Quill explained there'd been a drowning. The orthodontist's wife clutched her youngest offspring, an unprepossessing ten-year-old, and wanted to know if the Inn was all that safe for children. The orthodontist cleared his throat portentiously and said, as a medical man, he'd be glad to help if the accident had anything to do with teeth, gums specifically. Quill, engulfed in waves of tiredness from a second disturbed night's sleep, told everybody to please go to bed, and that breakfast in the morning would be on the house.
Keith Baumer, who'd apparently headed straight for the safety of the Inn's bar, volunteered to take the widows to their rooms. Edward Lancashire offered instead. Mavis, dimpling at them, said, "I swan!" with what she clearly thought was a delightful giggle. Mrs. Hallenbeck clutched Quill's arm and demanded that Quill see her to her room. "You must have some tea sent up, my dear, and we can have a nice, long talk."
"Quill's got an inn to run," said John. "I'll take you up, Mrs. Hallenbeck."
"Absolutely not!" said Mrs. Hallenbeck. "That is an intolerable suggestion! Quill, you will come up to my room at once."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hallenbeck," said Quill, "but I have my responsibilities here."
Keith Baumer, loud in confused explanations of why he had left the scene of the accident, escorted Mavis and Mrs. Hallenbeck upstairs.
Meg, after a close look at her sister's face, marched her into the kitchen and poured her a double brandy. John and Doreen trailed after them.
"What I don't understand is why the heck it took so long to pull Gil out of the pond," said Meg. "It's not that deep."
"Drink is the opiate of the masses;" said Doreen, apropos of nothing.
"You're mixing up Marx with the Victorians," said Meg briskly. "And what do you mean, 'drink'? If this religious stuff you've come back from vacation with is teetotal, you can just forget it. Nobody wants you charging the bar and whacking the boozers with your mop."
"If Jesus turned water into wine for the Kennedys, then he blesses those that take a nip, on occasion," said Doreen loftily. She poured a hefty belt from the brandy bottle into a coffee cup. "What I meant is, those three was down to Croh's after, eatin' at Marge's."
"Real-ly?" said Meg with interest. "Probably to help them forget what they'd had for dinner. But were they soused, you think?"
"I saw them," John volunteered. "I'd say half the town did. They were knocking them back."
"You were at Croh's?" said Meg. "Is that what you do on your nights off? I've never seen you take a drink here, John - not in all the months you've been here."
"Meg," warned Quill, "give it a rest."
"Eternal rest," mused Doreen, "rocked in the Everlasting arms."
"Poor Gil," said Meg. "Better everlasting arms than Nadine, though."
Quill choked on her brandy, and raised a hand in protest.
"So that shovel just whacked him on the back of the head and those two ladies were too smashed to pull him out of the water," Meg continued sunnily. "What a lousy accident."
"If it was an accident," said Quill. "And you didn't actually see it, Meg, so let's not joke about it, okay?"
"What do you mean, 'if it was an accident'?" said John.
"The bolt that attaches the payloader to the support was missing," said Quill. "Now, admittedly, that's an old tractor. A fifty-six or fifty-seven, somebody said. And the Petersons don't spend a lot on maintenance. But if it fell out, where was it? I investigated and I didn't find it."
"You investigated!" hooted Meg. "I should have sold all your Nancy Drews to Bernie Hofstedder in the sixth grade."
"Couldn't it have fallen into the river?" said John.
"It's not likely," said Quill crossly. "There's an enclosure there, remember? The bolt would have fallen inside the fence. I looked, and it wasn't there."
"It depends on when it came off," John persisted. "If it snapped under the tension of Gil' s weight in the ducking I stool, it could have flown quite a distance."
"Not that far," Quill said. "I looked at the one that was still in place on the other side of the tractor. That bolt has to weigh a pound at least. I just can't see something that heavy flying lover the fence into the river."
"But who'd want to kill Gil Gilmeister?" said Meg. "I mean, I other than the poor shmucks who bought cars from him. And how could anybody know that Gil and those two were going down to the duck pond for a drunken 'rehearsal'? More than that, how could this supposed murderer be sure that Gil was going to sit in the thing? The only person scheduled to use it was Mavis."
"The Devil's abroad tonight," said Doreen.
"Oh, it is not," said Meg. "Honestly, Doreen, just leave it to Myles. He'll do his usual bang-up investigation and clear it up in no time."
"Thorough, is he?" asked John.
"You haven't been with us long enough to see him in action," said Meg, "but he's just terrific. He was a senior-grade detective with the New York City police force before he moved here."
"He's too young to have retired," said John.
"He didn't retire, he quit," said Meg. "Just got fed to the back teeth. Said he was losing his sense of proportion. Thing is, he's got all kinds of great connections from his days on the force. What crime there is around here gets solved really fast."
"You didn't know about Myles, John?" asked Quill.
"Come to think of it, you two don't see much of each other," said Meg, "but you'll see him in action now. If Quill doesn't solve it first." She rolled her eyes at her sister.
John's face softened with what might have been a smile.
"I wish you luck, Quill. Here - " He dug his hand into his jeans pocket and dropped his Indian-head nickel into her palm. "Maybe this will help."
"From your grandfather, the Chief?" She wrapped her fingers around the coin. "Did you inherit any of his tracking skills? If we pooled our talents, we could solve this before Super Sheriff even files a report."
John was silent a moment. "I'll leave it to the experts. Good night, Quill, Meg." He touched Doreen briefly on the shoulder, an unusual gesture for him, and padded silently from the kitchen.
"Well, Hawkshaw, what now?" said Meg. "Shall we haul out the magnifying glass, the scene-of-the-crime kit, and the rubber hose?"
"The only thing I'm going to solve now is my fatigue. It's after one o'clock. I'm going to lock up and go to bed."
"I'll do it," said Doreen. "You look bushed. You too, Meg." She shook her head dourly, the omnipresent cigarette dripping ashes on Meg's wooden counter. "The Devil's presence is here tonight. Just like the Revrund Willy Max warned us in Boca Raton. I shall seek Satan our in the dark corners of this place."
"Be quiet about it," advised Meg, "or you'll wake up the guests."
"Maybe some of 'em should be woke up," said Doreen smacking her lips. "See the signs for their ownselves."
"The only sign I want to see is the face of my alarm clock at six A.M. tomorrow," said Meg.