"Elaina lay face down in the middle of the kitchen floor. I kicked in the lock. Went to her. Called her name. I turned her over." A shiver went through him. It didn't reach his face. Quill swallowed, and dug her nails into her hands.
"Tomatoes get hot. He'd thrown the chili into her face, after hitting her with the pot, I guess. She was burned, from her temple, here" - he touched his own - "to her chin. Later, we found out that she'd lost the sight of one eye. That pretty face. Gone.
"I shouted. I shouted again. I could hear the TV yowling from the living room. I ran in. Jackie was passed out on the couch. His mouth was open. He was snoring. There was tomato sauce down his shirt, on his hands. I beat him to death. And they sent me to prison."
Quill was cold. She couldn't speak. "Why don't I make you something to eat?" She went to her small kitchenette and busied herself. When she returned, she brought a small bowl of soup.
John sipped it, then said, "It didn't make a big splash in the papers. But everyone in the company knew, of course. And that included Mavis. "Mavis had a nice little sideline going."
"She was Human Resources Director, wasn't she?" Quill's voice was rusty. She cleared her throat.
"The employees had a joke. That she directed the resources into her own pocket. Nobody knew how much money she made, but she was in a position to find out things. And she did. Have a little problem with your former employer? Mavis would approve your hiring on the condition that ten per cent of your pay check be turned over to her, every Friday. Swipe a few cartons of frozen meat from the storeroom? Same deal. You couldn't turn her in without turning yourself in. And nobody complained, of course. Nobody in management knew, or at least I like to think they didn't. I sure didn't find out until I came to work here. She tracked me down and gave me a call."
"She was blackmailing you?"
"Mavis was blackmailing everybody. By that time, she'd weaseled herself into the old lady's back pocket, and when the old man was alive, you couldn't touch her. Mavis had something on the guy who took over the accounting after I left - I don't know what it was, but it gave her access to the books. And she cooked them. Three hundred thousand dollars were missing soon after I went to jail. After I got out, she called me, and sent me documents that "proved" I'd been systematically bleeding the company during my time as head of accounting. A small monthly stipend, she said, would keep this news from my current employer."
"I wouldn't have believed it for a second," said Quill indignantly.
"No? How well do you know me? I've been here less than a year, Quill. And if you'd been approached by a woman with proof of my prison trial, my alcoholism, and 'proof' I'd diverted three hundred thousand dollars for my private use, what would you have done? What would anybody have done? I would have stopped you from hiring someone like that myself."
"I would have asked where the three hundred thousand went," said Quill. "The way you live it's obvious you haven't got it."
"Mavis had that covered, too. Elaina is... not right. She's been in a hospital down in Westchester for a long time. The state pays a part of it, but it's not enough." He reddened. "Gil and Marge and most of my clients pay me in cash. My income from my business is unrecorded, and I pay it directly to the institution. It'd be a bit of a job to prove where that money came from - and get a lot of other people into tax trouble."
"So between Mavis and your sister, it must be quite a stretch to make enough money to live."
"I live pretty well, Quill. Except for the lack of junk food. I think we should try to convince Meg to add potato skins to the appetizer menu."
"The kind loaded with Baco-s," said Quill. "No problem."
"You want to tell her, or shall I?"
"Flip you for it."
The lighthearted game wasn't working. Quill set her coffee cup on the end table. "So you must have been pretty upset when she showed up here."
"Quite a motive for murder," John agreed. "Quill, on my sister's life, I didn't kill Mavis. And I didn't kill Gil."
"Then we'll have to figure out who did."
"The woman of action," mused John. "I haven't seen you like this before, Quill."
"Well, there aren't that many crimes to solve in Hemlock Falls."
"Just put one in front of you, and you drop your normally diffident manner and charge?" John asked. "I mean, I have heard the story about the kindergartener's protest march, but I thought it was apocryphal, at least until now."
"Hah," said Quill. "Let me bring you up to date."
She summarized the discovery of the photograph among Gil's effects, the conversations with Tom, Nadine, and Myles, and Marge's disclosure at the Chamber meeting. Her review of the deadly conclusion to The Trial of Goody Martin was succinct but accurate.
"So you believe that Baumer and Marge are the likeliest suspects, with Tom Peterson running a poor third just because he had the opportunity."
"Don't you? I mean, that matchbook's pretty significant."
"There's an old saying in the audit business, Quilclass="underline" 'Follow the money.' When I left here Friday, I was in a panic." He smiled slightly. "Not usual for me, I know. But I thought if I could find out what happened to that three hundred thousand three years ago, I might be able to discover who was being squeezed by Mavis badly enough to kill her."
"It did occur to you, didn't it, that Mavis took it herself?"
He hesitated. "It's possible. But I don't think so. I have a friend who's pretty good on the computer. We got into Mavis' financial records this morning. If she did have it, she doesn't have it now. Mavis is just about broke. She needed that job with Mrs. Hallenbeck."
"But what about the money you sent her?"
He shrugged. "A couple of hundred dollars a month. I found that, all right, along with a few other contributors to Mavis' nest egg, who are more than likely in the same position I am myself. She appeared to be taking in about eight hundred a month. That's enough to keep her in red lipstick and mid-range designer clothes, but that's it."
Quill hesitated to ask the next question. Somehow, theorizing in the perennial garden was a lot different than a cold discussion of facts with your accountant. "What about Marge? Was she being blackmailed, too?"
"I don't know. I was reviewing records of deposits, Quill, and they don't list the origin of the money in any bank I ever heard of. If I have a little more time, I can take a look around Marge's accounts." He shook his head. "I have a hard time believing it, though. Two hundred a month is a pretty slim motive for murder. Then there's the fact that I like Marge. I've known likable murderers in the joint, but I can't believe she'd have to resort to killing Mavis to get rid of her."
Quill explained her theories. John, unlike certain sheriffs she could name, listened with interest.
"Baumer's a possibility. The guy dresses like he's on the edge. Tom Peterson? I don't know. The partnership..." He stopped.
Quill waited. "What? What about the partnership, John? Don't stop now. We may solve this, just sitting here!"
"You mustn't repeat any of this, Quill. When people hire me to handle their books, they trust me with a fundamental part of themselves."