Doreen scratched her head. Her hair was iron gray and made an exuberant cloud around her head as she charged through her day. Her eyes were black and birdy and she looked like an inquisitive chicken when she cocked her head at Quill. “What exactly did this note say, anyways?”
Meg shrugged. “Meet me outside by the waterfall at midnight, or something like it, I guess.”
“Was he attacked, like?”
“Davy thinks so.” Quill took another sip of coffee, which was very good. “Davy went over to question him this morning and he talked to the admitting physician, too. There’s no evidence of a physical assault. Jeeter’s being cagey. Says he must have ‘gotten dizzy-like’ which is no surprise for a healthy ninety-eight-year-old. But there are grass stains on the knees of Jeeter’s chinos and a mud smear on his back. Davey thinks he was pushed to his knees and hit his head on a rock. The question is why?”
Meg spread her hands wide in a “haven’t got a clue” gesture.
Doreen said, “T’cha.” Then, ominously, “I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. Secret notes. Late-night meetings. Adela Henry accused of thievin’. Vigilante groups meetin’ all over the place. I tell you what I’m going to do and that’s make sure young Jack isn’t alone for a minute.”
“Jack’s never alone for a minute,” Meg said. “When you aren’t with him, Quill is, and when Quill isn’t, I am.”
“Yeah, well, that goes in spades until this all here is cleared up.” Doreen stood up and brushed the crumbs from her capri pants. “That Dina’s watching him now, and she doesn’t have the sense God gave a goose. So I’m off. You tell me when you’re through detecting. Until then, I don’t want to hear a word about it.”
She marched off through the foyer that led to reception.
Meg sighed. “I can relate to that. What do you think?”
“I think,” Quill said darkly, “that none of this stuff started bubbling up until Althea Quince and her husband took the Long-Term Let and moved to Hemlock Falls for three months.”
Meg pointed her chin at the foyer. “And the lady herself enters, stage right. You can ask her, ‘why?’”
Quill turned around in her chair. Althea and her husband were poised at the main entrance to the dining room.
The dominant color in today’s scarves was grape. She must have spent part of the morning at the Hemlock Hall of Beauty; her hair was a vivid, purple-y red that made an alarming frame for the amethyst necklace, bracelets, and earrings. Nolan Quince stood behind her, one hand on her shoulder. Nolan had a dusty look to him: grayish hair that had once been blond, pale gray eyes that held an intelligent twinkle, indoor skin that hadn’t seen much of the sun.
“You two look pretty cozy over there,” Althea Quince said in a cheery voice. “We could use some company. Mind if we join you?”
Quill murmured “of course” and signaled Kathleen for two more setups at the table. Althea settled herself with a rustle and a scent of Chanel No. 5. Nolan held her chair for her, and then sat down quietly beside her.
“We had a wonderful breakfast this morning, just wonderful,” Althea boomed. “French toast filled with this marvelous cheesy sort of thing.” She patted Meg’s hand. “Your reputation is well deserved, my dear.”
“Thank you,” Meg said.
“Which isn’t to say that I’m not just a little peckish at the moment. Marvelous word that, ‘peckish.’ The inference is that I eat like a bird, which, of course, isn’t true.” She patted her substantial frame.
“Birds eat several times their own weight during the day,” Nolan observed. “So I think the simile is quite apt, my dear.” He looked up at Kathleen. “We’ll both have a little cheese, and perhaps some fruit.”
Althea lowered her voice several decibels. “We heard about poor Mr. Swenson. Is he going to be all right?”
Quill nodded. “Thank goodness.”
“The question I have,” Althea said, “is this. What in the world was that poor man doing out on the edge of the gorge at one o’clock in the morning?” Her eyes, a pale but penetrating blue, swept the table. “Trying to escape that dreadful son? I don’t mean to be more intrusive than is seemly, dear Quill…”
A warm, skeptical chuckle escaped Nolan.
“…Nolan knows me too well,” Althea said with a fond smile. “I am always intrusive. But what I have decided is this: perhaps we should take some measures to look out for Mr. Swenson. Quietly, to be sure, so that he doesn’t feel oppressed by our attentions.” She grinned companionably at them.
“I am a little worried about him,” Quill said. “But I don’t see how…”
“We’ll put him on a fete committee, of course,” Althea said. “Nothing strenuous. Do you think the Crafty Ladies might welcome a new member? They’re sponsoring one of those booths where you shoot at things.”
“Decoys,” Nolan said. Kathleen placed a plate of fruit and cheese in front of him and another in front of his wife. Nolan paused to look over the grapes. “Quite nice decoys, as a matter of fact. Ducks, geese, elk, and whatnot. I believe they are all made by the Crafty Ladies themselves.”
“Perfect,” Althea said. She scooped up a cheese made of ewe’s milk and popped it in her mouth. “Yum! Anyhow, I ran into that Dolly Jean whosis yesterday at a meeting and she and Jeeter were getting along like a house afire. When I heard what had happened to him this morning, the idea came to me just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “If you think he’s up to it, I can give Dolly Jean a call. Those ladies spend all their waking hours in meetings. He won’t have an unprotected minute.”
There was only one meeting Quill knew of where Dolly Jean, Althea, and Jeeter had all been in attendance. “The meeting out at Peterson Automotive?”
“The very one.” Althea picked up a clutch of grapes. She nudged her husband. “That Carol Ann Spinoza is a piece of work. Spite, malice, all wrapped up in one squeaky-clean package. Amazing.” She put three grapes into her mouth at once and said thickly, “But I’ll be damned if I think she’s the one behind the theft of the funds. Too law and order, although sometimes those zealots are the worst offenders. I mean, think of all the shenanigans some padres get up to. What do you think, Quill. Should I keep it up?”
Quill felt as if she were in a force-ten gale, losing everything she was wearing minute by minute. “Keep it up?”
“The undercover work, of course.” Althea finished the last of her cheese and grabbed the remaining slices on her husband’s plate. “Adela didn’t take that money. Somebody did. You’ve got a bent for detection. So do I. So I thought I’d help.”
“Thank you,” Quill said, feebly.
“You don’t mind my butting in, do you? This is a lovely village, and Nolan and I are having a lovely summer, but there are just so many novels I can read by the waterfall. I’m going to go nuts if I don’t have something interesting to do. And most detectives can use a sidekick. I’m a great sidekick, aren’t I, Nolan?”
Nolan kissed her on the cheek. “The very best, my dear.” He leaned back in his chair. “But Quill may need some assurances from you before she can commit to using your help…”
“Of course!” Althea said. Then, with an air of mild uncertainty, she asked, “What sort of assurances?”
Nolan’s face was as bland as ever, but Quill had the distinct impression he was amused. “Our innkeeper suspects that you may have something to do with the embezzlement.”
“Me!”
Quill felt herself turn bright red.
Althea looked insulted. Then she looked thoughtful. Then she grinned. “I can see that, I guess. If the situation were reversed, I suppose I’d have my suspicions, too. The stranger from out of town. Nobody knows a thing about her. But I’m just a mom, Quill, and a grandmother, too. I can show you pictures. Honestly. I didn’t embezzle a thing. Never have. Never will.”
Nolan looked at Quill. Meg gave her ankle a sharp kick under the table. Quill, who was thinking that the best place for a crook who didn’t want to be discovered was in the midd
le of the investigation, said, “Sure.” Then, after a long moment, she added, “I mean, I can use all the help I can get.”
“Partners in the pursuit of crime, then! Hurrah! I love it!” Beaming, she swallowed the last of her coffee and said, “So. What shall we do next?”
“Hm. As far as what next…well, did you discover anything suspicious at the Citizens for Justice meeting?”
“Just that Betty Hall is undercover, too. This village,” Althea continued sunnily, “is chock-full of undercover agents.”
“Oh.” Quill didn’t look at her sister, who was two seconds away from falling off her chair from laughter. “Yes. Well. Marge thought that maybe…”
Althea beamed at Meg. “It is amusing, when you think about it, Meg. I couldn’t agree with you more. Everyone running around playing detective? It’d be useful if we could all get together, don’t you think? Pool our resources? Perhaps we should add Betty Hall to Detection Unlimited, too.”
“Oh, dear.” Meg rubbed her napkin over her face and tossed it on the table. “Althea, I’m really glad you are on board with Undercover Bosses, or whatever you guys are going to call yourselves. It takes me off the hook and I can get back to my kitchen.” She patted Quill on the back. “Go get ’em, Sherlock.” She paused, halfway through the swinging doors. “So what are you going to do next?”
“There’s a meeting of the Justice people this morning at Peterson Automotive,” Quill said. “Linda Connelly is going to be there to assure herself that we aren’t going to get a raft of bad PR for the fete. Elmer thought I should go, too, to run interference.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s at noon, which is smart of Carol Ann, I guess, since it’s everyone’s lunch hour. I have to meet with the Furry Friends exhibitors in the afternoon but that shouldn’t take too long. Maybe Althea and I can sit down and make up a plan after that.”
“Over one of Meg’s superb dinners, perhaps? Excellent!” Althea said. Then, with an air of hope. “I thought perhaps I might go to the Justice meeting in disguise?”
Quill looked at Althea’s fire-red hair. “Disguise?”
“I’m going to cozy up to Carol Ann, but I don’t think she’ll talk to me if I appear as myself. She already knows that I’m staying here at the Inn and loving it.” Althea waved her forefinger. “Mark my words. That woman knows more than she’s saying. Do you think I should get her on tape? There’s time enough for me to run out and buy a recorder at Nickerson’s Hardware. I wonder if they carry wigs.”
Quill rubbed her temples. She was getting a headache. “Sure, Althea. Whatever you think best.” The cell phone in her pocket vibrated. “Excuse me while I get this, please.” She pulled out her phone and read the text. “I’m needed in the office. Would you like to ride with me to the meeting? I can meet you back here at quarter to twelve.”
“Thank you, my dear. But undercover is undercover. I will wend my way on my own.”
Quill left Nolan and Althea with their heads together and found Dina behind the mahogany registration desk.
“You look pretty cheerful.” Dina commented. “What’s up?”
“Althea Quince would cheer up a wake.”
“So she’s off your suspect list?”
Quill shook her head. “It’s too soon to take anyone off the suspect list. But she’s slipped down a couple of notches, that’s for sure.” She chuckled at the thought of the nearly six-foot, purple-haired Althea in disguise.
“Hm. Too bad your cheeriness is doomed.”
“It is, huh. Why?”
“It’s a delegation, they said. Although is it a delegation if it’s only two people? Anyhow, it’s Harvey Bozzel and Dolly Jean Attenborough and I put them in your office since Harvey looked like he was going to burst into tears any minute and who wants a weeping ad guy in the foyer? Bad for business.”
“Do you know what they want? It’s not about Adela, is it?”
“In a way. I think they’re, like, totally pissed off at Linda Connelly.”
Quill slipped behind the registration desk, tapped at her closed office door, and opened it. Harvey sat at one end of the couch and Dolly Jean sat at the other. Harvey looked tearful. Dolly Jean looked mad.
They demanded that the fete committee fire Linda Connelly.
“She’s rude, bossy, and cold,” Dolly Jean said indignantly. “Not that Adela, poor soul, isn’t bossy, too, but my goodness, there’s got to be a limit.”
Harvey smoothed his hair. It was blond, carefully gelled, and cut to show off his cheekbones. “There’s the expense, too. If I’d known that the village was willing to pay for a consultant, I would have pointed out that I’ve had considerable experience in running events of this sort.”
“Of course you have,” Dolly Jean said. “It’s outrageous, what the steering committee went ahead and did. Just trampled all over the expertise of our very own people without a hey-howdy to anyone else. Anyhow. That’s why we’re here. There are a lot of us who are very unhappy about this. You’re head of the steering committee. So we’ve come to you.” She fanned her cheeks with her hand, wafting a scent of lavender into the air. “You’ve got to fix this, Quill. Harvey and I have formed a committee…Save Our Fete…and we’ve elected you to the chair.”
Quill declined the honor, figuring that would make a total of six committees she was on, and she didn’t want to be on one. She thanked Dolly Jean for her concern. She commiserated with Harvey over the fact that a contract had been signed, and the village would have to pay Linda Connelly to go away. She wondered exactly what toes Linda Connelly had stepped on, but was smart enough not to ask. “But I will,” she promised, as she coaxed Dolly Jean and Harvey to the office door, “speak to Elmer about making her a little more sensitive to village concerns.”
“You do that,” Dolly Jean said crossly. “Or somebody’s going to throw the woman right over the lip of Hemlock Gorge. Do you know what she did? No, don’t you push me out the door until I’ve finished, Sarah McHale. You sit right back down and listen to me.”
10
Peterson Automotive was on the outskirts of the village on Route 15, a mere fifteen minutes from the Inn. Quill, with uncharacteristic firmness, coaxed Dolly Jean and Harvey out of her office at ten minutes to twelve and got into her Honda. She put her cell phone on speaker, put the car into gear, and called Elmer.
“It’s more a matter of Linda’s style, than anything else,” Quill said, after she’d summed up the delegation’s list of vague, but loudly expressed complaints. “Harvey’s very upset that we didn’t ask him to take over the fete, so his feelings are hurt. Dolly Jean is…well.”
“Bossy,” Elmer said. “That woman’s like a bulldozer. She’s one of them that’s always right even when she’s dead flat wrong, which is most of the time. Bossy, that’s the word.”
“Linda and Dolly Jean do seem to have clashed over decision making,” Quill admitted. “The placement of the Crafty Ladies booth, in particular. Dolly Jean wants it moved closer to the entrance.”
“Hah,” Elmer scoffed. “She tries to pull that one every year, so that she can rake in more of the tourist dollars. Adela never had any problem with her.”
Quill didn’t say that when it came to bossiness, she’d put her money on Adela any day. “Yes, well, Dolly Jean’s position is that if we hired Linda, we can fire Linda and put Harvey in her place.”
“Harvey’s a worse pushover than you are,” Elmer said. “That’s not gonna work. Here’s what I think you should do, Quill.”
Quill was getting pretty tired of hearing she was a pushover. “No. Whatever it is you think I should do, I’m not doing it.”
“All you got to do is sit down with Linda Connelly and put her in the picture.”
“She’s already in the picture.”
“Tell her not to give Dolly Jean squat.”
“You tell her. And you can tell Dolly Jean and Harvey that, too. I sent them over to you, Elmer, and I’m just calling to give you a heads-up.”
“I’m busy,” Elmer said
promptly and hung up before she could hang up on him.
Quill muttered to herself, looked up, and realized that she had almost driven past Peterson Automotive.
Car dealerships were like airports, she thought as she slowed to pull into the lot. Since they were purpose-built, there wasn’t a lot to distinguish one from the other, although George Peterson, who’d owned the dealership before his death, had done his best to make his building stand out. George was fond of balloons, and there were always dozens bobbing gently around the eaves of the sprawling one-story building. Brady—a third cousin, if Quill had her Peterson genealogy right—hadn’t seen any reason to change that. Bright globes of orange, red, purple, and green drifted above her head when she walked into the main showroom. The place smelled like new cars and hot Hemlockians.
New cars had been moved out of the way to accommodate several dozen metal folding chairs. Quill was glad to see that only about half of them were filled. Carol Ann stood near the glass-fronted offices in the back, in earnest conversation with Brady.
Quill took a seat in an empty row at the back and waited for something to happen.
Brady, arms folded, his chin sunk on his thin chest, listened attentively as Carol Ann spoke intensely into his ear. Two of his orange-suited mechanics, clearly bored, stood with their backs against the wall next to an overhead door marked service. Two women Quill recognized from the Crafty Ladies group bent over a desk and carefully inked in signs that read JUSTICE FOR ALL and PUT ADELA BEHIND BARS.
Harvey Bozzel sat slumped in a corner, biting his thumbnail. He looked up, saw Quill, and scowled. Dookie Shuttleworth and his gentle wife Kate sat quietly side by side, hands folded. Dookie saw Quill, winked, and mouthed we’re undercover.
“All in all,” said a voice in Quill’s ear, “it doesn’t look like a real activist bunch. May I sit down?”
Quill turned slightly. “Hi, Linda.” She tried not to look as if she were looking for Mickey Greer. “Are you alone today?”
“For this? Not for long. I sent the boys out for some R and R. We just came off a pretty intense gig. But they’ll be along.”
Fete Worse Than Death (9781101595138) Page 11
