Quill, agreeing, went upstairs to bed, and fell into an exhausted sleep. She was awakened by the shrilling of the house phone.
"Miss Quilliam? Sarah?"
Groggy with sleep, Quill blinked at the bedside clock. "It's eight o'clock!" she said into the phone. "Damn!" She shook the clock. The alarm, which had been set for six, burst into the morning silence like a chain saw. Quill smacked it against the night table and the ringing stopped.
"Miss Quilliam? It's me, Dina. You know, at the front desk. I'm sorry to get you up."
"It's way past time to get up," said Quill. Her thoughts soggy, she said belatedly, "Why are you whispering?"
"It's the guests."
"What?"
Dina raised her voice. There was a suspicion of a shriek in it. "The guests! They're milling around here like... like... hornets."
"They're angry? What hap - Never mind. I'll be right down."
She grabbed the first clothes at hand, a denim skirt and a navy blue T-shirt, hastily dressed, and headed for the lobby. The orthodontist, his wife, their little boy, Mavis Collinwood, and Keith Baumer were clotted in front of Dina. They did resemble hornets after prey. They broke into a buzzing whine of exclamations as Quill descended the staircase.
"Here she is!" Dina said. Relief washed over her like water over a thirsty prospector. "Miss Quilliam, there's this sort of problem..." She trailed off helplessly.
"Why don't you go into my office, Dina, and take care of the phones. Have you called John?"
"Yes, but he didn't answer." "Call the kitchen and ask Meg to get someone to find him. Now - " She turned to the orthodontist, who seemed to have the lowest level of agitation. "How can I help you?"
"It's downright disgustin'!" interrupted Mavis Collinwood.
"Calm down, Mave," said Keith Baumer.
"Dr. Bolt, maybe you could explain?" said Quill.
"It's these messages. Little scraps of paper pushed under our doors." He held out a piece of paper. Printed in large block letters at the top of the page was: CALL 1-800-222- PRAY! Beneath it, Quill read aloud, "The Lord sees all evil! The Lord hears all evil! Thou shalt not steal!"
The orthodontist's ten-year-old son burst into noisy wails.
"Adrian," said his mother. She shook his shoulder imperatively. "Stop that!"
Dr. Bolt avoided Quill's questioning look. "We were due to check out this morning, as you know. We packed our suitcases and went down for an early breakfast. When we came back, the room had been cleaned, and we find this message." His chest swelled with indignation. "Now, look here, Miss Quilliam. I do not condone Adrian's appropriation of towels and ashtrays as souvenirs. My wife and I have already discussed this with him. On the other hand, I must register a serious complaint about your housekeeping staff going through my little boy's belongings."
"Oh, dear," said Quill.
"And on my bathroom mirror?" said Mavis indignantly. "I jus' stepped out this mornin' for a walk with Mr. Baumer, and when I came back... well, I don' want to even repeat what was written on my bathroom mirror. In soap!"
"It didn't say anything about Detroit did it?" said Quill.
"Don't you get smart with me, Miss High-and-Mighty," said Mavis. "I scrubbed that mirror clean. The ol' bat sees it, I'm out of a job."
"Where is Mrs. Hallenbeck?" asked Quill.
"Out for a walk," said Mavis sullenly. "Says she's been complimented frequently on her complexion and a walk helps. Lord!"
Quill apologized to the orthodontist, the orthodontist's wife, and gave a souvenir ashtray to the little boy, who stopped wailing and demanded a towel, too. She couldn't bring herself to apologize to Baumer. She took ten percent off the orthodontist's bill. She soothed Mavis, who flounced upstairs to see to Mrs. Hallenbeck, who mayor may not have returned from her walk, and advised her to destroy any messages that may have been shoved under the old lady's door.
When the lobby was clear of guests, she took the master key, went up to Baumer's room and let herself in. A slip fluttered from beneath the door: AND HE CURSED THEM WITH MANY CURSES! THE PLAGUES OF EGYPT ARE UPON HIM! After a moment's thought, she checked the dresser drawers (clear of noxious items), the bathtub (ditto), and then stripped the bed. She removed two dead grasshoppers, a garden slug, and a lively cricket from between the sheets.
She marched to the kitchen. Meg was busy with a cheese souffl‚, an apprentice holding a large whisk, and a copper bowl. Doreen, she said in response to her sister's evenly worded questions, had left for a Bible class or something. "No! The egg whites have to peak before you fold in the yolks or the damn thing'll be flatter than my chest!" She turned her attention to Quill, who had reiterated her desire to see Doreen. "Can't this wait?"
Quill began an explanation.
"Hand it over to John," Meg interrupted. "He's pretty good with her."
"Where is he?"
"I don't know!" said Meg. "Quill, will you get out of the kitchen? Whatever she did can wait until after the breakfast crowd leaves."
Quill sat in the dining room. She ate an omelette aux fines herbes, grapefruit broiled in brown sugar, and a scone. She drank two cups of coffee. She decided that she wouldn't string Doreen up by her thumbs. She even began to find the messages funny. The second cup of coffee convinced her that all Doreen needed was a new enthusiasm. Maybe she could suggest crossstitch.
By nine, John still hadn't shown up, and she went to look for him. None of the staff had seen him. She knocked on the door of his rooms and received no answer. She went outside, thinking that perhaps he'd gone down to see Mike, the groundskeeper, but Mike was trimming the boxwood, and admitted he hadn't seen John at all that morning.
It was a glorious morning. The air was soft, the sun benign. The display of dahlias by the drive proved irresistible. Feeling a bit guilty, Quill took some secateurs from the gardening shed and spent a contented hour clipping dead heads, weeding, and aerating roots.
The mindless and beneficial calm that overtakes the dedicated gardener was interrupted by Dina. Quill sat back on her heels and smiled happily at her. "John show up?"
"No." Dina, who was affecting the seventies look this year, chewed at the ends of her long brown hair.
"Not more Old Testament doom, death, and disaster? Doreen isn't even here."
"No. Can you come to the office?"
Quill stored the secateurs, the trowel, and the gloves, and followed Dina back to the Inn.
"I heard about last night, and the night before that," she said, "and I thought, well, I'll just let her garden peacefully for a bit. But, Quill, this is a real mess. Maybe I should have come to get you before this."
"What's a real mess?"
"These cancellations!" The phone buzzed angrily. Dina groaned. Puzzled, Quill picked up the phone and answered, "Hemlock Inn, may I help you?"
An outraged woman demanded the manager.
"I'm one of the partners in the Inn," said Quill. "Can I help you?"
Why, demanded the voice, had her tour group received a last-minute cancellation notice this morning? Did she, Quill, have any idea how disruptive this was? Did she, Quill, have any idea of the contortions required to find a last-minute booking elsewhere? As far as Golden Years Tours was concerned, the Hemlock Falls Inn was off their promotional literature. Forever. And everybody else in the tour business was going to hear about it. Immediately.