that owed a lot to exercise equipment. And where Rudy
exhibited a rather cheerful menace, Kittleburger’s presence was both powerful and malign. His black eyes swept the crowd. “Am I missing something, here?” His
voice was mild, but there was an iron-willed edge underneath. “Olivia, I thought we were reconvening the meeting at two.” He looked at his watch, a diamond encrusted Rolex, and gave her a mocking smile. “It’s after two. Quite a bit after two. When I didn’t hear from you,
I decided to come and see where the hell you all were.
And here you all are. On television, no less. Are you announcing our parting of the ways?” The last part of this sentence was delivered with unmistakable malice.
“Great cut line,” Angela Stoner breathed. “Stop
tape.”
Kittleburger looked at Rudy and gave him a nod.
Rudy slid off the bar stool, hitched up his pants, and
made a beeline for the Steadicam.
“Wait!” Olivia said dramatically. Her interjection
was so abrupt that everyone in the room turned to look
at her. She pressed the palms of both hands to her eyes.
“There is something behind the curtain. Wait! I feel it
coming through.”
“Oh, stuff it, Olivia,” Victoria said. “The camera’s off.”
“And I want to get through the rest of our agenda,”
Kittleburger said. He used his voice like a whip. “With
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59
Lila gone, I’ve got to get back to Iowa. So let’s move
it. Now.”
Harker, who had watched Kittleburger with his arms
folded and his face a mask, raised his voice. “You’ll need
to be available for police questioning, Mr. Kittleburger.”
Kittleburger lifted one heavy eyebrow. “I gave my
statement this morning. To your captain. You need any
more information than that, you check with him. Barn-
staple? Victoria? Get your asses in line.”
“Y’all can meet down at my place,” Pamela said
breathlessly. “Y’all know the conference room isn’t
available this afternoon. I’m givin’ a report to the
Chamber on the puppy sh . . .”
Kittleburger glanced briefly at Pamela. “Shut up.”
He turned on his heel and walked out. Pamela subsided
in a flutter of charm bracelets. Harker, his face a dull
red, leaned against the bar in a posture of assumed indifference.
“Well, I’m out of here,” Angela said. “I’ve got a
deadline to meet.”
“I want all of you are out of here except this witness,” Harker said. He straightened up and swaggered toward Quill.
“He can’t do that,” Meg said indignantly. “Can he?”
Victoria shrugged. Angela and the TV crew went out
the door. Olivia stalked off, presumably after Kittleburger. Pamela looked from the TV crew to Olivia and trotted after Olivia, both dogs at her heels. The rest of
the people in the room, with the exception of Nate,
Meg, and Quill herself, drifted out after them.
Meg squared her shoulders. She narrowed her eyes at
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Claudia Bishop
Harker. “Nate and I are staying right here. And so is my
sister. You heard Victoria Finnegan. Quill’s not involved.”
Harker gave Quill his reptilian half-smile. “Your
lawyer friend? She’s wrong. I can pull in any witness I
like for questioning. You’re coming back to the barracks
with me.”
“Then I’m coming, too, Harker,” Meg said belligerently.
Harker hiked a shoulder indifferently. “Follow along
if you like. Only people on official business come along
with me in the cruiser.”
Harker made Quill feel her skin was crawling with
spiders. He had always been careful not to say anything
out of line, even more careful not to touch her; it was his
sly and insinuating delivery that gave her the creeps.
That and the implicit threat that if he ever found her
alone . . . she shivered, inwardly. She hated the fact that
by some cosmic accident, Harker had fixed on her for
his unpleasant fantasies.
“There is absolutely no reason why I can’t accompany
Mrs. McHale in your squad car,” Meg said stubbornly.
“Cruiser,” Harker corrected, “and . . . who did you
say?”
Meg raised one eyebrow. “You didn’t know, did you?
That my sister married Myles McHale two months ago?
The one guy in the world who can get your ears knotted
down around your socks . . .”
“Meg.” Quill put a hand on her sister’s arm. She
hadn’t taken the time this morning to check out the
color of Meg’s own socks, a reliable indicator of her sister’s erratic temper. She checked them out now. They were a fiery orange. Not a good omen. “Let’s not blow
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61
this out of proportion. I’ll be glad to give you another
statement, Lieutenant. I’d appreciate it if we could do it
here, though. I have a Chamber of Commerce meeting
scheduled in about two minutes.”
Harker scowled. “You’re coming down to the barracks,
with me. Your cooperation in this is a matter of law.”
“She’s already given the police a statement!” Meg
shook Quill’s hand off irritably and glared at Harker.
With her hair sticking up, she looked like Medusa’s
younger, cuter sister.
“Is that right,” Harker said flatly. But he looked uncertain.
“So she’s cooperated just fine. You can use the statement Quill gave Davy Kiddermeister, Harker. She doesn’t need to be interviewed again. Just like,” she
added with a hint of malice, “Mr. Kittleburger. You
wouldn’t want it to look like you were playing favorites,
would you? So your little trip here to harass my sister
was wasted.” She glared at him. “And please don’t let
the door catch you on your way out.”
“Fine.” Harker blinked slowly, like a snake in the
sun. “For now.” He smiled, slowly. “But I’ll be back.
And that’s a promise.”
Meg watched Harker and his troopers saunter out the
terrace door with her hands on her hips and her chin
stuck out at a stubborn angle.
Quill eyed her sister narrowly. “Thanks. I guess. But
don’t you think you annoyed him just a little bit more
than you needed to?”
“I’m your sister. I’ll defend you to the death.” She
put her arm around Quill’s waist and gave her a quick
hug. “You’re by yourself again tonight, right? Why
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Claudia Bishop
don’t I bring over some dinner around eight? And we
can get comfortable with a few glasses of wine. In the
meantime,” she nodded toward the foyer, where Elmer
Henry stood with Carol Anne Spinoza and two other
Chamber of Commerce members, waiting for Quill to
let them into the conference room, “our mayor awaits.”
Quill looked at the group without enthusiasm. The
mayor didn’t drive her as buggy as Carol Ann Spinoza
did, but she didn’t relish the idea of spending the next
hour or two in the company of either one. Carol Ann
was town assessor in those years when the pro-Carol
facti
on (those villagers vulnerable to blackmail) outnumbered the anti-Carol faction (everybody else). This was a pro-Carol year, primarily because she’d hired a
detective to follow the Kiwanis Club on its annual
overnight trip to Toronto, and she was able to blackmail
practically every guy over forty in town.
Elmer was far less annoying than Carol, but he did
have a tendency to maneuver Quill into situations she’d
rather be well out of.
On the other hand, Miriam Doncaster, the town librarian, and Howie Murchison, village attorney, were two of her favorite people in Hemlock Falls.
She greeted them all with a smile.
“Conference room’s locked,” Elmer said. Elmer and
his formidable wife Adela had emigrated from one of
the Carolinas—Quill could never remember if it was
North or South—so many years ago that they almost
qualified as true Hemlockians in the eyes of old guard.
Elmer’s Southern accent had long since disappeared
into the nasal vowels of upstate New York, although it
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63
reappeared under stress. He was a little taller than short,
somewhat tubby, and prone to attacks of perspiration.
“It is?” Quill felt in her pocket for the keys. “Housekeeping started cleaning up in there and didn’t have time to finish. We may have to work through a bit of a
mess.”
“Ew,” Carol Ann said. Everybody ignored this. Carol
Ann’s bouncy blond ponytail and pristine tennis shoes
hid the soul of a germ-obsessed fascist.
“Sorry,” Quill said blithely.
“I’m sure it’s just fine,” Miriam Doncaster said.
Miriam had maintained a sort of middle-aged glamour
into her fifties that was much envied by her peers. She
blinked her big blue eyes at Quill and said in a low tone,
“I hear you had a heck of a morning.”
Quill rolled her eyes.
“Is this Lila Longstreet the same bottle blonde that
showed up at the Croh Bar last night?”
Quill held up her hand in a “wait a second” gesture.
Everyone followed Quill down the hall to the conference room, where eight or nine other Chamber members milled outside the locked door. Pamela milled among them, the dog in her arms.
“Are we gonna find another body in there?” somebody called from the back of the crowd.
Quill’s answering smile was a bit strained. She
opened the door, made a quick inspection of the repairs
she’d ordered, and then stepped back so that everyone
could file past and take a seat at the long conference
table that dominated the room. Miriam put herself at the
end of the line and said, “Well?”
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Claudia Bishop
Quill said, “Did the Lila Longstreet that showed up
at the Croh Bar have green eye shadow, long glittery
nails, a silicone-enhanced bosom, and . . .”
Miriam’s eyes rested on Howie Murchison. “An eye
for other people’s partners? Yep. That’s the one.”
“Then that’s the one I found in the cooler at Hogg’s,”
Quill said.
“Ugh. And she wasn’t ground up into sausage?”
Quill rolled her eyes in exasperation.
“I should have known better,” Miriam said.
“Y’all hush, now.” Elmer banged the gavel on the
long mahogany table. Esther West (West’s Best Dress
Shoppe) placed the gavel rest in front of the mayor
with a disapproving click of her tongue.
“I call this Chamber meetin’ to order,” the mayor
said. “Rev’rund? You want to lead us in prayer?”
The Very Reverend Dookie Shuttleworth rose and
blessed the people, the village, the county, and the state
of New York.
Quill settled next to Miriam and drew her sketchpad
from her pocket. It wasn’t the one with last month’s
meeting notes on it. “Nuts.”
Miriam raised an eyebrow.
“I left last month’s notes somewhere.”
“It doesn’t matter. You can never read what you
wrote anyhow.”
This was true. Quill had an idiosyncratic shorthand
that no one could read but herself. And if too long a
time elapsed between the note-taking and use of the
notes, she couldn’t decipher them, either.
Elmer rapped the gavel, “Quill? You got last month’s
notes?”
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65
Miriam raised her hand. “I move that we suspend the
reading of the previous month’s agenda.”
“So moved,” said Harland Peterson.
Quill gave him a grateful glance. The big farmer
grinned back at her.
Elmer sighed. “S’okay. Well, last month’s business is
more ideas for Chamber fundraisers. Life’s getting
more expensive, people, and our funds are in low water.
Esther, you were going to give us some ideas on that.”
Esther, who believed that the best advertising for her
store merchandise was to wear it herself, was dressed in
an autumn-hued print with a Peter Pan collar and a
string of pumpkin-colored beads. She wore matching
button earrings. She smoothed her spit curls, and then
waved a manila envelope in the air. “I have here the actual votes on the fundraiser. I did a mailing to all of the Chamber members two weeks ago and we had a sixty-two percent return.”
Quill frowned and scribbled on her sketchpad. There
were twenty-four members of the Hemlock Falls Chamber of Commerce, including the newest recruit, Pamela, of Pamela’s Pampered Puppy Palace. She looked at the
figure she’d calculated (14.88), raised her hand, then
lowered it when nobody else seem to wonder who
counted as less than ninety percent of a person.
Esther withdrew a number-ten envelope from the
larger one. “I have here the results of these votes.” She
opened the envelope, read the contents, frowned, and
then balled the paper up.
“Las Vegas Night at the Resort?” someone asked
hopefully.
Esther cleared her throat.
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Claudia Bishop
“Well, what the heck,” Elmer said crossly. “You want
me to read it?”
“It’s Las Vegas Night?” Esther said, making it into a
question.
The mayor grabbed the ball of paper, smoothed it out,
and said, “It is not. It’s the sausage breakfast. What the
heck’s the matter with that?”
Profound silence greeted him.
He scratched his ear in puzzlement. “Y’all don’t
want the sausage breakfast? Then how come you voted
for the sausage breakfast?”
“Where you bin all day, Elmer?” Harland Peterson
said.
“Syracuse. With the wife. Why?”
“It’s not even true,” Quill said. “I found the body. I
should know. She was perfectly . . . intact.”
“Except for her head,” Esther said helpfully.
“Whose head?” Elmer demanded. “Whose body?
God bless America, Quill. You don’t mean to say you
found another body?”
“It wasn’t just me,” Quill said indignantly. “As a matter of fact . . .” She bit her lip. She couldn’t believe that she was about
to tell a roomful of parents that a six-yearold had seen the body first. “Bernie Hamm was with me,” she concluded.
“And they say she was ground up in the sausage that
Bernie and Thelma make,” Esther added in hushed
tones. “I always thought there was something funny
about that sausage. When I asked Thelma for the recipe
last year, it just wasn’t the same as the stuff they sell. I
swear to heaven she left out a couple ingredients and it
looks like I was right.”
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67
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Esther,” Miriam exploded.
“You stop that right now. Lila Longstreet was done in
with a blunt instrument and that’s all there is to it.”
“I don’t b’lieve this,” Elmer muttered. “Quill, you
and Meg found who done it, yet?”
Quill admitted they had not.
“Well, get on it, why don’t you?” Elmer whacked the
gavel on the rest this time. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s move
on, folks. Everybody in favor of Las Vegas Night as our
second fundraiser this fall?”
Dookie raised his hand. “Yes,” he said mildly. “As
long as there is no gambling.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Miriam shouted. “Sorry,
Dookie, but we’re going to be here all day if we start on
that. I move we have a bake sale as a fundraiser.”
“Second,” Marge Schmidt said.
“So moved,” Elmer said. “Next order of business is
current business. Which is the Chamber-sponsored
Pampered Puppy Palace Dog and Puppy Show. Ms.
Durbin? You want to let the folks in on your committee’s plans, here?”
Pamela rose in a flutter of charm bracelets, perfume,
and exuberance. Pookie the Peke glared at them all
from the security of his tote, which Pamela had placed
on the table. “Thank you, Mayor. And thank y’all for
welcoming me and my little business to this lovely,
lovely village. And thank you especially for your sponsorship of what I hope will be a lovely, lovely show.”
“Here, here,” Harland Peterson said. He clapped his
big hands together. Everyone else applauded politely
except, Quill noticed, Marge Schmidt. Marge, dressed
as usual in chinos and a bowling jacket with her name
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Claudia Bishop
embroidered over the pocket, had abandoned the sequined tee for her usual cotton Henley. She looked at Pamela with marked distaste. The eyeliner Quill had noticed earlier in the morning had smeared even more, giving her the look of a belligerent raccoon.
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