"Tests?" said Mrs. Hallenbeck. "Who in the world would want to make that balcony unsafe?"
"I don't know," said Quill carefully. "But until we do, I thought you might want to... to... be as careful about your expenses as you have been in the past."
"Vandals!" said Mavis. "My God. Are we safe in our beds here, Amelia?"
"You seemed to think so when you talked me into coming here, Mavis," said Mrs. Hallenbeck tartly.
"I thought you and your husband had been here before," said Quill.
"Yes, of course. Mavis reminded me of it when we were planning our trip this summer. She did not, however, tell me that we would be fair game for malicious tricks."
"I don't know how this happened," said Quill. "But until we know who will have to pay for the repairs to the balcony, we won't know who will be responsible for your hotel bill. We are delighted to have you as guests, of course, but you must understand that we're running a business."
Mavis broke into shrill laughter that stopped as suddenly as it started. Mrs. Hallenbeck shot her a venomous glance, then nodded benignly at Quill. "We will be happy to accommodate you, Sarah." She picked up Mavis' plate of Eggs Benedict and the Smithfield ham. "You may return these to the kitchen and remove them from our room service charge. Mavis does not require that much for breakfast."
"I certainly do!" said Mavis. She snatched the plates back. "I'm sure Miss Quill and the sheriff don't want us to starve while we are waitin' to hear what's what." She picked up a slice of ham in her fingers and rapidly chewed it.
Quill murmured her goodbyes and left them to it.
Going downstairs to her office, Quill had a moment's feeling of control. She fervently hoped it was not illusory. It lasted through the staff meeting (all the waitresses showed up for work) and the business meeting with John (the Inn was booked solid for History Days). She even found time for a quick glance at Clarissa Martin's two big speeches, one before being ducked in the duck pond, the other as she was sentenced to being pressed to death. The feelings of competency even lasted through the lunch trade and Meg's excited report that Edward Lancashire had come to the kitchen to compliment her on the omelette. This was offset somewhat by Quill's receipt of a customer-satisfaction card, unsigned, that complained bitterly about the baking soda in the scrambled eggs. Quill, looking ahead to the month's receipts, decided to let it go.
She lost the glow at the Chamber meeting that afternoon. Since the Chamber budget allowed only for a once-a-month lunch in the conference room, supernumerary sessions were held in the Inn's Lounge. Quill donated coffee and soft drinks at these sessions, and she came into the lounge early to make sure of the preparations.
Esther bustled in behind her, clipboard in hand. "Julie Offenbach is sicker than a dog," reported Esther in glum satisfaction, "so you'll just have to rehearse with us, Quill."
"Has Andy Bishop seen her?" asked Quill, with slowly extinguishing hope. "They've got all kinds of miracle drugs these days."
"It's just flu!" said Esther. "She'll be maybe better by Wednesday. First performance is day after tomorrow, so there you are. You'll do fine, Quill."
"Oh, dear," said Quill. "Esther, I'm just not good at this kind of thing."
"But you're so pretty!" Esther said unenviously. "It's for the good of the Town, you know. You have been practicing, dear, haven't you?"
"You bet," said Quill firmly, "I'll just take a minute to... to look at it one more time." She escaped into the hallway. only to be swept back into the Lounge by an ebullient Mayor Henry and Gil Gilmeister. Marge Schmidt and Mavis Collinwood were right on their heels, and Marge yelled, "You got that part memorized, Mave?"
Quill turned around. Mavis, in a modest print dress much like the one from the day before, shrieked, "It's just adorable. I'm going to love it!"
Quill studied her for a moment. The effect of the Valium had carried over into the afternoon. The big patent-leather belt was cinched two notches tighter. The top of the print dress was unbuttoned. Her hair was loose, and the makeup laid on with a trowel.
"Goings-on !" sniffed a dire voice at Quill's elbow. "Dressed like the scarlet woman of big cities. Detroit, for instance."
"Oh, hi, Doreen!" Quill gave the housekeeper a hug. "So glad you're back from vacation. Did you have a good time?"
Doreen's beady brown eyes bored into hers. "Praise be that I went when I did, Miz Quill. Praise be, for I found the Lord."
Nobody knew how old Doreen was. Meg guessed late fifties, Myles late forties, with a hard life behind her. She'd shown up truculent and bellicose at the Inn's back door one January afternoon, and Quill had hired her on a temporary basis. That was two years ago. Except for a tendency to fierce, short-lived enthusiasms, Doreen was the most loyal, hardest-working employee they had. There was no one at the Inn Quill liked or trusted more. Except, Quill thought, for John Raintree and Meg.
"In Boca Raton? At your nephew's?"
Doreen nodded. "Just in time, too."
"For what?" Doreen folded her arms, leaned against the wall, and paused dramatically. Quill braced herself. Doreen had run afoul of Quill's erratically enforced guest-courtesy standards before. Cigarette dangling, skinny, and a frequent victim of the Hemlock Hall of Beauty's experiments in permanent waves, Doreen had profanely terrorized more than one unsuspecting visitor. Checkout was a favorite arena: "You inspect that sumabitch's goddam suitcase for towels and ashtrays? I'm missin' towels and ashtrays." Quill had a brief, happy vision of a kindlier, Christianized Doreen accosting visitors with reassuring Bible verses instead of fiercely wielded mops.
"Just in time for what, Doreen?"
"Day of Judgment is at hand," said Doreen darkly. "Those who have not been brought howling in repentance to the throne of the Lord will be damned in the Pit forever."
Quill found the regret in her voice spurious, given the glee in her eye.
"Now, Doreen - " began Quill.
"People!" Esther waved her hands imperiously in the air. "Dress rehearsal, people! Just one day to the Real Thing. Chop, chop!"
" - I'd like to discuss this religion thing with you - "
"Quill!" Esther cried. "Come on! We can't do without our star!"
" - but not right now," Quill finished hastily.
"What's that old bat Esther want with you?" asked Doreen suspiciously.
"Julie Offenbach's got the flu."
"So you're gonna be Clarissa?" She shook her head. "You ain't never been in a play in your life. I better pray for you."
"Pray for rain instead. A thunderstorm, even. I don't want to do this, Doreen."
"You'll be fine." Doreen gave her hand a rough, affectionate squeeze. "You can do anything you set your mind to. But I'll pray for a disaster, if you want." Her face lit up. "One to demonstrate His power."
"Great. After the rooms are done, though." Esther, thorough as always, had left a stack of scripts by the coffee table in the Lounge, and Quill thumbed glumly through a copy as the Chamber members settled into their seats. Myles walked into the room and Quill greeted him with a swift, intimate smile.