'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.'
'The prayer breakfast buffet was terrific,' said Quill. 'You heard about the Rolling Moses?'
Meg grinned. 'Anybody checked out yet?'
Quill hadn't thought of the effect of the Christian Terrorists on the rest of the guests. 'I know Baumer hasn't. Do you think we'll lose people?'
Meg shrugged. 'Probably. They've canceled History Days, right?'
'You seem pretty sanguine about this. I mean, between the practical joke about the cancellations and the murders, we're going to be hurtin' turkeys.'
'Won't last,' said Meg confidently. 'I'm guaranteeing you a rave review in L'Aperitif: Edward thinks my cooking is fabulous.'
This did not bode well for Myles's revelation. Quill weighed the relative merits of Meg's temper tantrum over Edward Lancashire's imposture-although to be fair, he'd never claimed to be anything at all, much less a food critic - against Meg's gradual realization that the L'Aperitif review wasn't going to appear. And of course, Quill thought optimistically, the magazine would have to review them sometime; they always checked on the progress of their starred restaurants. It was not at all cowardly, she decided, to neglect to mention Edward Lancashire's real occupation. Diplomacy was the province of successful innkeepers as well as long-lived kings.
'Myles is back early, Meg. The autopsy showed enough Seconal in Mavis' system to sink a tugboat. The stomach contents showed the Seconal was in the mint juleps she was drinking just before the play. He says this shows premeditation.'
'Really?' said Meg. 'That's interesting.'
'There's something else.' Quill told her of John's return and his suspicions about the embezzled three hundred thousand dollars.
'Jeez.' Meg began stuffing the sausage meat into the casings. 'Maybe you're right, after all.'
'You think John's innocent, too?'
'I never thought he was guilty. All I said was that your reasoning was screwed up. The facts say John did it. But it doesn't seem to me that murder is a rational act-you know what I mean?' She waved a half-stuffed sausage aloft. 'It's like recipes. People think they can learn to cook if they follow a recipe exactly. Remember the Armenian dentist?'
'Haaiganash? The one who thought she'd have a more profitable career as a pastry chef? Yeah. You threw her out of the kitchen.'
'She didn't have any soul,' said Meg. 'She thought cooking was a science. She didn't understand the basic ambiguity of cooking. Something goes into the recipe you can't account for. Cooking isn't rational. Neither is murder.'
Quill, who thought this was a somewhat dubious simile, ate some parsley.
Meg worked in silence for a moment. 'You know what I think?'
'What?'
'You're exactly right about the mint juleps. Find out who made those mint juleps for Mavis, and you've got the
