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 P?t‚,' 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.
'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.'
