Myles took it, his face grim.
'Tom Peterson was up in Mavis and Mrs. Hallenbeck's room,' said Quill, recklessly. 'He's the person you should be investigating. Not John. And everyone knows that Mavis was the one person who was supposed to sit in the ducking stool. You should be looking for Tom's motives!'
'Quill, I've told you before to stay out of this.'
'But why pick on John?'
'He served eighteen months in Attica for manslaughter. He was released last year, just before he came to work for you.' She sat down on the bed. She knew her face was pale.
Myles sat down beside her and took her hand in his. 'Is there anything else you want to tell me?'
She stood up to avoid the touch of his arm against hers; physical proximity to Myles always weakened her resolve. 'Do you know the details?'
'Of John's case? No. I'm going to Ithaca to pull the files Monday. All I've got now is the computer record of the sentencing and time served.'
'Will you tell me when you find out?'
'Will you tell me when John shows up?' She glared at him, mouth a stubborn line.
Myles eased himself to his feet. 'This could be a case of murder. Or it could simply be an accident. I don't have enough information. And without information, I won't know if it's murder or accident.'
'What does your gut-feel tell you?'
'My gut-feel tells me I want to talk to everyone in the vicinity of the accident. And John was in the vicinity.'
'That's not enough of a reason and you know it,' Quill said.
'Quill!' Myles stopped, exasperated. 'Listen to me. I'm going to tell you one more thing. And if I tell you, you've got to promise me that you'll let this alone. You agree?'
Quill put her hand behind her back and crossed her fingers. 'Yes,' she said.
'A couple of the boys down at the Croh Bar said John and Gil got into an argument about ten-fifteen.'
'An argument? What kind of an argument? Over what?'
'It wasn't over what, it was a who.' A reluctant grin crossed his face. 'Mavis seems to be getting around quite a bit.'
'John got into an argument with Gil over Mavis? I don't believe it.' She hesitated. 'Was he drinking?'
'Not according to the bartender.'
Quill hadn't realized how tense she'd been until she relaxed. 'I'll tell you what it was. I'll bet he saw how much Mavis was drinking on top of that Valium and tried to get her to go home.'
'That sounds more like John,' Myles admitted. 'But no one seems to know what the argument was about.'
'What does Mavis say?'
'That she doesn't want to talk without a lawyer.'
'Can't you do something about that, Myles?' said Quill anxiously.
'Of course I can do something about that, if I can find a judge on a Saturday night in Tompkins County in the middle of July. Davey's gone to Ithaca to try and get the summons.'
'Marge must have been a - what d'ya call it - a material witness. What does she say?'
'That she was in the ladies room, and missed the whole thing. Given the amount of beer they were drinking, it's not unreasonable. Now, I've told you more than I should. And you're going to butt out, right?'
'Mm,' said Quill, nodding.
Myles narrowed his eyes at her. 'I'll see you at ten unless Davey's back with that summons.'
Quill gave him her most innocent smile.
Quill made John's rounds of the Inn before joining the Chamber members at dinner. The Inn's lares and penates, perhaps in sympathy with the stresses of the past forty-eight hours, were being merciful tonight - and, thought Quill, it was about bloody time. Everything was in order at the front desk. Guests who were booked to check in had checked in; those who were scheduled to leave had left, without noticeable depredations to the supply of ashtrays, towels, or shower curtains. All the staff that was supposed to had shown up on time, and the line waiting for tables was satisfyingly long but not intolerable; even the bar hummed with relaxed, not drunken, voices.
Nate poured her a half glass of Montrechat. Guiltily, she decided to hide out in her office and drink it slowly and alone.
A breeze blew in the open window, carrying the scent of lilies. She sorted through the events of the past two days. There were questions to be answered, all right. Mavis might refuse to talk to Myles without a lawyer, but she might talk to Quill, given the right investigative technique. She needed Mavis. And Myles. She finished the wine. She'd weasel information about John's prison time out of him, no matter what. Undeterred by the fact that she'd never once been able to get information out of Myles he didn't want to deliver, she went in search of Mavis Collinwood.
Saturday night at the Hemlock Inn dining room with an overflow crowd was a scene to bring joy to a banker's heart. As a rule, Quill didn't much care for bankers, whose affable smiles and neatly pressed suits hid hearts of steel when it came to matters of cash flow and lines of credit. Bankers were prone to the chilling repetition of the
