"I don't know, ma'am. Just doing my job."
"You'll be doing your job a lot better if you let me get that little old lady back up to the Inn so she can recover from the shock," said Quill with asperity. "I'm sure Myles would want you to see to the needs of the elderly."
"He did tell me to make sure she was comfortable. I got her a glass of water. And a cookie." Davey slowly erased a line from the bottom half of his notebook and laboriously wrote at the top. "I'll see her right after your sister and Mr. Lancashire."
"Would you tell Meg and Mrs. Hallenbeck that I'll wait for them outside?"
"Yes, ma'am. And you're not supposed - "
"To tell anyone you belted me with a rubber hose to extract important information."
Quill walked outside and sat on the steps of the library. Across the green lawn of the park four lines of tourists stood restlessly in the July heat. Myles had assigned uniformed officers to take the names and addresses of members of the audience. Others patrolled the lines, seeing that the elderly had a place to sit in the shade, and taking little kids to the Porta-Johns. Quill figured the interview took about three minutes, minus the demands she'd made of Davey, and did some calculations on her fingers. At eighty people an hour, it'd be several hours before she could ask Myles what the heck was going on.
Meg bounced out the library door. "Edward will be out in a minute," she said. "I told him we'd wait for him. What do you suppose that clothes stuff was all about?" she continued, coming down the steps to sit at Quill's side. "I mean, who cares what she was wearing? Does Myles ask people in a car crash if the driver was wearing designer jeans, or what?"
Quill, who had been wondering the same thing herself, let out a gasp.
"Well?" Meg demanded.
"The hood."
"The hood?"
"The hood. Meg, somebody put the hood on Mavis. She was never supposed to wear the hood. She was supposed to ride on the sledge to the back of the stage, jump off, put the dummy in her place, and stroll on out to watch the rest of the fun and games. But Harland came stomping out complaining that she'd thrown up allover his shoes, and then Harvey said he'd drive the sledge. Mavis could have passed out on the sledge, which would account for the fact that she was there instead of the dummy, but she had no reason to put on the hood."
"Wow," said Meg. "Oh, wow. Murder. Oh, my God. Who did it?"
"How should I know?" demanded Quill. She watched the sheriff's patrol across the green. "All kinds of people had motives to murder Mavis."
"Who?"
"Who? I'll tell you who." Quill, upset, couldn't think of anyone but John and Tom Peterson. But they had wanted Gil dead, hadn't they? Or had they? "Celeste Baumer for one."
"I thought she went back to Manhattan after Myles let her out of jail."
"Maybe she didn't. Maybe she stayed here, lurking until an opportunity presented itself."
"Dressed like she was, she'd stick out a mile. Who else?" Meg's eyebrows shot up. "I know! Mrs. Hallenbeck!"
"Why? She's out a companion, and I really doubt she'd find it easy to get another one. She's terrified of being alone. Not to mention the fact," Quill added sarcastically, "that she's eighty-three years old and more than likely a grandmother six times over."
"The Grandmother Murders," said Meg. "I like it."
"Now Keith Baumer - there's a murderer for you."
"Too obvious," said Meg. "I mean, he was the one who lifted the heavy stone onto her."
"Not if he wanted to divert suspicion from himself." Quill locked her hands around her knees. She could see Myles's broad shoulders in the distance. "Maybe Mavis was pressuring him to marry her, or something."
"I wish John would get back," said Meg, who obviously wanted to avoid a serious discussion as Quill did. "This is a mess. Do you suppose they'll cancel the rest of History Days?"
"I don't know." Quill rubbed her hands over her face. "Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe it was an accident. Mavis was so drunk, she could have put the hood on as a joke or something, and then passed out on the sledge."
"Myles will take care of it." Meg sat up and brushed the seat of her jeans briskly. "Let's walk over and ask him what's going on."
"He'll just tell us to butt out, Meg. He always does." Quill was seized with a desire to get back to the Inn, and jumped to her feet. "Where's Edward? He's been in there quite a while. Did he go in right after you?"
"Yep. I'll go check."
"Meg, we're not supposed to go in there. Davey said..."
"Bosh!" Meg jumped up, disappeared into the building, then reappeared a few moments later with Edward Lancashire. "Mrs. Hallenbeck just went in to see Officer Kiddermeister," he said in response to Quill's inquiry.
"You were in there a long time," said Meg. "Did he ask you the same questions he asked us?"
"I'm sure he did," Edward said easily.
The door to the library swung open, and Mrs. Hallenbeck felt her way carefully down the steps. Quill went up and took her arm. "Are you feeling all right? This must have been such a shock!"
"This has been quite an experience," the old lady said. "Most interesting. I warned her that liquor would be the death of her someday - that, and those pills." She gazed around with satisfaction. "It's a lovely day."
"Did Mavis drink much, Mrs. Hallenbeck?" Edward asked.
"A cocktail every evening, without fail. I myself neither smoke nor drink, nor put any drugs in my body," she said firmly. "I am often complimented on my youthful appearance. It is the result of taking care of myself. Shall we walk to the Inn? I could use a cup of tea."
"Would you like me to call the van from the Inn, Mrs. Hallenbeck? It's all uphill." Quill was worried about her in the heat.
"What a thoughtful child you are, Sarah. You take such good care of me. No. I shall walk. I walk four or five miles a day most of the time. I am frequently complimented on my stamina."
The four of them set off at a rapid pace, Mrs. Hallenbeck leading the way.
"Had you known Mavis long?" asked Edward of her.
"Oh, yes. She worked for my late husband, you know. Had a title - Human Resources Director or somesuch. Quite a stupid woman, really, when you think about it."
"Such a terrible way to die," murmured Quill, half to herself.
"Perhaps the sheriff will find some evidence on the barn door," suggested Edward.
"I did not so much as pick up a stone, so I clearly am not responsible," said Mrs. Hallenbeck with immense satisfaction. "But that terrible Baumer person. Someone should put people like that in jail. Imagine being responsible for an accident like that."
They reached the bottom of the incline to the Inn. Mrs. Hallenbeck looked girlishly up at Edward. "I believe I'll take this handsome young man's arm up these little stairs."
Edward presented his arm with a gallant gesture, and the two sisters fell behind. The words "frequently complimented" floated back to them more than once, and Meg muttered crossly, "I don't think that woman's elevator goes all the way to the top, Quill."
"Meg, she's eighty-three years old. We can't imagine what that's like. All the people that she grew up with, her husband, her friends, are either gone or going. The line between life and death must seem very thin to her, each day more of a struggle to stay on this side and not slip to the next."