"How late is it?" asked Quill. She accepted a cup of coffee and held it steady as he climbed back in beside her.
"Ten o'clock."
"Oh, dear. I should get downstairs. The florist from Ithaca is bringing the flowers in this morning and they're going to decorate for the wedding. Meg's going to be all wrapped up in the kitchen. And John hates doing that stuff."
She set her coffee on the nightstand and stretched, then turned and burrowed into Myles's shoulder. "Well. Here we are again."
His hand, large and warm, smoothed her hair. "I wouldn't have given odds that I would see you again, like this. Wrapped in lace. With your hair tumbled down your shoulders."
She didn't answer right away. "So what about this blonde?"
"What blonde?"
She drew back her hand to punch him, and he caught it, kissed it, and clasped it in his own.
"Meg said that you're wasted as sheriff here in the village. That if it hadn't been for me, you would have taken a job like this global thingy a long time ago."
"That's probably true." Quill sat up, indignant.
"But it would have been a stopgap. Until I found a village like this again. With someone like you in it."
"That's a... a... perplexing sort of statement."
"Is it? It's what I want. You. A family. A town small enough to know. A town large enough to be comfortable in. I'm forty-seven, Quill. And I'm tired. Not of life. But of the kinds of ambition that drove me when I was younger. I want a certain... orderliness to my daily life. That might be the wrong word. I don't believe that I want to see much more of humanity in the raw than I have already. I've had enough."
There was a puckered scar on his stomach from shrapnel, a dimpled hole in his right shoulder from a gunshot wound. Quill traced these marks with one forefinger. "In a way," she said at last, "I haven't seen enough."
"Mmm."
"Was that surprise?"
"I suppose it was. I think you're right."
"I love you." Her voice was husky. She cleared her throat. "I'm not whining, you understand. But why do women always have to choose? Between life outside and making a home?"
"If I were younger, you'd met me before I'd been satisfied I'd seen enough, maybe you wouldn't have to. We're at different stages, Quill. I don't want you to give anything up."
"I don't want you to give anything up, either." She sighed. "I wish I were a clone. Had a clone. Whatever."
His arm tightened around her shoulder. "Let's take it one day at a time. Now, I gather from what you said last night that Greenwald gave you quite a chase."
"Green... oh! The jerk in the pickup truck. You're sure my coat wasn't in it?"
"Positive. I've sent a couple of troopers out to search 81, but it doesn't look good. He dumped it before the rescue trucks got there. But the coat wouldn't be enough, Quill. It's circumstantial at best, unless we find either Nora's or Dorset's blood on it, and even if we do, we'd need harder evidence to convict."
"But you do think it's Santini?"
"I'm not willing to make that leap yet. What's his motive? Guesswork's hazardous in this business, Quill. So far, you're operating on mere surmise."
"Surmise." Quill made a face.
"Intuition? Feeling? What do you want me to say? You don't have any facts. You think that Nora Cahill was blackmailing Alphonse Santini, but you have no proof. And without that fundamental fact, Quill, the rest of the motive falls apart. Why would he kill Dorset? I admit that the videotape you said you saw - "
"I did see it."
"I know you did. But who is a jury going to believe? You can't convict a man of a capital crime on hearsay, Quill."
"But I have proof. Or at least I think I have proof. I didn't get a chance to tell you everything last night..."
He smiled. She blushed, then went on, "But I took some disks from Nora's apartment."
"Quill." He stopped himself, then said with obvious patience, "I won't talk to you about breaking and entering. You know all about that already. But I have told you about the importance of the chain of evidence. And if you've entered the victim's apartment unlawfully and gathered it unlawfully..."
"Stop." Quill held up her hand. "I know all that. I told the H. O. W. members last night that if they found anything not to touch it, but to call you first."
Myles grabbed his forehead with both hands, in a gesture reminiscent of Meg. "You sent thirty women from a feminist organization careening through this Inn looking for evidence against Alphonse Santini?"
"The wedding is tomorrow. Then, he'll be gone. I feel awful about poor Claire. And I'm worried about Tutti."
Myles shut his eyes for a moment. "You don't have to worry about Tutti."
"Why not?"
"I'll let you know after I call New York this morning. I'd like to know something right now, though. Was it the H. O. W. search that kicked off the riot?"
"It wasn't exactly a riot," Quill said a little guiltily. "They didn't find anything, anyway. They all went home to nurse their bruises after that snowball fight. And besides, Myles, you're forgetting the hard drive."
"The hard drive?" He shook his head, "We're talking about you breaking into Nora's apartment again? You mean the hard drive for Nora's PC?"
"Yes! You have her laptop in custody, or whatever, don't you?"
"Yeah. It's been entered into evidence. We do."
"And her laptop was collected in a proper and legal way, wasn't it? Almost every newer PC backs up files automatically. There's bound to be a copy of whatever is on those disks in Nora's hard drive, So it doesn't matter if you can't submit the disks in evidence. You've got the hard drive. All the disks will do is give us the right kind of lead. I hope. They aren't labeled."
He rubbed his chin. "Hmm. You might be right. You still have the disks?"
"Right in my purse. And I can use John's PC to go through them. If you don't mind."
"I don't mind. I've got two murders to solve." He raised an eyebrow, "And I need all the help I can get. But first, I need a shave."
Quill kicked the covers off and jumped out of bed, "Last one in the shower's an unemployed sheriff."
"Eleven-thirty," said Meg. "I thought you two were never coming down."
"Don't be vulgar." Quill settled onto the stool at the butcher block counter and raised her cheek for Myles. He bent down and kissed her. Meg beamed.
"You two want some lunch?"
"He's off to apply a rubber hose to Joseph Greenwald," Quill said. "But I'd love some lunch."
"I'll get something at Marge's later," said Myles. He left, and the kitchen seemed suddenly empty.
"Crab cheese soup?" Meg asked.
"Sounds great. The dining room booked for lunch?" Meg glanced at the agenda posted on the wall. "Most of the wedding party's out skiing."
"Not Tutti," said Quill, alarmed.
"No, not Tutti. She and Doreen and Elaine are in your office hassling the florist about the flower delivery. The senator and one of the aides - it's either Frank or Marlon or Ed - are still upstairs making phone calls. Which is a lot better," Meg said cheerfully, "than any of them hassling me about the reception. Claire and the bridesmaids and the groomsmen are out skiing. There's a plot afoot to make Claire drunk, so she can actually go through with the wedding. Or maybe the plot's to make the senator drunk. Either way, nobody innocent's going to get hurt, if the nuptials do come off."