Fete Worse Than Death (9781101595138)

by Bishop, Claudia

  “I think so.”

  “Well, I don’t, and neither do a lot of concerned citizens. We were pretty sure you guys were going to turn us down…”

  “Who’s we?” Quill asked.

  “Concerned citizens,” Brady repeated impatiently. “So I’ve been authorized to request that the committee hire a professional to take over.”

  Althea raised her eyebrows. “A professional?”

  “An event organizer.”

  ~

  “Yep,” Brady said briskly. “You need an event organizer. Best thing you could do. Bring a professional in.”

  Elmer mopped his eyes with a not-very-clean handkerchief, blew his nose and said, “What?”

  “We even have a couple of suggestions.” Brady dug into his sports coat pocket and produced a slip of paper. “Event organizers. Three of them. Take your pick.”

  Elmer looked around the office with a bewildered expression as if expecting to find an event organizer under Quill’s chrysanthemum-patterned couch.

  Althea reached over and took the paper. “One’s in Buffalo, one’s in Rochester, and one’s in Syracuse. Which is closer, Quill?”

  “Syracuse.”

  “You have a Syracuse phone book here? Or better yet, let’s try your laptop.”

  Quill rose, went to her desk, and sat down. “I’ll do an Internet search. If we can find somebody to step in, that’d be terrific.”

  Althea nudged Dookie. “A miracle, eh, Reverend?”

  Elmer cleared his throat and smoothed the lapels of his seersucker jacket. “Those organizers cost a bundle, you know. We had one of them when the chicken people were here for the Fry Away Home contest. Took a percentage of the gate. Trouble is…” His nose reddened and a tear rolled down his cheek. “Paying for it might be a problem.”

  “There is no way Adela stole that money,” Quill said. “Besides, a percentage of the gate means tickets, right? We always get a ton of walk-ins. If not, maybe we can pay this person from village funds, somehow.” She tapped fruitlessly at her keyboard. “I’m not getting much action here.”

  Althea adjusted a pair of reading glasses onto her nose, then got up and made shooing motions. She had ornate rings on all ten fingers. “I’ll handle it. I’m not bad at computers for a little old lady. You’re talking to someone who shipped three hundred tons of yak’s milk from Tibet through Marrakesh to Chicago all online. You all go see about breakfast. I’m starving, and the mayor here is going to be all the better for some calories. Right, Mayor? I’ll work the computer and come up with a list of names, and then you can decide.” She looked over her spectacles at Brady. “Not a bad suggestion, Mr. Beale.”

  “You’re going to do it, then?” Brady said. “Spend all that money for an out-of-towner to come in? I work for free, you know.”

  “I think it’s probably best,” Dookie said. “Perhaps next year, Brady, when we are creating the membership for the steering committee, you would consent to join us.”

  “Whatever.” Brady got up. “I’ll say good-bye then. Good to see you all,” he added heartily. “If you’re in the market for a car, you know where to find me.”

  Althea waited until the door closed behind him and winked at Quill. “I’ll bet you’re feeling a little better now, my dear.”

  “To be honest, I feel like a ten-ton weight’s been lifted off my back.” Quill smiled at them. “Althea’s right about breakfast, Elmer. Let me go check on how it’s coming along. I’ll be right back.”

  Thankfully, Quill escaped to the kitchen, where she found her sister flattening veal with a large mallet.

  “Hey, Quill.”

  “Hey, yourself.” Quill resisted the temptation to sit in the rocker. If she sat down, she wouldn’t want to get up for anyone except her son. “Guess what?”

  “You decided to commit seppuku rather than chair the fete committee.”

  “They’re hiring an event coordinator!”

  Meg’s face lighted up. “No! Hey!” She held her hand up and Quill slapped it gleefully. “You’re saved, by God. I am like, totally psyched on your behalf.”

  “I don’t know why we didn’t think of it before. It’ll be expensive.”

  “It’ll be worth it. Besides, odds are good Adela will be back in harness soon, right?”

  “As soon as I can find out who took the money.”

  Meg looked at her. “You’re back in the detecting saddle again? How does Myles feel about that?”

  Quill changed the subject. “I put an order in for four Eggs Quilliam in my office. I’ve come to see when it’ll be ready.”

  “No, you didn’t. You came to escape your fete. Get it? Fate. Fete.”

  “I got it.”

  “Of course your breakfast is on the way.” Meg turned and shouted over her shoulder: “Elizabeth! How’s Quill’s order coming along?”

  Elizabeth Chou didn’t raise her head as she deftly sliced cantaloupe. “Another three minutes.”

  “Told ya.” Meg whacked the veal even flatter. “Bet you wish it was thirty.”

  “I wish it was three years. Honestly, Meg, this is just a mess. What the heck could have happened to that money? And how did Carol Ann know anything about it?”

  “Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she was just being Carol Ann–ish, which is to say, she’s a big-time troublemaker and lucked into the fact that the money’s gone. Now she can dress up in jackboots and march around town calling for justice. It’s a stunt, that’s all it is.”

  “Maybe,” Quill said dubiously. “And maybe she had something to do with it.”

  Meg shuddered. “If you’re thinking about investigating Carol Ann, you can do it all by your lonesome. That woman’s a walking Titanic.”

  “That makes no sense as a metaphor.”

  “Sure it does. She’s a disaster waiting to happen to other people. Which doesn’t include me.”

  Quill bent sideways and looked under the prep table. Meg wore clogs in the kitchen, and with the clogs, summer and winter, she wore socks. The color of the socks was a good indicator of her mood. Today’s were a contentious green. “Actually, I wasn’t thinking of Carol Ann so much as Althea Quince.”

  Meg put down the mallet, her attention finally caught. “Really?”

  “The committee members are all signatory on the fete account. Surely you don’t suspect Dookie. Or me. Or the mayor.”

  “And Althea’s the only outsider? Very parochial. Not like you at all, Sis.”

  “Myles had that reaction, too. Honestly, though. I know I didn’t do it, I can’t believe our minister would do it, and Elmer wouldn’t have the nerve.”

  “Yeah, but how would Althea access the funds? Adela holds on to that checkbook like it was her firstborn son. Speaking of which, how’s my nephew this morning?”

  Quill didn’t answer that for a minute. There were shadows under Meg’s eyes, and her little sister looked cross. It was clear that Meg didn’t want to know much more about the problems with the fete. If there was something bugging her (and it was probably Justin, since the men in her sister’s life didn’t last long), Meg would tell her eventually. In the meantime, long years of experience with her sister told Quill it was time to back off. “Doreen’s taking him to a playdate with Lily Peterson.” Quill took a deep breath. “I should be on that playdate. I’m missing my son’s childhood, Meg. Do you realize that?”

  “You spend two hours every morning and three hours every night with him. Anyone who wants to spend more time than that with a five-year-old is insane.”

  Quill gritted her teeth. “Let’s not get into it this morning, okay? I’ve got enough on my plate.”

  “You have Eggs Quilliam on your plate, or very nearly. Elizabeth!”

  “Right here!” Elizabeth put two of the plates in Quill’s hands and grabbed the other two. “C’mon, Quill. Eggs are lethal when they’re cold.”

  ~

  Back in the office, Elmer was looking marginally better and Althea was beaming. Dookie sat comfortably on the couch, maki
ng notes in a journal in an abstracted way. Elizabeth cleared the conference table, whipped napkins and cutlery out of her apron pocket, and arranged the plates. After accepting Althea’s generous praise for the presentation, she gave Quill an impish salute and left.

  Elmer was the first to seat himself. He tucked his napkin into his collar, grabbed his fork, and said, “I do believe I found someone to take over the fete. She’s coming in this morning for an interview.”

  “That’s wonderful, Elmer.” Quill touched Dookie gently on the shoulder to get his attention and shepherded him to the table. “Who is it?”

  “Name’s Linda Connelly. Runs an outfit called Presentations. I like the title, don’t you? No fuss, no muss. Very professional. She’ll be here at eleven. Said it wouldn’t take more than an hour to get here from Syracuse.”

  “Her website was pretty impressive,” Althea said. “She was laid off from Xerox about ten years ago and went into event planning.”

  “Done a lot of big dos,” Elmer spoke between rapid and appreciative bites of egg and cheese. “Got a lot of references. Best of all, she’s free.”

  “No charge?” Quill said.

  “I mean that her schedule’s free. She had some big wedding on for two weeks from now and the groom upped and went off with the best man.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “So the folks had to cancel the wedding.”

  “I should think so.”

  “Lucky for us.”

  “Maybe not so lucky for the bride.” Quill hesitated. “Do you want me to sit in on the interview?”

  Elmer waved his fork. “No, no need. I can take care of it. I’ll get Adela to sit…” He stopped. His face crumpled. He choked, and for an awful moment, Quill thought the eggs were going to come back up.

  “Take a couple of deep breaths,” Althea said kindly. She whacked him several times on the back.

  Elmer took a couple of deep breaths. Then he folded his napkin and set it next to his plate with a decisive air. “There’s one more thing I want to do this morning. I want to hire you.”

  “You want to hire me?” Quill had a number of immediate suspicions about what he wanted to hire her for, and she didn’t like any of them. “For what?”

  “You got to find out what’s happened to this money. You’ve been a pretty good detective over the years.” He turned to Althea. “You wouldn’t believe how many corpses this gal has under her belt.”

  Althea’s eyebrows rose. “Is that so?”

  “You betcha. Now, Kiddermeister hasn’t done a half-bad job as sheriff, although he’s not a patch on the Sheriff, of course, who never did take much to Quill’s investigating so it’s probably just as well he’s in Kuwait or wherever he is. Otherwise Quill might have to stick to bein’ a wife.”

  Althea rubbed her forehead. “What, what?” Then, rather pathetically, “This conversation makes no sense to me. None. I think my mind is going. My husband will be devastated.”

  Dookie looked up from his egg. “The mayor is referring to Sheriff McHale. Who is no longer sheriff but an antiterrorism agent. Memories are long in the country, Mrs. Quince, and many of us here view McHale as the sheriff qua sheriff, so to speak, even though he is serving his country in a much larger way at the moment. So he is, and always will be, the Sheriff. Sheriff McHale married Quill, after a long and affectionate courtship. He is a good man and naturally enough, he is concerned about Quill’s unofficial forays into detection, both as an upholder of law and order and as a loving husband. That said, I must admit that as amateur sleuths go, the village has a healthy respect for Quill’s abilities as a detective. She is quite gifted in that regard.”

  Quill opened her mouth, couldn’t think of anything to say, and closed it again.

  “I see. At least I sort of see.” Althea hesitated. “I thought you were a famous artist.”

  “She is,” Elmer said proudly.

  “I thought you retired to the country to run this Inn.”

  “She did,” Dookie said, just as proudly. “Partly, we surmise, to offer a diversion to her younger sister, who had been tragically widowed. But also because the burden of increasing fame in the arts was onerous for her.”

  Small towns! Quill thought furiously. I suppose everybody knows how much I weigh, too.

  “And you’re an investigator, too?” Althea fanned herself with her napkin. Her bracelets clanked. “Good heavens.”

  Elmer rapped the table impatiently. “Y’all need to get back to the point here. I want my wife back. I want my life back. So, Quill, can I hire you to get to the bottom of this fiasco?”

  Quill glanced at Althea and away again. “Sure.”

  Elmer tucked his napkin back into his collar. “You wouldn’t think of taking a fee, I’m sure of that.”

  “No, indeed,” Quill said. “You can hire me for free.”

  “So when can you start?”

  Quill blinked at him. “Right now, I guess. I’d like to talk to Adela first, if you don’t mind. Do you know where I can find her?”

  Elmer stared gloomily at his eggs. “At our house, I guess. If she’s not at the lawyer’s office. She won’t answer her phone, and she’s bolted all the doors from the inside, so I guess she’s there.”

  Quill wanted to ask where Elmer had spent the night but didn’t dare.

  “I’ve been putting up at Harland Peterson’s. They got that big old farmhouse and all his kids are grown so Marge said why not?”

  Quill took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Then we’ll wrap up here and I’ll drop by and see her as soon as we’re finished.”

  6

  Elmer and Adela lived in a small, ferociously neat two-story house off Maple. Quill parked on the street and sat for a moment. The drapes were drawn. The morning paper sat on the porch. The house had an abandoned air. If the Hemlock Dairy still delivered milk, Quill was willing to bet the bottles would still be out and spoiling in the hot August sun. She had a sudden vision of a crowd of villagers picketing outside the waist-high wrought-iron fence yelling “Thief!” led by a gun-toting Carol Ann.

  When Myles was away, at night she fell asleep to the television; as she walked up the trim brick pathway, horrific scenes from reruns of late-night crime shows kept nudging at her. Adela would be just fine. There wouldn’t be a bloody corpse on the living room floor. Nobody would be hanging from the shower rod. This was Hemlock Falls. Stuff like that didn’t happen here. At least not very often.

  The front door was painted teal blue, to match the shutters. She pressed the doorbell, and didn’t hear anything, but Adela opened the front door almost immediately.

  “Quill.”

  “Adela.”

  Adela liked pantsuits, the more colorful the better. The one she wore this morning was a cheerful yellow. She’d matched it with a flowered blouse—the blossoms resembled poppies—and coral earrings.

  “May I come in?”

  Adela stood taller and peered over Quill’s shoulder. “You’re alone? That man has been setting siege to the place.”

  “Quite alone,” Quill said gravely. “Elmer’s back at the Inn. I’ve just come from a meeting of the fete committee.”

  Adela looked pleased. “I thought one of you might be along this morning. Come back through to the kitchen. I’ll make a pot of tea. Oh! Good heavens. They finally delivered the paper.” She bent down and picked it up.

  Quill followed her through the foyer, past the living room, and into the Henrys’ small eat-in kitchen. The round oak table showed the remains of a substantial breakfast. Adela gathered up her plate, rinsed it, put it in the dishwasher, and gestured. “Please sit down. Do you have a preference in teas? I have Earl Grey and a very nice herbal tea with hibiscus flowers.”

  “The Earl Grey will be fine. Thanks.” Quill dropped her tote on the floor and sat down. Adela put the kettle on to boil and sat across from her. “I’ve been meaning to ask how the booths for our Furry Friends are coming along.”

  For a moment, Quill went completely blan
k. “The booths, yes. I went to Syracuse yesterday and checked out the crates. They’ll be delivered two days before the fete opens so we’ll have time to set up. As far as the entries go, we have…” Quill fumbled in her pocket for her sketch pad. “Let’s see. Sixteen cats in the Purrfect Pet division. Twenty dogs in the Man’s Best Friend division. Three chickens, four hamsters, one snake, and eight birds in the Exotic Expressions division. So I ordered the appropriate sizes for the crates. And a lot of wood shavings, too.”

  Adela coughed delicately. “And the manure disposal?”

  “Up to the exhibitor,” Quill said briskly, since she hadn’t thought about manure disposal at all. “That’s not why I’m here. Adela, we have to talk.”

  Adela nodded regally and steepled her hands. “Indeed we do. I take it you have come from the Chamber with an offer of a sincere apology. I have considered carefully what my response should be. First, I will accept it, as long as it is in writing. Second, I will resume my duties as chair of the fete committee if, and only if, that person is refused admittance to any Chamber of Commerce meetings now and in the future.” She moved the sugar bowl, which was a small ceramic teddy bear, to one side of the table and back again.

  “You mean Carol Ann.”

  “Who else?” Adela snorted. “She should be grateful I haven’t demanded she be run out of town.” She repositioned the creamer—a ceramic cow with a spout for a muzzle. “You don’t think this sounds too much like blackmail?”

  “Blackmail?”

  “The fete is in two weeks. It means a great deal to this town. I would not like to force a cancellation.”

  Adela’s calm was eerie. Quill’s uneasiness grew. Carol Ann’s demonstration had been all over the late-night news. Everyone in town was looking for Adela, including all six members of the sheriff’s department. Maybe Adela had totally flipped out.

  “Yesterday was stressful for all of us,” Quill began.

  “P’ah! After all these years, Sarah Quilliam, I know how to handle stress. After that insulting scene at the Chamber meeting, I went straight into Syracuse. I had a massage. I went to the Pyramid Mall.” She smoothed the knees of her yellow pants. “Then I met my sister for dinner to counsel her about a problem she’s having with her eldest grandson.”