A Touch of the Grape: A Hemlock Falls Mystery (Hemlock Falls Mystery series) (9 page)

"And thank you for letting us keep the Inn open."
Meg took two slices of sourdough bread from the basket
in the center of the table and set them on Denny's plate with a smile. Quill kicked her in exasperation. "I—ow! What'd you do that for?!"

Denny set his fork down with a stem expression, a man on a mission. "No, don't you thank me for that,
Meg. You thank that interfering lawyer Howie Murchi
son. I told him and I'm a-telling you …"

"That's
why!" Quill hissed.

"… s'not right to keep the premises open when the origin of a suspicious fire has not yet been determined."

"That's why I kicked you," Quill said.

"And it's going to take a whiles to determine what happened, too. You heard from Sher'f McHale yet. Quill?"

"I called him about the fire this morning, Denny. And
he's not sheriff anymore, you know."

"I don't know that you could call Davy Kiddermeister a sheriff," Denny grunted. "Just a kid. Don't seem to know his ass from a hole in the ground, if you'll excuse the language, ladies. Thing is, Myles is good at this sort of stuff. I mean, it's the kind of thing he gets paid for now, right? Investigations. I was just wondering when he was headed back this way. Sher'f McHale, he
wouldn't have let no lawyer bamboozle him into keeping
the scene of a suspicious incident open. Nossir. He would have kep' this place closed up right and tight. Like it should be."

Quill looked around the dining room. It was late, after three, but the lunch crowd had been substantial, and they had had to turn people away even after the third sitting. The remnants of the crowd, including the four remaining
Crafty Ladies, were still eating. She'd had to call in all the help they'd laid off the month before, and more.
None of her employees had turned down the opportunity to be included, however peripherally, at the scene of the tragedy. Quill doubted that their willing responses were
due to the effectiveness of her Termination techniques. Quill's own reaction to disaster had always been to re
treat to a discreet distance until the fuss was over; every
one else's seemed to be to crowd in and watch. Human beings—and their curiosity—never failed to amaze her.

"Myles offered to come home, of course," Quill said. "But I told him I don't think it's really necessary."

"You let me talk to him next time he calls," Denny said. "I'll let him know how necessary it is. We got ourselves a murderer here, plain and simple. That fire was set, sure as I'm the volunteer fire chief of the Hem
lock Falls Volunteer Fire Department, and that poor lady
murdered in her bed."

"Why didn't she just get up and get out?" Quill asked. "That's what's been bothering me. Was she that heavy a sleeper?"

"Andy said the autopsy wouldn't be finished until tomorrow." Meg ran both hands through her hair. "We won't know cause of death until then, and until we do— maybe it was just vandalism or something. Maybe the murder part was unintentional."

"Ladies, Chief." Rocky Burke approached the table, unsmiling, rumpled, his briefcase clutched in his hand. "Rocky Burke, Burke's Insurance. Mind if I sit down for a bit?"

"Siddown right here," Doreen said, pleased. She hitched her chair over to provide room for him. He sat down primly, holding his briefcase in his lap. "You got a check for us, mister?" Burke frowned. Doreen shook an admonitory finger in his face. "Now, you look and look smart—"

"Doreen," Quill said.

"—I got experience with you bozos, and I know how
you all like to weasel outta your commitments."

"Doreen!" Quill said.

"You wrote us that fire policy last night, and it's as
good as gold. I talked to Howie Murchison myself this
morning and you owe what you owe. So pay up." She turned to Denny with a grim smile. "We can sure use that check for payroll this week, I can tell you. This is going to he'p cash flow quite a bit. Quite a bit."

"DoREEN!" Quill shouted.

"I've done a preliminary estimate," Mr. Burke said stiffly. "But I have to tell you, Mrs. Stoker, that I am
advising my company to withhold payment until the investigation is completed. The circumstances surrounding
the taking out of this very expensive policy, and the
discovery I've since made that your Inn is in a great deal of financial trouble have created suspicions. Yes, I have
grave suspicions."

"You what?" Fortunately, Quill thought, Doreen's mop was safely stowed in the kitchen. By the time she
went to retrieve it and came back, Quill could have the
hapless Mr. Burke safely out of the way.

Doreen bent her head and gave Mr. Burke the full benefit of the Glare. "You try any tricks. Rocky Burke of Burke's Insurance, and you're gonna see your puss
spread all over the front page of the
Hemlock Falls Ga
zette.
And you ain't gonna like what you read."

"What?!" Mr. Burke—who'd looked rumpled and
exhausted after a sleepless night calculating his losses—
now looked rumpled, exhausted, and pissed off.

"My husband. Third husband. Axminster Stoker.
Publisher and editor-in-chief of our newspaper. And I," Doreen said grandly, "have bin named special corre
spondent to the Inn. Just this morning. So you watch yourself, smart guy. When the media's on the trail, the buck stops here."

"And other mixed metaphors," Meg said cheerfully.

"Suspicions?" Denny said alertly. "Of the girls, here?"

"Wimmin, you bozo," Doreen said. "Watch your tongue, or I'll get the Ax after you, too. For harassment."

"That," said Quill, rising to her feet, "is bloody well
enough. Doreen, I want you to supervise the cleaning on
the third floor …"

Denny pounded his fist on the table. "Oh, no,
oh,
no. Don't you touch that room."

"… and stay out of the room in question."

"Huh," Doreen said belligerently.

Quill turned conciliatory. "Doreen, we've got the backup cleaning crew in, and you know what they're like."

"Bozos," Doreen said darkly. "You're right. They
don't know shit from shinola, those girls. I'll git my mop
and git up there."

"Good. And thanks. Oh, and Doreen?" she called after the housekeeper's retreating back. "Don't hit them, okay? They're doing the best that they can."

"You should keep a better handle on your help, Cookie," Mr. Burke said sulkily. "That attitude of hers is going in the report, too."

"Just what sort of information do you need for this report of yours, Mr. Burke?" Meg popped a strawberry in her mouth and regarded him with wide eyes.

"That's for me to know, and you to find out." He reached for a strawberry. Meg slapped his hand away. "Hey!"

"For guests of the Inn, only."

"You gave the fire chief all he wanted. He's making a pig of himself. Just look at him." Denny grinned through a mouthful of strawberries. "And I'm a guest at the Inn."

"You've extended your stay?"

"You bet your"—he searched for a less belligerent
word—"bippy I extended my stay. Until I know for sure
this is a fraudulent claim. Preliminary estimates on this little caper of yours add up to a good fifty thousand." He scowled. "All those damn antiques. And labor. You
know what even a half-assed carpenter costs these days?
And we're required to pay the union rate even though"—he lowered his voice and hissed fiercely— "even though I know
darn
well your basic type of insured gets his uncle Al to do it for minimum wage."

"We don't have an uncle Al," Meg said. "But if we did, I can assure you we'd pay the going rate. Okay. If you're staying, have a strawberry. Have," Meg said generously, "two."

"Is there any help we can give you, Mr. Burke?" Quill rubbed the back of her neck. She was tired. She was really tired. She wished that she'd given in to impulse and said to Myles: "Please, yes, come home NOW." "I know it looks suspicious. But honestly. We didn't set that fire. You can't believe my sister and I would do anything like that for any kind of money."

"You'd be surprised at what people will do for money."

Denny grunted agreement.

Quill thought about this, then said, "No, I guess I wouldn't. I've seen a lot of people do a lot of horrible things for money. All I'm telling you is that this isn't that kind of town. And we're not that kind of people."

Meg squeaked irrepressibly in a high falsetto, "Daddy! Clarence got his wings!"

"What the hell?" Burke said in a tired voice.

Quill made a face. "I guess I
was
sounding Pollyannaish. It's a line from Frank Capra's movie.
It's a Won
derful Life.
Meg hates that movie. Every time I start to
sound a little, um …"

"Jimmy-Stewart dorkish?" Meg asked. "Donna Reedish?"

"…
noble
is a word I like. Anyhow, she likes to poke a pin in me. So she quotes. Worse yet, she sings."

"That so?" Mr. Burke looked at Meg, and grinned suddenly. "You know what? I hate
It's a Wonderful
Life,
too. It's not an especially wonderful life, if you ask
me. Look at crime in the cities. Look at the people who think AIDS victims should be shunted away to a camp.
Look at Arab terrorists. They are all people like you and
me—which is to say, mean, rotten, and dirty as dogs."

Meg grinned back and slid him the entire fruit bowl.

Quill shook her head, covered her face with her hands,
and muttered, "I get it, Mr. Burke. You don't know us from Arab terrorists. We could be bad guys in innocent
young women suits, for all you know. So. Stick around.
Poke your nose into anything you want We'll be right behind you. Because if the fire chief is right, and this was a deliberate murder, somebody set that fire to burn poor Ellen Dunbarton to a crisp. And somebody should find out who."

A slender young girl with brown hair and big eyes sidled softly up to the table. "Quill? I'm sorry to interrupt. There's quite a few people from town to see you."

Meg leaped to her feet with a whoop. "Yes! Dina Muir, returned from the world of the laid-off, downsized, and unemployed. Returned to her job as receptionist. It's good to see you." Meg grabbed Dina in a hug. "Are you glad to be back? I'm sure glad to see you. And I don't know how long the business generated by these curiosity-seekers is going to last, but I'm sure happy to see you now. Was it horrible, being unemployed?"

"Um," said Dina. "Not really." She was growing her hair long again, and she wound a piece around her finger. "I, like, was getting unemployment, you know? And, like, the check? Almost the same as my pay here. And I didn't have to, like, work for it. I got a lot of
work done on my thesis. Anyhow." She turned to Quill.
"It's the Reverend Mr. Shuttleworth? And like that? They said if you were busy or harassed or whatever, they'd come back later. I said you were eating lunch."

"You should have asked them to come in." Quill got to her feet. "I'll go see them. Unless you need me anymore, Mr. Burke? Denny?" Rocky Burke shook his
head. Denny, who had retired to the silent and efficient
disposal of his lunch, shook his head and grinned. Bits of pate fell on his shirt. "Where are they, Dina?"

"I stuck them in the conference center. It looks like it's the whole darn Chamber of Commerce."

It wasn't the entire Hemlock Falls Chamber of Com
merce—which numbered twenty-four—but it was the
regulars, plus one new member Quill was very glad to
see: Selena Summerhill. Quill smiled at them all: Mayor
Elmer Henry; Dookie Shuttleworth, the Minister of the Church of the Word of God; Miriam Doncaster, the librarian; Esther West, owner of the West's Best Dress Shoppe; Harvey Bozzel, president of Hemlock Falls' best (and only) advertising agency. She was even glad to see Marge Schmidt and Betty Hall, co-owners of the Hemlock Home Diner.

Selena Summerhill, glowing and elegant in a dark ol
ive linen pantsuit, her black hair knotted in a smooth
chignon in the back, clasped her hands and murmured,
"Terrible, Quill. This is just terrible. I said that to my Hugh this morning, and he thought I should come to offer help."

"I'm glad you did."

They were seated in their old, familiar spots around the conference room table. When Quill walked to her own place at the far end, they all stood, and one by one shook her hand as she passed by.

"Hey, guys." Quill accepted an embrace from Harvey, resisting the impulse to muss up his careful blond
hair. She shook hands with the mayor, kissed Dookie on
the cheek, hugged Miriam with genuine affection, and squeezed Betty Hall's shoulder. She exchanged significant looks with Marge.

"Siddown, everyone," Marge growled. Even if Marge didn't have the personality of General Sherman's
younger (and meaner) brother, her massive jaw, column-
shaped figure, and steely eyes would have made her a commanding presence. When Marge told you to "siddown," you did. Especially Mayor Henry, who felt (not wrongly) that the moment Marge decided to run for mayor, he might as well pack up his Samsonite and retire to Zolfo Springs, Florida, where his older brother ran a trailer park. The mayor sat. Everyone, including Quill, sat, too.