Dread on Arrival (10 page)

Edmund’s little dog—seems to think she knows something about early-twentieth-century Americana. She doesn’t. Has a new degree from RSI in costume design. Tiresome creature! Edmund’s a friend of her family—only way she could get the job.
Quill would try to be around to greet them as they checked in, but she’d long ago learned this wasn’t essential as long as she spent time with them later on. Edmund and Rose Ellen had booked the Tavern Lounge for their engagement party that evening. She could drop in to meet them then. They’d probably be at the auditions at the high school, too.

She wondered, not for the first time, if the
Attic
crew was going to turn up anything of interest. What happened to the show when all they came up with was garage sale stuff? Would they pack up their tents and go home?

The last item to take care of was the de-bulbed carriage lamps on the fire escape stairs. She wrote
Mike!
on the list, and sat back in her chair.

Dina could handle the guests and Mike. She herself would handle the staff meetings. The other two matters—Carol Ann and the suspicious lightbulb—she would hand off to Marge and Davy Kiddermeister first thing this morning. She folded the list and stuck it into her skirt pocket with a feeling of a job well done.

There was a tap at the door and Dina walked in. “You look happy this morning. Hey, Biz, how are you doing?”

Biz jerked to attention and stared past Dina at the open door. He jumped off Quill’s lap and marched out. Quill saw Clare stumble past, her hair awry. She raised a hand feebly and headed to the front door.

“Looks like she had a tough night,” Dina said. “So what’s on the agenda for this morning?”

“I’ve decided to roll with the punches and let the chips fall where they may,” Quill said proudly. “I am taking a catlike attitude toward life. There are no crises. There is only perspective.”

“Okay. So that means what?”

“It means I’ll be out most of the morning on business, and then I’m taking Jack to the Park.”

“You’re taking Jack to the Park? With all this going on?”

“I’m delegating. Which means, don’t call me unless somebody’s on fire or bleeding. It’s too gorgeous outside to waste the time with Jack. And there’s no major crises anyway.”

“No crises? You haven’t heard about the mayor’s race? That’s going to tear this town apart. And the burglaries? You missed a lot on that monthlong vacation you took, Quill.”

“Phooey,” Quill said. “If you ask me, it’ll all blow over. All Marge needs is another project to divert her attention, and I’ve got an idea how to do that. As far as the mayor’s race—who the heck is going to vote for Carol Ann? Marge has too many irons in the fire to waste time being mayor. Nope. Marge is going to drop out of the race and Elmer will get reelected and things are going to be just fine. Change,” she added, as she slung her tote over her arm, “can be a very healthy thing. Especially if you ignore it. Oh. I left a couple of things for you to do. The list is right here. But otherwise, we are going to keep ourselves to ourselves, as the Irish say.”

Dina held a fistful of pink While You Were Out message slips. She looked at them doubtfully. “So our new management tactic is to ignore stuff?”

“Not stuff related to the Inn, of course. We’re running a business. We’re just going to ignore things
extraneous
to the Inn.”

“An isolationist policy, you mean. Like in World War One.”

“Sort of,” Quill said cautiously.

“Because it didn’t work for Wilson and I don’t think it can work for us.”

Quill took a deep breath.

“So what do you want me to do with these?” Dina waved the message slips. “Throw ’em out?”

“Let’s not call it an isolationist policy. Let’s call it a non-busybody policy.” Quill hesitated. Old habits were difficult to change. The While You Were Out messages were too insistent. “Are there any of those messages that we can safely ignore?”

“Four of them are from Mayor Henry. Important Chamber business, he said.”

Quill made a noise like “phuut!”

“One’s from the Hemlock Falls
Gazette.
They want a statement from you about the three-way mayor’s race. Who are you going to support? They’d like a comment about the burglaries, too, since you’re the best amateur detective in town.”

“I’m the only amateur detective in town.”

“Huh,” Dina said, who had helped on several of the cases. “There’s been a lot of gossip about whether or not you’re going to take on the case.”

“There you go. A perfect example of things we can ignore. We are staying out of the mayor’s race. I am retired as a detective, since I became a mother. Forget any statements to the newspaper. What else?”

“Two messages are from Rose Ellen Whitman. Important wedding business, she said.”

“Refer her to Kathleen.”

“One’s from Harvey Bozzel. Important advertising …” Quill made a “get on with it” motion with both hands. “Okay. He says you have something for him and what time should he pick it up?”

“I don’t have anything for him, do I?” Quill sorted fruitlessly through the piles of paper on her desk until she unearthed the sketchbook that she used for taking Chamber minutes. She flipped to the page recording yesterday’s meeting. “I don’t. Could you call him and see what it is?”

“I’ll bet he wants to get your opinion on the mayor’s race.”

“I do not have an opinion on the mayor’s race. Like Sweden. I’m neutral.”

Dina frowned. “Do you think we can get away with that?”

“We
are
going to get away with that.”

“If you say so. You’re the boss. So that’s about it for messages. I really don’t think you should ignore any of them.”

“Fine.” Quill grabbed the message slips, “Out of all those messages, there’s only one I need to do myself. I’ll call Elmer. The rest I am going to delegate. To you. Tell everybody ‘no comment.’” She picked up the landline and punched in Elmer’s number.

He picked up on the first ring and responded to her greeting with suspicious heartiness. “Why, Quill. Always delighted to hear from you. How’s everything up there at the Inn?”

“Just fine, Elmer. Dina said you had some Chamber business to discuss?”

“Sure do. I’m Chamber president and it’s about me. Wanted to know if I could book a party of six for lunch today. Round two o’clock. Know it’s a little late, but I got that shindig up to the high school. The auditions. The missus is going to give Mr. Tree an advance peek at a couple of goodies for the show, and we’d like to take him to lunch after. Figure it’s the least we can do.”

“I’ll be happy to let Dina make the reservations for you, Mayor.”

Elmer’s heartiness increased to a nervous roar. “And now that you’ve brought it up, that’s the other thing I wanted to discuss with you. I know I’ve got your endorsement for the election, but I was thinking maybe you wouldn’t mind doing a little quick sketch for the campaign poster. Adela says there’s nobody like you to give it a touch of class. I know it don’t take you all that long to whip up a little something, so I asked Harvey to drop by today to pick it up. Anytime you’re ready.”

“Mayor, I …”

“Love to hear you give me that title.” He chuckled. “That’ll be it then. Thank you for bein’ the first to get on board the Keep Hemlock Falls Happy with Henry campaign. Thank you very much. Gotta go! And you go ahead and make room for yourself at our table at two.”

He hung up.

Quill dropped the receiver into the cradle.

“Are you going to call him back?” Dina asked. “Tell him that with our new isolationist policy we can’t endorse anybody for mayor?”

“Yes,” Quill said.

“Are you going to do it right now?”

“No,” Quill said.

“Smart,” Dina approved. “That’s his home phone and Adela’s there and Elmer’s got caller ID. He’ll know it’s you and she’ll pick up and she’ll roll right over you.”

“I can handle Adela.”

“So call.”

Quill didn’t move.

“I’m thinking you might not want to call Harvey back, either. He’ll want the poster.”

“You’d be right.” Quill gathered her tote with a sigh.

Dina patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about a thing. You just get back here as soon as you can so you can get Jack to Peterson Park.”

6

∼Betty Hall’s Upstate Pancakes∼

4 strips maple bacon2½ cups flour2 eggs1 cup milk1 tablespoon baking powder2 tablespoons sugarFry bacon in cast-iron skillet. Do not drain. Mix all ingredients and pour over bacon. Put skillet in preheated 350-degree oven for thirty-five minutes or until puffed and brown. Ladle seasonal berries over top and serve with whipped cream. She decided to walk down to the village. At this hour, Marge would be in one of two places: her realty office or having breakfast at her All-American Diner (Fine Food! And Fast!). She checked the diner first and found Marge eating hash browns in the front booth.

“’Lo, Quill.”

“Hey, Marge.” Quill slid into the booth opposite her. Marge looked the same as always: chinos, windbreaker, and ginger hair, except that she’d exchanged yesterday’s red-checked shirt for a blue.

The All-American Diner wasn’t the same at all. Quill had stopped in the restaurant in early August, just before she and Myles had taken Jack to the Adirondacks, and she hadn’t been back since. Marge and Betty had remodeled with a vengeance.

The Formica tabletops had been replaced with knotty pine. Muslin panels hung at the windows, replacing the old daisy-print curtains. Ferns in ceramic pots hung from the ceiling. Vivaldi drifted over the speakers. A few of the old farmers from the outskirts of town slouched at the breakfast counter, but the tables were filled with trendy couples from nearby Syracuse and well-dressed retirees. The familiar homey diner was gone. Even the air smelled different.

Quill squelched her dismay with a determined recollection of her new attitude toward change. It was quite nice, really, even if she was up to her eyeballs with endless repetitions of
The Four Seasons.
It was better than endless repetitions of Pachelbel’s
Canon.
The diner just wasn’t the familiar place she’d loved for so long. She could learn to love this, too.

“When did all this happen? While Myles and I were away?”

“You like it?”

“I guess so.” She had a sudden, unwelcome thought. “You didn’t make any changes to the Croh Bar, did you?” The bar had been a much-loved, very successful village staple since 1942. When Marge had acquired it several years ago, she’d replaced the tattered furnishings with exact replicas of the orange-flowered indoor-outdoor carpeting and cheap wood venetian blinds, so that the bar looked the same only smelled better. It had been a smart move, but then, Marge hadn’t become the richest woman in a five-county area by sheer luck.

“Figured with all the tourists washing in and out, it was time to spruce this place up a bit. Don’t know about the Croh, yet. Don’t get a lot of the tourist trade in there.”

Quill looked around for the sticky plastic menu that advertised Betty Hall’s superb diner cooking.

“Looking for the menu?” Marge pointed toward the counter. The red vinyl-topped stools had been replaced with maple captain’s chairs. The counter top itself was a handsome butcher block. A blackboard propped on an easel stood at the farthest end. “Menu’s on the chalkboard. It’s the same thing every day, but the tourists don’t know that. Looks fancier to write it down, like the chef has to think about it. Saves on printing menus, too.”

Quill squinted, but she couldn’t read it. “Does Betty still make those wonderful Upstate Pancakes?”

“Nope.” She gestured toward the well-dressed couples. “This lot’s fonder of yogurt.”

“Meg always said Betty was the best diner cook on the continent. And those pancakes were just sensational.”

“Meg would be right. But the customers don’t care for the carbs. You’ll want the spinach eggs. Lot of carbs in that, too, but the vegetable part makes up for it.”

“That sounds just fine.”

Marge finished the last forkful of hash browns, shouted, “Betts! Special!” and buttered a piece of toast.

“You’re doing well, I take it?”

“Never better.” Marge crunched the toast between her strong white teeth. “The time away did you good, I think. Myles is off again?”

“Yes.”

“Hope they didn’t post him to Libya.”

“Me, too.”

Marge smiled at her, reminding Quill of the crocodile in the children’s poem. “Kinda glad you dropped by. If you hadn’t, I was going to come up to see you.”

“Oh?”

“Figure you’ll give me your endorsement for mayor. Need the whole Chamber on my side for this campaign. Except for Elmer, of course.” She shrugged. “Town’s going to follow what the Chamber wants to do. Always does. Figure I’d start with you, since the Chamber will probably follow your lead.”

Quill blinked. “They will?”

“Funny that they do, isn’t it? You keep the worst minutes of anyone I ever met, but you keep getting reelected as Chamber secretary, year after year. And folks seem to listen to you.”

Quill was momentarily diverted by a familiar grievance. “I don’t even run for secretary. I don’t want to be secretary. I mean, every two years I tell you I’m not running and every two years people write me in on the ballot and I go ahead and fold and end up doing it.”