"They checked out. Nope. It's that Miss Prissy butter-wouldn't-melt-in-her mouth friend of the widow lady. Mrs. Hallenbeck's companion. A righteous woman, that Mrs. Hallenbeck, to my way of thinking. She shouldn't have to put up with a person bound for the Pit."
"You mean Mavis Collinwood? Where is she?"
"Bar. Acting no better than she should with that skirt-chasing salesman."
"Doreen, I've just finished telling you that the guests' behavior is no business of ours."
Doreen got up from the tile floor with a groan, and attacked the tub. "Will be if that poor Mrs. Hallenbeck has a heart attack from the sheer cussedness of that woman."
Quill, mindful of the alarming changes in Mavis' personality after her ingestion of Andy Bishop's Valium samples, went to the bar. The mystery of John's whereabouts would have to be put on hold. Besides, she could tackle Baumer about the phone calls. Meg was probably right.
Called The Tavern in their brochures, the bar was the most popular spot at the Inn, occupying an entire quarter of the first floor. The bar's floor and ceiling were of polished mahogany. Floor-to-ceiling windows took up the south and east walls. Quill had painted the north and west walls teal, and Meg had persuaded her to hang a half dozen of her larger acrylics on the jewel-toned walls.
When Quill left her career as an artist, she'd been heralded as the successor to Georgia O'Keeffe. "A small stride forward in the school of magic realism," wrote the critic in Art Review. The brilliance of the yellows, oranges, and scarlets of her Flower Series leaped out from the walls with exuberance.
Some weeks, when Quill longed for the rush of her old studio in Manhattan, she avoided The Tavern altogether; at other times, she sat in the bar and took a guilty pleasure in her work.
It was early for the bar trade, but the tourists had started arriving for History Days, and the room was full. At first, Quill didn't see Mavis and Baumer. When she did, she wondered how she could have missed them.
Mavis had bloomed like the last rose of summer. Gone were the prim collars, the below-the-knee print skirts, the spray-stiffened hair. Mavis' full bosom spilled out of a black T-shirt with an illuminated teddy bear on the front. Quill couldn't imagine where Mavis had tucked the batteries. The T-shirt was pulled over a pair of black stirrup pants. Mavis' high-heeled shoes were a screaming red suede with bows at the ankles.
"Coo-eee!" Mavis called, waving her hand at Quill. Nate, the bartender, gave Quill a wry grin and a shrug. Quill leaned over the marble bartop and whispered, "How long have they been here?"
"Through two Manhattans for the gentleman and two mint - "
"Don't say it!" groaned Quill.
" - juleps for the lady."
"Nobody drinks mint juleps, Nate. Not willingly, anyway."
"That's one dedicated Southerner, I guess."
"As far as I know, she's still taking that Valium Doc Bishop prescribed for her," said Quill. "Keep an eye on them, will you?"
"Hard not to," said Nate. "I can short the drinks, if you want."
"If you do, short the bar tab, too." Quill threaded her way through the tables and sat down next to Keith Baumer. "Did you and Mrs. Hallenbeck get a decent night's sleep, Mavis?"
"I did, I guess. I don't know about the old bat. She was up walking around awful early, I can tell you that."
"Best part of the day," said Baumer genially. "I'm up at six and out for a walk every morning. Get a head start on my work."
"Does your business include a lot of out-of-town phone calls?" Quill asked coolly.
Baumer showed his teeth in what might have been a grin. "Lots." He raised his hand and shouted, "Barkeep! Another round for us. And I'd like to buy you a drink, Ms. Quilliam. What's your poison?"
"Nate will bring me a cup of coffee. Mavis, about last night - "
"Wasn't it awful?" Mavis' eyes filled with ready tears. "That poor, poor man. I'd only met him that day. But he was such a friendly soul. So open, so candid in his needs. I declare, it was like seeing a dear friend pass."
Baumer gripped her knee with a proprietary air. "Comfort is what you need, Mave. And I've got just the ticket."
Mavis dimpled at him. Nate set drinks and a plate of hors d'oeuvres on the table, a signal he had shorted the liquor in at least Mavis' mint julep. "Compliments of the house, Mr. Baumer."
"Hold it, hold it, my man. Let's see what we have here." Baumer poked disparagingly through the food. "Stuffed mush- rooms, for God's sake. You'd think a place with this kind of reputation would be a little more creative, eh? And what the hell is this? Liverwurst?" He wiggled his eyebrows at Quill.
"Meg's Country Pƒt‚," said Quill. "And that's pork rillette, and anchovy paste on sourdough."
Baumer stuffed a mushroom in his mouth, chewed, and grunted, "Not bad. I've had better. But not bad. Here, kiddo, sink your teeth into this." He offered Mavis a pork rillette.
Quill, contemplating Mavis, remembered that John had seen them at the Croh Bar. Was there any connection between John's disappearance and Gil's drowning last night? Her palms went cold. "I wasn't very clear on what did happen last night, Mavis. Was Mrs. Hallenbeck with you all evening?"
Mavis scowled. "Pretty near. We went down to Marge's for dinner. It was a business meeting, you know, whatever that Nadine-person thought. Gil wanted to talk with Amelia about investing in his business."
"She doesn't act like she has that kind of money."
"Who? Amelia?" Mavis snorted, leaving a significant portion of the pork rillette on her chin. "You've got to be kidding. She's loaded."
Quill, hoping for more information, raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Well, she is. She held practically all of the stock in Doggone Good Dogs. Made out like a bandit when the company was sold."
"She did?" said Quill.
"Well, sure. Her husband must have left her a packet, although she sure acts like she's broke. Penny-pinching ol' thing." Mavis giggled uncertainly. Her eyes were glazed. Baumer solicitously helped her to the rest of her mint julep.
"So that's how you met her? You worked for her husband?"
"Who says so?" demanded Mavis suddenly. "Who says I worked for him? It's a damn lie!" She swayed a little in her chair, the teddy bear on her T-shirt blinking furiously.
Quill was going to have to sober her up before asking about John. And she sure didn't want to ask any more questions in front of the rude and inquisitive Baumer. "Are you sure you don't want to lie down, Mavis?" said Quill. "You know, Dr. Bishop thought you should take it easy for a few days."
Mavis got to her feet. She swayed a little, her face pale. "I declare, I do feel jus' a little bit woozy."
"Why don't you come and lie down in my room," said Baumer. "I can give you a back rub or something, help you sleep."
"I'll give her a hand, Mr. Baumer," said Quill coldly. "Come on,. Mavis. Alley-oop."
"Alley-oop!"
Quill propelled Mavis firmly through the bar and up the short flight of stairs to two-sixteen. She knocked briefly on the door; when no answer came from Mrs. Hallenbeck, she used her master key and pulled Mavis inside. The rooms were dark, the drapes drawn.