That old barn door
That turned into a coffin floor..."
Quill reached over and turned the tape recorder off.
"See, what I figure is this-" said Harvey excitedly. "We get that barn door from the sheriff's office. You know that Tom Peterson would have burned that sucker if Myles hadn't gotten it away from him and held it for evidence? But the publicity, Quill! Think of it! It's the most fabulous PR campaign I've ever..."
"Stop," said Quill. Harvey stopped.
Quill took a deliberate breath. "Now. Explain to me slowly. Myles has the barn door?"
"Evidence," said Harvey, knowledgeably. "And Tom Peterson tried to burn it?"
"He was upset, he said. Want'd to get rid of the dang thing."
"Hmm," said Quill. "Now that is very interesting."
"Am I interrupting anything?" Myles eased in the door. "Hello, Harvey."
"Hi, Sheriff. Just presenting some new advertising ideas to Quill, here."
"And I'm thinking very hard about buying them, Harvey." Quill avoided Myles's penetrating eye. "Why don't I call you later this week, and we can discuss it further?"
Harvey shook hands with Quill and Myles, then gathered up his A-frame and his cassette recorder.
Myles waited until he was gone, then said bluntly, "What did you do last night?"
Taken aback, Quill found herself stuttering. "I went to bed."
"When did you last see John Raintree?"
Quill's face turned red. She could feel it.
Myles shuffled through the papers Harvey had shoved into an untidy pile. He picked up her charts. "Little sketchy," he said, "but not bad. The thing about a murder investigation, Quill, is just one thing. Facts. And more facts. You're right about the bolt and the Seconal." He read on. "I take it Nate didn't make any mint juleps yesterday. Who told you to 'follow the money'? John, I suppose. That's good advice, sometimes, but nothing's as direct and unambiguous as hard evidence." His eyes softened. "Sit down a minute, honey."
Quill sat.
"Doreen found two of the items on your list."
"The bolt? And the Seconal? So it was Baumer."
"She found them in John Raintree's room."
Quill sat upright, as though she'd been shot and didn't realize the extent of the damage. "That's impossible. I searched..." She stopped.
"I asked Davey to pick John up at a house on Maple about fifteen minutes ago."
Quill stared at Myles. He came and sat down beside her on the couch. "I'm going to place him under arrest on suspicion of murder, Quill. I wanted to be the one to tell you. I didn't want you to hear it over the grapevine. God knows there's enough gossip in this town." He put his arm around her and rested his chin on the top of her head. "I called Howie Murchison. He's going to represent John until we can get an expert in criminal law in from either Rochester or Syracuse. There's a guy named Sam Monfredo who's got an excellent reputation. We'll try and get him." His arm tightened. "Are you crying?"
"No!" said Quill. Myles handed her his handkerchief. She blew her nose. "This isn't right, Myles."
"I agree with you. It's too easy. It doesn't smell right. I swear to you, Quill, I'll do everything I can to keep the investigation open. But there's just too much evidence for me to ignore."
"I'd like to know when you had the time to get it," said Quill bitterly. "You've spent half the time in Ithaca. Have you got a spy here, or something?"
"I much prefer anger to tears," said Myles. "I'm glad it doesn't take you a long time to bounce back."
"You're evading the question. How did you know John was at that house on Maple? Don't try and tell me you put Davey on stakeout. He's on traffic patrol every single day of the week, and he has to count on his fingers to figure out if people are over or under the speed limit."
"No, it wasn't Davey."
"Who then?"
"We've been working with a private investigator from Long Island. Doggone Good Dogs hired him to tail Mavis. Apparently they were pretty convinced that she'd had the money - they just haven't been able to find it. And they're pretty sure she's involved with something else."
"The tainted meat," said Quill.
"You know about that?"
"Edward's been tracking her and Tom Peterson for several months. He alerted the office a few days before..."
"Edward Lancashire!"
"Uh, yeah."
"Edward Lancashire's a private eye?" Quill slumped back and closed her eyes. "Oh, my God. We thought he was from L'Aperitif Myles, Meg's been feeding that guy like a king!" "He's a pretty good guy. It won't hurt him."
"You knew all along," Quill accused, "and you let us think he was the... the..."
"It was harmless, Quill. And if either Eddie or I had told you the truth, you would have kept it to yourself, and six of your closest friends."
"That's not fair," Quill raged. "It's a chauvinist remark of the most insulting kind."
"I didn't tell Davey, either. He's as upset with me as you are. And only three people knew that John was back, right? Doreen, you. The widow. It's impossible for you to keep anything to yourself, Quill. Part of it's that you're too trusting, and the other part..."
Quill's voice was dangerous. "The other part?"
"That you're too trusting." He smiled again and kissed her. "We're going to do what we can for John. And I've got to go now." He eased himself off the couch. "Quill, do me a favor, please. Stop these amateur efforts at solving the crime, will you? Leave it to the experts."
"These are the experts that have John Raintree in jail for murder," said Quill, "based on what?-a bolt, some drugs, a prison term..." She trailed off.
As he left, Myles said, "That's the hell of it, Quill. There's always the chance that he did do it."
"Stubborn!" Quill shouted after him as he left. "That's the second thing, isn't it? Stubborn!"
-13-
Quill's first impulse was to march down to the jail carrying a sign: FREE JOHN RAINTREE. Maximum effect would have been created by a subheading: "Another Wounded Knee? Police harassment MUST be stopped to preserve our freedoms!" but she doubted Myles's wholehearted support.
She looked out the window of her office; the parking lot was less than half full, which meant Dookie and the deacons had left, along with her chance to nail Tom Peterson.
Her second impulse was to see if Meg was over her prayer breakfast hissy fit. The sooner she knew about Edward Lancashire, the better.
Meg was humming "I Come to The Garden Alone" while chopping herbs. White beans soaking in a crock on the butcher's block, and several pounds of The Sausage gave Quill two clues to her sister's mood: hymn and cassoulet meant a return to the traditional.
"How's by you, Hawkshaw?" Meg scattered the herbs into the sausage and vigorously worked the meat.
"Fine," said Quill cautiously. "How's by you?"
"I felt a definite impulse for Basque, tonight," said Meg dreamily. "It's soothing. Satisfying. Besides, I'm getting tired thinking up new haute cuisine for Edward. It's time to give him the good straight stuff."