"Ahuh."
And Brady, being Brady, would have seduced the young resident with no problem at all. "Brady, why would the animal rights people protest against the clinic?"
His face was bleak. "I think it was my fault. They killed her. And it was my fault." He rotated the beer glass between two palms. "I was shootin' off my mouth. In here. Laura was with me. She keeps a couple of those horses for blood serum. You know, you can make a decent buck collecting antibodies from them couple of times a week. She supplies Cornell. She needed the money. It don't hurt the horses none, to have blood drawn every once in a while. But I was kind of raggin' her about it, and that fella Norman was sitting right over there. By the jukebox. He comes up, all goofy, starts hollerin' about how animals have souls, too, Jesus." He expelled his breath. "I'm a horseman myself. You think I'd . . . anyhow, I just kind of egged him, just to tease Laura."
"It's not your fault, Brady." Quill laid her hand gently on his arm.
He didn't say anything.
"It's not your fault because they didn't kill her."
"What d'ya mean? They tore the place up."
"Who told you that?"
"Harris."
"You think they kicked Tye hard enough to put her in intensive care?"
He thought about this. "Hell, no."
"And Harris is a dolt," Meg said. She began to tap her foot on the floor in an impatient rhythm Quill recognized. She was beginning to think about having to cook that night, and she was beginning to get nervous.
"You got that right." He eased back in his chair. A little color had come back into his face. "So who tore the place up?"
"I don't know. But as far as I can gather, Q.U.A.C.K. doesn't do anything more than walk around in circles, literally, and wave their signs around. The most damage they've ever done is to let those turkeys out on Interstate 90. And they didn't even mean to do that. I know because I asked Sky about it, and she said she thought the turkeys would just fly off. To their home in the wild, she said."
"Turkeys can't fly."
"I know that. You know that. But how much do animal rights people really know about animals?"
"Jack shit."
"Yes. So. I'll tell you what I think we should do. I think we should go on up to Laura's clinic and poke around and see what really happened."
"We've got to get to the Chamber meeting, Quill, and then I have to get back to the kitchen." Meg drummed her fingers on the table. "I know this is important, but so's the bloody meal."
"In a minute," Quill soothed.
Brady said, "Harris'll have a man on point. I know, because I'm tending to the stock up there until I can ship them off to another vet."
"Not at night, he won't. That's just to keep sightseers away. I know because Myles told me once . . ." She bit her lip and stopped.
"Who's Myles?"
"Just someone I knew."
Meg raised her eyebrows at that.
"So what do you think, Brady? Shall we do a little investigating? Tonight? After the International Night Dinner?"
"Yeh. I think we should. Do you want me to bring my gun?"
"No!" Quill said, horrified. "I do not. We'll leave from the Palate."
"It's quarter to one, Quillie. We've got to GO!"
"Hang in there, Meg. We'll see you tonight, Brady." They left him there, still brooding over his beer, and got into the Olds to drive to the Inn.
"I like this," Meg said as Quill navigated the hill. "This is the first time I get to do the dangerous stuff. I mean the visit to the clinic tonight. Not the cooking. I can handle the cooking. I think. I'll concentrate on the dangerous stuff, instead. Then maybe I won't get so bummed about having to cook."
"That's not the dangerous stuff." Quill parked under the DON'T EVEN THINK OF PARKING HERE sign and sat looking at the Inn. "The Chamber meeting's the dangerous stuff. Fasten your seat belts, sweetie, it's going to be a bumpy ride."
". . . disGRACE!" Adela Henry was saying, as Quill and Meg walked into the dining room. Since Marge had cut the menu prices (a move which had baffled Quill, until she learned about the infamous booking fee) the Chamber had resumed its monthly lunches at the Inn. The tables were arranged in a U, with the mayor and Adela at the head. Meg and Quill took seats near the end, and Meg poked glumly at the appetizer. "Peaches. Fresh peaches."
"They look great."
"I know they look great!" She bit her lip. "Maybe I should do something with fresh peaches tonight."
"The menu will be fine, Meg."
"The menu sucks. Look what happened the last time I served it. The guy croaked."
"There you are, Quill," the mayor said. "I guess we can start now that the secretary's here." He beamed around the room. "Everybody's here," he said. "Good turnout. Should be a good meeting." Quill scanned the room. Colonel Calhoun was seated to Elmer's right, as guest of honor. The Russians were lined up to Adela's left (appropriately enough). The four of them were politely attentive. The citizens of Hemlock Falls, however, were not. Most ominous was the fact that CarolAnn Spinoza was there, looking pious. Everyone else looked mad. Seeing the cross faces, Quill wasn't as sure as the mayor that it was going to be a homey, feel-good meeting. She'd seen the expressions on the faces of the villagers caught up in the morning's brouhaha, and she was fairly certain the mayor was about to get an earful.
After Dookie Shuttleworth's invocation, he did. Norm Pasquale, principal of the Hemlock Falls High School (and coach of their unsuccessful football team, the Hemlock Highballers), raised his hand to be recognized.
"Yeh, Norm," the mayor said.
"A deputation of parents came to me last night, Mayor, and expressed concern for the safety of our children. Between the bulls and the bodies, this town's not safe for anyone."
And then, Quill reflected later, the dam busted. She abandoned taking the official minutes, letting the cacophony wash around the room like a surge down a storm drain. The complaints resolved themselves into three categories, which Quill recorded in numerical fashion in the minutes book.
The cows, most especially the manure, and the danger implicit in having a bull on the loose. Quill noted parenthetically that the focus of the protest was CarolAnn, who seemed to have a positive thing about manure, and those townspeople unacquainted with the day-to-day routine of farming.
The Russians, or more colloquially, the Commies. Quill found it of less than compelling interest that these fears emanated primarily from those Chamber members over sixty-five. She hoped that Leonid's English was as good as she thought it might be. Adela was positively rude.
Q.U.A.C.K. and the demonstration that morning. This dispute resolved itself into two factions: villagers who thought the Commies were behind it, and those who had sympathy for the cause.
The murders: Everyone was against them.
Meg listened to the furor with bored patience that turned rapidly to irritation. She began a tuneless hum (overture to The Magic Flute) which segued into bombast (The 1812 Overture). Then she yelled, "Shut UP!" which astonished Dookie Shuttleworth into speech, and the rest of the room into silence.
"Now, now," Dookie said.
"For heaven's sake," Meg stormed. She shot out of her chair and waved her arms like a windmill. Her face was red. Her teeth were clenched. "I have a dinner to cook tonight. The dinner's going to be televised to forty million people! If we don't get to my part of the agenda pretty damn soon I am WALKING out of here and catching a bus to Detroit!"
"Why Detroit?" somebody asked.
"Because it's the last damn place anyone would think to look for me, that's why! I'm going to dye my hair black, wear lifts in my shoes, and no one will EVER BE ABLE TO FIND ME! If you don't want the Wednesday night menu testing to be the last meal I ever cook in this town, GET ON WITH IT!"
"Motion to discuss the menu for International Night," Howie Murchison called out.
"I second," Quill said.
"Great!" Meg stomped up to the mayor, grabbed the gavel, and whacked it on the table with all her one hundred and three
pounds behind it. "This is the menu. Texas longhorn beef. I'm cooking it any way I damn please!" She handed the gavel back to the mayor, and the temper tantrum was gone as swiftly as it had come. She saluted the company with a cheerful forefinger and walked out of the room.
"Well, I must say," Esther West muttered.
Betty Hall, who as far as Quill could recall had never opened her mouth in a Chamber meeting in the past eight years, said loudly, "Let her alone! Cooking is hell!"
"Can we have a review of the minutes up to now, Quill?" the mayor asked a little desperately.
Quill looked at her notes in bemusement. "Actually, we never got to the official agenda. Except for Howie's motion to discuss the menu. And that's been discussed, sort of. I guess since the Chamber is sponsoring International Night, we ought to vote on the menu." Quill read the menu off, a vote was called, and the motion passed.
"The next order of bidness, Quill?"
"Um. That would be to vote on the program for tonight. On Tuesday, the subcommittee for International Night met and approved program design and the agenda for the evening." Harvey, who had picked the programs up from the printer that morning, passed them around. Murmurs of approval swept the room.
"And the agenda for the evening?" Adela Henry asked. "I understand that the mayor is scheduled to speak."
"If you'll open your programs you'll see the order of events. Harvey Bozzel will do the introduction, followed by the mayor's welcome speech. Mr. Menshivik will give a talk, titled, 'Why I Love This Country.' Then the colonel will deliver a short address on the longhorn cow."
"Hm," said the mayor. "Harvey, you got fifteen minutes for the introduction."
"Well, yes," Harvey said nervously, "but an order of business has come up. It's the visual?"
"Come again?" asked the mayor.
"Lally Preston doesn't want to use the colonel's slides."
"I must protest." The colonel rose to his feet. "All my speeches are illustrated with the right sort of slides. It is not possible to do justice to the longhorn cow in the time allotted without visual aids."
"I thought," Harvey said in a sprightly way, "that you would feel that way. So if you wouldn't mind, Colonel, you can deliver the illustrated part of the speech now. I have the slide show all set up for you and everything."
The mayor was clearly annoyed. The colonel looked baffled, but already had his hand on the slide remote. Clearly any opportunity to bore his audience with six thousand slides of identical-looking cattle was not to be missed. Quill, who knew very well that Harvey was attempting a diversion from a discussion of the length of his introduction—or even the fact that he should be allowed to give it at all—settled back in her chair with a sigh and took a forkful of chicken a la king. It was delicious. She smiled appreciatively at Betty Hall, and tried unsuccessfully to shut out the more explicit parts of the colonel's slide show. This consisted of slides of cuts of beef, statistics about back fat, more slides of cuts of beef, and a paean to heart healthiness, purity of the line, and once again, the fact that when it came to breeding, the Nazis had the right idea. (Except they shouldn't have tried it on humans, of course.)
Quill got sleepy. This frequently happened to her in Chamber meetings, especially if she'd slept poorly the night before. She pinched her knee. This didn't help. She bit the inside of her lip, but didn't have the nerve to bite really hard. Finally, she decided that after all that iced tea, no one would question a foray to the ladies' room. If she didn't get outside into the fresh air, she was going to fall face forward into the rice pudding Betty Hall had prepared for dessert. She picked up her purse, smiled apologetically to no one in particular, and headed into the foyer. The Ladies' Lounge was under the stairs to the left. Quill took a sharp turn to the left and was out into the warm July afternoon. She took several breaths of air, then walked briskly down the path to the rose garden.
There were four heifers now, in the metal pen. Quill winced, knowing the reason for the absence of the fifth. Meg was probably unwrapping parts of the poor thing even now.
Impressive stood quietly with his hindquarters back to her, and his nose pointed to the far side of the fence. His head was down, and all Quill could see was his muscular back and two feet of horn sticking out either side. She walked around the fence to face him, and found Sky leaning over the fence, scratching his nose with a stick. The bull's eyes were half closed. Slobber dribbled down his nose. He looked blissful.
"Hello, Sky." Quill stood next to her and also leaned against the metal bar. "How's it going with Norman?"
Sky shook her head. "I don't know. That terrible trooper transferred him to the sheriff's office in Ithaca. They wouldn't let me go with him."
"Do you guys have an attorney?"
"Oh, yes. He's a volunteer. Of course, he's more used to defending animals' rights than people's rights, but I think it will be okay."
"I hope so."
"You don't think Norman killed anyone, do you?"
Quill didn't know if she was prepared to answer this question. "Sky, why do you think Laura Crest died?"
The little woman blinked at her. "Why? I don't know."
"Was it because she was—um—torturing lab animals?"
Sky flushed. "Oh, no. Actually, I kind of liked Dr. Crest."
"You met her?"
"Yeah. After CarolAnn told us about the lab animals."
"CarolAnn Spinoza?"
"Right. Well, this is a big part of our mission, you know. To free these poor tortured creatures. So we went on up to the clinic, and Dr. Crest was there, and she showed us around and explained everything. Those horses were nice. The ones that help save babies with their blood. Dr. Crest showed us how she drew blood, she even," Sky said proudly, "drew it from me, first, so I could feel that the needle didn't hurt much at all. So she served us all some herbal tea and we went home."
"You didn't—ah—trash the place?"
"Of course not." Sky's face turned pink with indignation. "We only trash the place when the torturers deserve it. Dr. Crest loved animals." Her face softened. "You could tell from the way she got on with that wonderful dog."
"Tye."
"That one. The Australian kelpie. She showed us all the tricks Tye can do. That dog's amazing. I wish I had a dog like that."
Quill patted her arm. "When this is all over, maybe you will."
Chapter Eleven
It was a glittering evening for Hemlock Falls. Main Street was lined with cars. Excitement was in the air. Everyone attending International Night was dressed in clothes used only for special occasions such as funerals, weddings, and the Christmas gala. Lally Preston's TV crew was wandering in and out of the restaurant, steady cams on their shoulders, their faces inexpressibly bored. The two most vividly dressed were Adela Henry, resplendent in the sequined purple and gold mother of the bride dress she'd worn on the Henry girls' weddings, and Shirley Rossiter in scarlet lamé with a back cut so low she had a second cleavage.
The line of people waiting to get into the Palate stretched all the way to Esther's dress shop. Quill, in a sleeveless white dress with ruffles at the ankles, her hair swept up, long gold earrings and gold sandals, watched the crowd through the plate glass window as she waited for the stroke of eight o'clock. She'd left off the primrose tablecloths for the dinner, and gone to starched white linens. Doreen (who'd been taking flower arranging classes at the Tompkins County Junior College) had exhibited an unexpected restraint with the centerpieces: bluebonnets (for the Texans), red roses (for the Russians), and white statis. The blue bonnets had already begun to show signs of wilt. The color, at least, should last the evening.
John, handsome in his tux, unearthed from goodness knew where, made a last-minute inspection of the tables. "I sprang for the Piper Hediseck," he said. "Just for the toast. You've had a good month, Quill."
"I never thought I'd hear you say that again." She smiled at him, conscious of looking pretty and of the perfume she'd sprayed around her shoulders. "It's nice to be in the black again."
"How's the time?"
She looked at the clock over the discreet sign that read "Occupancy by more than sixty people is strictly prohibited." "Another twenty minutes. Meg will have a fit if I let them in early. I hope it's not too hot out there." She turned back to the plate glass window. Adela (who'd arrived shortly before and unapologetically inserted herself at the head of the line) nodded majestically. Quill nodded solemnly back, and then felt like an idiot. She shivered suddenly and rubbed her bare arms.
"What is it?"
"What if we're going to serve dinner to a murderer?" She bit her lower lip. "What if one of the people standing in that line killed Laura Crest, Candy Detwiler, and Royal Rossiter? And what if one of them plans to kill the colonel tonight?"
"The police think they've got the murderer in custody. I've got Howie Murchison seated next to the colonel, and he's keeping an eye on him. Nothing's going to happen tonight, Quill."
"I don't believe Q.U.A.C.K. is behind these deaths or the threat the colonel sees to his cows."
"Quill, look at the evidence. Norman and the other Q.U.A.C.K. members were all in Hemlock Falls the day that Candy arrived. They protested Royal Rossiter's beef raising methods, confronted Royal himself. They even had an opportunity to obtain DMSO. They raided Laura's clinic. Norman has a record involving assault with knives. As a member of Q.U.A.C.K., he has a motive. Fanatics are just that: illogical, narrowly focused, irrational. It makes perfect sense to a fanatic to kill the human beings who are killing their animal friends, just as it makes perfect sense to the abortion protesters to bomb clinics."
"CarolAnn has a motive, too. She hates those cows. She's squirrelly about the manure. And she was the one who got Q.U.A.C.K. here in the first place and told them Laura Crest was doing experiments on lab animals." Quill frowned. "But there's no real motive to kill Laura, is there? Unless she stole the DMSO from Laura's clinic and Laura found her. And she admitted to seeing Candy Detwiler the day he arrived and hassling him about the cattle."
"You can guess what I think."
A Steak in Murder (Hemlock Falls Mystery Series) Page 18
