Meg's jug of spring water. Again, a good defense attorney would make mincemeat out of the evidence chain. It's all circumstantial.'
'The phone calls to the Inn's guests? The call to Willy Max? Those aren't crimes?'
'Malicious mischief,' said Myles. 'A misdemeanor.'
'So what now?' Quill looked at the two men.
'Eddie's client is Mrs. Hallenbeck's son.' Andy Bishop cleared his throat. 'He's agreed to commit her to a very comfortable institution. She'll be taken care of, confined, of course, and I will see to it that a complete record of what's happened here is in the psychiatrist's file.'
'Have you met him, the son?'
'Just talked to him on the phone.' Myles's expression didn't change much, but Quill knew he'd found either the man or the conversation distasteful. 'He's made the arrangements to have her picked up. Refused to come himself. There's a secure room here at the hospital. Andy's arranged to have her checked in. I'll have Davey at the door until the morning. Just as a precaution.'
'Does she know?' asked Quill.
'We were hoping,' said Myles, 'that you would tell her.' He put his arm around her. She leaned into him and closed her eyes.
Quill walked down the hall and sat in the chair opposite Mrs. Hallenbeck.
She set aside the magazine. Vogue, Quill saw. 'And how is your sister?'
'She'll be fine. She wants to go home now, but hospital rules say she has to stay. She's asleep.'
'We'll go back to the Inn, then? I would like some dinner. It's late. But I suppose someone on the kitchen staff can be gotten up to make something.'
'Dr. Bishop is a little concerned about you,' said Quill carefully. 'He's arranged for you to stay here tonight, too.'
Mrs. Hallenbeck smiled. 'Such a nice young man. I always find it easier to get along with men than with women, don't you?'
'No,' said Quill truthfully. 'I think it's about the same.'
'I appreciate Dr. Bishop's concern for my welfare. I don't know how it is, but young physicians always seem to take the greatest care of me.' She laughed girlishly. 'I've been frequently complimented on my state of preservation, I suppose you'd call it. But I would prefer to go back to the Inn. You take such good care of me, my dear.'
Quill took a long moment to reply. 'The sheriff would like you to stay, as well. He called your son earlier this evening, and your son has made some very comfortable arrangements for you. The...' Quill stumbled, 'hotel where you will be staying will send a limousine for you in the morning. He's concerned for your comfort now that Mavis isn't here to see to you.'
Mrs. Hallenbeck's eyes clouded. Her lips trembled. The light from the lamp at her elbow strengthened the lines in her cheeks and forehead. She leaned forward and hissed, 'You have no idea what it's like, being eighty- three. But it will happen to you, dear. Just like it's happened to me.'
Once again Quill thought of her own mother, her loving : spirit still strong in a body fine-honed by the years.
'No, it won't,' she said.
-16-
A July thunderstorm was brewing in the west when Quill brought Meg home from the hospital. It just goes to show you, Quill thought, the perversity of nature. After four days of hell, things were looking up. Doreen had seen to the discreet and tactful (she claimed) removal of Mrs. Hallenbeck's luggage and Mavis' effects. The American Association of Swamp Reclamation Engineers had called and fully booked the Inn for a week in August, which would help offset the fiscal consequences of yesterday's guest exodus. Best of all, Keith Baumer was checking out. Quill, heretofore neutral on the topic of religion, sent a prayer of thanks skyward, toward the thunderheads boiling over the top of the Falls, followed by a promise of a healthy donation to the American Association of Retired Persons, whose members had proved the exception to Mrs. Hallenbeck's homicidal tendencies, and who would undoubtedly be back, like the perennials, next spring.
'A trial would have been tough,' she said to Meg as they sat in the kitchen watching the rain lash the windows.
'They came to get her while I was waiting for you in the hospital lobby.' Meg poured white vinegar for the third time into her expresso machine in an effort to remove all traces of the Seconal. She was not, she'd informed Quill tartly, over her sister's protests, going to dispose of a perfectly good piece of equipment just because an inept murderer had used it in an attempt to kill her.
'Not so inept, with two deaths on her conscience. Did she seem...' Quill trailed off.
'Seem what? Remorseful? No. Upset? No. Tell me goodbye and thanks for the best meals she's ever had for free? No.' The expresso machine hissed, and Meg fussed with it, not meeting Quill's gaze. 'I'll tell you what you ought to do, though. Give Myles credit for calling in as many favors as he could to avoid prosecution and a trial. He knows how bad you feel, Quill. A trial would really do you in.'
Quill rubbed the back of her neck. She'd dreamed, the night before, of Mrs. Hallenbeck soundlessly screaming her name, over and over again, and of long-nailed fingers shredding the canvas of the Chrysler Rose.
The back door slammed. Doreen stumped in wearing a yellow slicker. Water streamed off the hood. 'Wetter'n hell out there,' she grumbled.
'I thought this storm hit because you prayed for rain yesterday,' said Meg.
'Thought they rnighta pumped some of that sass out of you along with the dope.'
'No,' said Meg truthfully, 'I think they added some.'
