned. "What time is it?" She felt him move and stretch an arm out to the bedside table.

"Two o'clock."

She rolled over and ran her hands down each side of his neck, then rested her palms on the heavy muscles there. "Men are denser than women."

"That may be very true." He tightened his arms around her. She could feel him laughing.

"I meant muscle-wise. Flesh-wise." She reached down and touched the length of him. "Soft-tissue-wise."

"You feel lighter. Have you lost weight?"

"I don't think so. Although it'd be the only good thing to come out of this sorry mess."

"You get any thinner and I'll have a talk with Andy Bishop. Why don't you tell me about the sorry mess."

"You need to sleep, my dearest dear. How long was the flight from Frankfurt?"

"Seven hours. Another two at Kennedy, and then an hour to Syracuse. Not bad."

She didn't want to ask the question, but she did. "When do you have to go back? Let me rephrase that." She sat up and put on a streetwise accent. "So, sailor. How long ya in town for?"

"A week or two. Maybe more. A lot depends on the situation in Bonn."

He wouldn't tell her more than that. He never did. "You didn't come back because you thought I was in trouble, did you?"

His hands were rough, large, callused. She loved his
hands. He picked up the hair from the back of her neck,
kissed her there, then ran one hand down her back in a long gentle stroke. "I told Carter I had a family emergency."

She turned and glared at him in the dark.

"But there's a great deal for me to do in Washington. I switched assignments with Moorhouse in D.C. So I'm back in the States for the duration of the assignment. How long I'm in Hemlock Falls depends on how much I can get accomplished online."

She didn't say anything, thinking this over.

He made a movement, oddly tentative for a man of his size and assurance. "You might consider, Quill, that I'm a part of your life. Of all your life. There isn't one category just for lovers, and a separate category for innkeeper, and a third for artist. They're all integrated. Or they should be. And don't confuse my presence with interference. When have I ever made a decision for you?"

She sighed.

"So I'll be here, but just at the times when it's right."

"Right," she said reflectively.

"Right. As in appropriate, fitting, usual. For example:
'Myles, I need to talk to you about this,' or 'Myles, this was not a good day. Do you want to hear why?' or, better yet—'Myles, I had a great day. How was yours?' " He stopped stroking her back and gave her a light, affectionate slap. "It's easy. Now get me something to eat, woman."

She threw on a robe, switched on the lights, and went
to her refrigerator. Max followed, delighted to have hu
man company at this hour, and peered in the opened door with her. "Cheese omelet with toast?"

"Sounds fine."

Myles kept very few clothes in her suite: some shaving gear, a few shirts. He pulled on the robe she kept for him and sat at her small kitchen table, long legs stretched out, his gray eyes narrowed. She gave him a succinct account of the past week's events while she cooked.

Quill poured them both some orange juice, divided
the omelet neatly in half, and put the plates on the table.
"That's it." She rubbed her face with both hands. "Between the financial mess and those poor women, it's
been quite a week." She felt her face grow warm with
indignation. "Dookie Shuttleworth is right, you know. The love of money is the root of all evil. This Vinge
finds a few women in the way of his profits and phhht!"
She snapped her fingers. "Get them out of the way. Marge Schmidt sees a chance to pick off eight years of Meg's hard work and bloody! Friendship goes out the window."

"What is the financial situation exactly? John told me
it's fairly serious."

Quill closed her eyes. "It's two o'clock in the morning, Myles. It's the wrong time to talk about the financials."

He laughed a little. "Not if the State's going to nail
the doors shut tomorrow morning. Can you make payroll
this week?"

"John made arrangements with that computer service in town to issue paychecks to Doreen, Kathleen, and Bjarne. Meg and I are on very short rations. I'm sure the company will call me if that changes. He did say he'd set aside a minimum payroll until the end of the summer. Then, I don't know."

"And the other bills? You've missed one mortgage payment. Mark Jefferson isn't going to start pressuring you until you're three or four months in arrears."

"I know we'd be fine for the summer if Burke would just issue that check. And, Myles, by then we'd have a much better handle on the grant from the governor's office. And I know Marge wouldn't be so interested in buying us out if she didn't count on a lot of money
coming in from private investors after the grant money's
in circulation. I didn't tell you about Thorne Smith, did I?"

"Thorne Smith?" He drew his eyebrows together. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

"Beats me. He's an investment advisor from a big Boston firm. He seems to be here because of the Winegrowers' Association."

"What's the name of the firm?"

Quill told him, then asked if he recognized it.

"No. But I'll check."

"He looks successful, behaves with confidence …" She rubbed her nose. "Gee, that name sounds familiar to me, too. Hang on a minute." Her kitchen was divided from her small living room by a breakfast counter. She
stored her own laptop computer under one of the shelves.
Myles watched as she dragged it out and logged on.

"I do have a question, however. What was the purpose of the meeting at Summerhill yesterday?"

"Why …" Quill hesitated, thinking while her modem connected with the Internet. "I don't know."

"Before Meg got edgy, Marge said what, exactly?"

"She wanted to plan how to use the four million dol
lars."

"She never got a chance to explain?"

"No. Come to think of it …"

He waited, drinking his orange juice. Quill stared at the computer screen, then absently keyed in the address of the New York City Public Library. "Who was the fellow who looked around in wild surmise upon a peak in Darien?"

"Stout Cortez. And I believe the poet was referring to his tenacity, not his girth. Why do you ask?"

"Because Meg and I engaged in some. Wild surmise,
that is. When I think about it, neither Meg nor I have the least idea what Marge had in mind. For all I know,
she and the Summerhills wanted to use the money to
establish a charity for the restoration of impoverished
inns. We just assumed that they wanted it all for them
selves." She closed her eyes in chagrin. "Oh, dear. Oh,
dear.
Would you look at me? This financial crisis is uncovering some very unpleasant parts of my character."

"Financial distress can twist the best of us."

"I'm embarrassed."

He smiled. "Why don't you sit down with Marge and Hugh and ask them what they have in mind?"

"I'll go out to the winery today."

"I love it when you're humble, Quill. While you're in this unusually abashed and vulnerable state, why don't you let me loan you the fifty thousand that's due from Burke?"

"No."

This didn't seem to surprise him. He finished his omelet, then said, "The bank won't loan you the money on it unless Burke is willing to guarantee payment. Since the arson investigation is still open, that guarantee isn't going to happen. One way or another, the check will eventually come in. You need it. You know what can
happen if you don't make payroll. Quill. The State can—
and will—put a lock on your front door. John would advise you to take this loan. My interest rates," he said with a grin, "are pretty low."

"I don't like it."

"It's a good idea for a lot of reasons. It'll take the money pressure off temporarily. You're going to have to make some changes at the Inn, that's clear. But you want a clear head and a rational state of mind to do that. Hard to sustain if you're fending off creditors."