"I'll talk to Marge, Tom Peterson, and Baumer himself, after I get back from the Marriott," said Quill confidently. "John, we'll solve this by the time Myles gets back. Let me know where I can call you. Is your friend in Ithaca or something?"
"No. Here in town. I'll give you the phone number." He wrote it down and handed it to her.
"You mean all this time you've been in Hemlock Falls?"
"Yes. And yes, Quill, I was within a block of the Pavilion when someone pulled that hood over Mavis' head. To someone like Myles, I'm still the ideal suspect. I had means, motive, and opportunity, for both murders."
He left as quietly as he had come. The coffee John made was untouched. She gulped two quick cups. Then she stripped out of her robe and nightgown and gritting her teeth, took a shower as cold as she could stand it. She dressed and went downstairs to breakfast. Meg would be fascinated with recent developments.
Meg, smoking one of her infrequent cigarettes, was propped back in her chair at their table, staring at the wall over Mrs. Hallenbeck's head. Mrs. Hallenbeck herself was tucking into a souffl‚. Quill dropped into the chair next to her; she noticed through her haze of fatigue that Meg's hair was flat.
"Morning, Meg."
Her sister's gaze dropped from the wall to Quill's face with the suddenness of a bird after a worm. "Have you entirely lost your mind?" Meg demanded.
Quill put down her orange juice. Mrs. Hallenbeck couldn't have told Meg about John already. "I don't think so. Why?"
"Why? WHY?! We've got forty people showing up for breakfast in twenty-two minutes. Expecting food, I'll bet. Does anyone need to tell the chef about forty people arriving for brunch on a Monday when we average twenty servings in the dining room total, if we're lucky? Well!?"
"Forty?" said Quill bewildered.
"If that sanctimonious prat Tom Peterson hadn't called to confirm he had reservations, they would have all shown up to eat what? What, Quill?! Do I send out to the Burger King down the road for what they laughingly refer to as breakfast croissants?"
"Dookie's prayer meeting! Meg, I'm so sorry, it completely went out of my..."
"Do you know what I've got in stock? Do you? Doughnuts! Four dozen Little Debbie doughnuts that the bread guy left here by mistake. Those doughnuts are so filled with artificial crap that people's arteries seize up just looking at them!"
"Meg, I'm really sorry. Honestly, there's been so much going on, it just..."
"Fell out of what passes for your mind." Meg stubbed out her cigarette, raked her hair back with both hands, and shoved herself away from the table. "This is just it for my reputation. Just it. You want me, I'll be in the storeroom. Hanging from the rafters."
The swinging door to the kitchen banged shut. Silence descended on the dining room.
"That is a very rude young woman," said Mrs. Hallenbeck.
"It's just Meg," said Quill. "You watch. She's probably whipped up a bunch of omelettes, or quiche, or Eggs … la Reine, and the deacons will think they've died and gone to heaven."
"You don't seem perturbed by the temper tantrum."
"Meg's cooking is her life. She takes it seriously. It's part of what makes her great. Running this kitchen is the best thing that ever happened to her."
"She should be married," said Mrs. Hallenbeck. "It would settle her down. You wouldn't have to spend so much time taking her abuse."
"She was married. To the sweetest man I've ever met. He was a stockbroker, and I swear, when he died I thought Meg was going to die. But we invested in the Inn together, and you wouldn't believe the change in her. It took a year or more for Meg to get over his death. The cooking was what did it."
"How did the young man die?"
"Automobile accident. He was thirty."
"She should manage on her own," said Mrs. Hallenbeck. "If you'll pardon an old woman's interference, my dear, she needs to lead her own life. You've cocooned her here."
"Do you think so?" Quill's eyelids drooped and she jerked herself awake. "Sorry, I used to be able to stay up all night in college. I seem to have lost the knack."
Mrs. Hallenbeck patted her hand. "Why don't you go up and take a nap? I will sit here and be alert for any unusual circumstances. I have a notepad, right here" - she tapped her black purse - "and I will write down anything untoward."
"You know, I think I will. I'm sorry we missed our breakfast" - Quill yawned - "but you're right. I'm not going to be much good at investigation if I'm falling asleep on my feet. I'll just check and make sure that everything's set up in the Banquet Room for the prayer meeting, and then take maybe an hour's nap."
"I will meet you for tea," said Mrs. Hallenbeck, "at five o'clock." Quill got up, and she added, "You know, my dear, you might think seriously about retiring from the Inn. It's a great responsibility, far too much to carry alone. Perhaps we could talk, at teatime, about other things you could do. Painting for instance. When do you ever have time to paint?"
"Not much recently, that's true. But I love the life, Mrs. Hallenbeck. It has a lot of rewards that might not be obvious to the outside eye. The Inn is a very peaceful place, you know. The past few days are definitely an exception. Our guests are almost always nice, like you, and come here to relax. Like this prayer meeting this morning," said Quill earnestly, aware somewhere in her sleep-deprived brain that she was rattling on, " - nice people, church people, peacefully praying in the Banquet..."
"Ah, Quill?" Peter Williams tugged at her elbow. Quill blinked at him. "We've got major trouble with the prayer meeting."
-12-
"They came in a van about half an hour ago," said Peter as they walked through the lobby to the Banquet Room.
"They?" said Quill. The coffee she'd drunk to stay awake must have been decaf; either she was asleep on her feet or Peter didn't make sense. "They who?"
"Right out there." He pointed to the front door.
Quill opened the door and went outside. A white Chevy Lumina van was parked on the drive. The side panels were lettered in a screaming orange. "We Save Sinners!" Quill read aloud. "Call 1-800-222-PRAY!" She walked slowly around the van. "THE ROLLING MOSES - The Rev. William Maximilian" was printed on the hood in black Gothic letters intertwined with lightning strikes. Quill shut her eyes and opened them again. The design was still there. And the phone number. They were both very familiar.
Those pamphlets Doreen was carrying around in her apron pocket.
The license plates on the van read "Florida, the Sunshine State." The inspection sticker was a year out of date.
"Quill?" Peter called to her from the lobby. He sounded worried. "They're starting the prayer breakfast now."
Quill drifted slowly back in. "I don't think I want to know what's going on," she said dreamily. "I'm on overload. As a matter of fact, I'm going upstairs to take a quick nap." She thought of her nice comfortable queen-sized bed with the muslin comforter and the cool white sheets.