"Who's there?" called a timid voice.
"It's me, Mrs. Hallenbeck. I've brought Mavis up for a nap." Quill eased Mavis, by now half-asleep, onto the bed. The connecting door opened, and Mrs. Hallenbeck peered fearfully into the room.
"She is not drunk again, is she?"
Quill pulled the bedspread over the blinking T-shirt. Mavis looked up blearily. "Amelia? I'm sorry, sugar. Guess I had a li'l too much to drink. We'll go for your walk in a bit. I jus' need a snooze." She closed her eyes, then popped them open again. "Amelia? You're not an ol' bat." She sighed, "I'm the ol' bat," and began to snore.
Even die-hard aging Southern belles look vulnerable in sleep.
Quill decided John couldn't possibly be involved with this woman, or what had happened last night. She knew, abruptly, that what she most wanted was the Inn back the way it was before Mavis' catastrophic transformation into Southern sex kitten of the year. And the key to that was Mrs. Hallenbeck.
"Mrs. Hallenbeck? Could I talk to you a minute?"
"Of course, dear. Please come in."
Quill followed her into 214, closing the door behind her. "Would you like me to open the drapes? It's a beautiful day outside." She pulled the drape cord, and sunshine flooded into the room.
Mrs. Hallenbeck was dressed for walking in a beige trouser suit. She sat down at the little tea table. Her face was stem. "So many terrible things have been happening, Sarah. I was just sitting here in the dark, thinking about them. What's going to happen next? That dreadful accident last night. That Gil person. And Mavis behaving so oddly." Her lips trembled. "Sometimes I think I want to go home. But then I think, what would I do without you, my dear, and your lovely paintings, and your wonderful care of me, and I know we're doing the right thing by staying here."
"As a practical matter, I'm afraid Mavis doesn't have much choice. She'll have to testify at the inquest. But right after- wards, you and Mavis can go on with your vacation."
"Oh, no," said Mrs. Hallenbeck firmly. "Mavis has behaved in a wholly unacceptable manner. I would like you to come with me, dear. That would be wonderful. We could have a very good time together."
"I have the Inn to run, and my sister to take care of," said Quill gently. "But surely you don't want to abandon Mavis after all you've been through together?"
"Mavis? I'm through with Mavis." Mrs. Hallenbeck shuddered. "Her friends make me suspicious. Sometimes I think she's going mad."
"Hardly that," said Quill. "But I do think she's not quite herself." Quill experienced a flash of doubt. What if Mavis was a con artist, out to bilk an old lady?
"Have you had these kinds of problems before in your travels? I mean, Mavis introducing you to" - Quill searched for the right, unalarming words - "potential investors?"
Mrs. Hallenbeck sent her a sudden, shrewd look. "You do not get to my age and stage, Sarah, by handing over large checks to boobs like that car salesman. That is not the problem, although Mavis would certainly like me to buy her friends for her. No. The problem is finding someone sympathetic to be with when you're old. Do you know..." Her lips worked, and the large blue eyes filled with tears. "I loathe it. How did I get to be eighty-three? Why, I look in the mirror, and I expect to see the girl I was at seventeen. Instead... this." She swept her hand in front of her face.
"You have a beautiful face," said Quill. "There is a great dignity in your age. We're all going to get there, Amelia. I just hope that when I do, I look like you."
Mrs. Hallenbeck looked at her. "Mavis used to say such things to me. When we agreed to be companions in our adventures, I thought that she cared for me. And now, everything has changed."
"She's been through quite a bit in the last few days. I think," said Quill carefully, "that she's one of those people who just reacts to the situation at hand. Do you know I what I mean? Impulsive. That she'll be fine once the inquest is over and the two of you can leave. Things will be the same as they were before." The Cornell University evening course in Interactive Skills training had emphasized something called Identification as a "tool for change." Tools for change, Quill realized, were not tire irons, but nice, tactful lies that made people want to behave better. "Identification" was a lie that made people behave by telling them you did something you didn't, so they'd feel better about changing their ways.
Quill decided to try Identification. "You know, my sister Meg and I - we fight quite a bit. We say things we don't I mean." Quill hesitated, searching for the most appropriate lie. "I'm the older sister. Sort of like you're the older sister to Mavis. And I know sometimes I get very bossy. You know, telling Meg what to wear, how to behave. I even yank on her salary once in a while, if she's not cooking exactly the things I think the guests want. But then I remember that Meg has her own needs and her own life, and that I have to let her be herself. And we get along just fine."
"You think I'm too hard on Mavis?"
Mrs. Hallenbeck, Quill realized, was very good at what the professor had called "cutting the crap." Quill patted her hand. "I should have known you'd be shrewd enough to handle poor Mavis. I should think," Quill said expansively, "that what Mavis is really looking for is guidance. She needs you, Mrs. Hallenbeck. One advantage of being your age is that you've had so much experience with people."
"Possibly you're right. I mean, about comparing this to you and your sister." She sat taller in her chair. "I shall take care of things. You know, Mavis and I have been together for many years. I shall reflect on ways and means."
Quill left Mrs. Hallenbeck and marched triumphantly to the kitchen. Meg was scowling hideously at the Specials blackboard, chalk smeared on her face.
"I am so good!" Quill said. She threw herself into the chair by the fireplace and rocked contentedly.
"What d'ya think goes best with the French onion soup?"
Quill stopped rocking. "Um. You mean the onion soup you weren't going to make because of the raw egg ban?"
"The souffl‚'s a bust. It's too humid for it. I know!" She scribbled furiously for a moment. "Potted rabbit."
"In this heat? Don't you think something lighter is better for July?"
"Lancashire's booked a party of two for dinner. And I've got fresh rabbit."
Quill rose majestically to her feet. Perhaps the improvised management tactics she'd presented to Mrs. Hallenbeck had been an inspiration; she'd never tried a firm hand with her sister before. "Meg, if you do not stop using raw egg in the food, I will dock your salary."
"You will, huh?" said Meg, unimpressed. Meg put the chalk down and looked consideringly at her sister. "I just might remind Doreen that you spend every Saturday night - all night - with a certain good-looking sheriff. She'll want to put worms up your nose, I expect."
"You wouldn't!"
"It'd be nothing less than my duty," said Meg with an air of conscious virtue. She gave her sister an affectionate grin. "So what are you good at? Not this detective stuff?"
Quill sighed. "No. Not this detective stuff."
"You agree that John's probably gone off on a toot? Poor guy, after being sober all these years, and what're you looking at me like that for? You think it's a secret? Everyone knows John goes to A.A. on Thursdays. You know that Gil's accident was just that. And you can bet that creep Baumer was probably the one who made those phone calls, out of sheer despair at your rejection of his uncouth advances."