Peter hesitated. "I'm the last one to judge by appearances...
"Yes," said Quill. "But these guys showed up at the prayer meeting this morning. They look pretty... unsavory, I guess you'd say. They said Doreen had called that 1-800 number and they were here to... to..."
"To what?"
"Perform an exorcism," said Peter.
"A what?"
"To rid the Inn of succubi and other stuff. I thought we'd better sit in."
Quill walked the short length of the hall to the Banquet Room. Most of the deacons were already there; Quill saw Harland Peterson, Elmer Henry, and Tom Peterson and smiled "Hello."
Dookie Shuttleworth stood by the open door, looking con- t fused. He started forward when he saw Quill, took her hand, I and patted it warmly. "We haven't seen you in quite a while, Quill. Please come in and join us." He drew her into the Banquet Room.
Despite the short notice, Meg and the kitchen crew had done themselves proud. The staff had set up a long buffet table; Kathleen Kiddermeister was making crepes to order at one end. Chafing dishes filled with The Sausage, bacon, caramelized apple, puffed potatoes, and a large Heavenly Hoggs Ham were displayed along the rest of the table length. Bowls of fresh strawberries and blueberries sat in the center of round cloth-covered dining tables set with Spode china. The room was filled with most of the regulars of the Hemlock Falls Word Of God Reform Church - and a few who weren't. Doreen sat at a table with Esther West. The ubiquitous Keith Baumer had apparently invited himself and was swallowing food at an enormous rate. Quill decided testily to put the cost for Baumer's breakfast on his bill instead of the one that went to the church.
She paused to reconsider. She wouldn't throw Baumer out. She'd perform a charitable act. Let Baumer horn in if he wanted to. She was becoming more and more convinced that he was the best suspect of all. She was not averse to supporting the admonition to let the condemned eat a hearty meal; the food in prison would be a punishment all the greater in contrast.
The happy, contented buzz of satisfied breakfast-eaters bathed Quill in a warm glow. "Isn't Meg terrific?" she said aloud.
"She is wonderful!" said Dookie. "After this delicious breakfast, Quill - "such a generous contribution to the church, my dear - I had no idea when I mentioned our money troubles that you would give us so much!"
Quill had forgotten her promise to fund the breakfast. She waved away the uneasy feeling that she'd been giving away a lot of free food since John had been gone. "Reverend Shuttleworth, there's a van outside..." Quill stopped, not sure how to continue.
"Yes. The Rolling Moses." The confused expression returned to Dookie's face and seemed to settle there. "They said Doreen Muxworthy called them early yesterday to tell them a succubus was inhabiting the Inn and their help was needed to get rid of it."
"Doreen?" said Quill, keeping her voice low with an effort.
Dookie brightened. "The Reverend William Maximilian said these - er - performances have a very positive effect on the urge of the congregation to donate to worthy causes. We agreed to split the collection plate today - and since we're in desperate need of funds, Quill, I thought perhaps... Ah! Here is the Reverend Mr. Maximilian now. Mr. Maximilian, I would like to introduce Miss Sarah Quilliam, who has so generously donated today's breakfast."
"Good eats. God bless you, sister."
The Reverend Mr. Maximilian breathed heavily through his open mouth. He was fat, hairy, and his five o'clock shadow rivaled the late Richard Nixon's. Quill hadn't seen sideburns like that since Elvis Presley gave his farewell performance.
The Reverend Mr. Maximilian engulfed her hand with his own sweaty palm and held on to it. "Rev'rund Shuttleworth is mighty lucky in his flock, little lady. Red hair like that means a passionate nature. A passionate nature. I hope you are going to join us for the service?"
Quill's response was a noncommittal "Um."
"And these are my helpers in the Lord. Byron? Joe-Frank? This little lady owns the Inn."
Guys a lot like Byron and Joe-Frank parked their Harley Davidsons outside the Croh Bar on Saturday nights. Joe-Frank had tattoos on his heavily muscled upper arms that said PRAISE GOD on the left and PUNISH SINNERS on the right. Byron's black leather jacket covered any tattoos he may have had, and just barely concealed a blackjack on his hip. His lack of visible skin ornamentation was made up for by the ring in his nose.
Quill nodded politely. She sat down next to Mark Anthony Jefferson, prey to misgivings.
"Fellows in Christ!" Dookie tapped a water glass with a spoon for attention. "We are privileged to bring a unique guest to our meeting today. I would like to introduce to you my brother in Christ, the Right Reverend Mr. William Maximilian. Willy Max has come to us all the way from Newark, New Jersey, where he was administering to another church such as ours - a church in trouble."
Dookie's eyes brightened as he warmed to his favorite topic. "Declining attendance, scanty donations, all these things are troubling the church here at Hemlock Falls, my friends. We have brought Reverend Mr. Willy Max here to support our spiritual renewal - to help us cast out the demons of avarice and miserliness, and invite in the angels of charity and openhandedness."
Elmer Henry cleared his throat in a marked manner. Dookie concluded rapidly, "Ladies and gentlemen, Willy Max and the Church of Rolling Moses!" Dookie led the applause and sat down.
Willy Max rose to his feet, tucked his thumbs into the substantial flesh hanging over his cowboy belt, and surveyed the room in silence. His brow beetled. His lower lip thrust out. He scanned the crowd, one by one, until the silence was utter. Absolute. The Banquet Room became as silent as a Carmelite nunnery at lunch. "I don't know about angels of charity," he said slowly, "I know about scarlet wimmin, and the Devil who sends them to torment our poor male flesh. Brothers and sisters," intoned the minister, "let us bow our heads and pray."
Obediently, the congregation bowed its head as one.
"Lord? It's me here, Willy Max. Your servant. Once again, Lord, I offer praises for the light of knowledge and redemption. Like Paul on the road to Damascus, Lord, I was struck down in stone by a vision of Hell. ('Cept it was in that CPR class in Sarasota, Lord, and not on a road a' tall.) Lord, we are poor cree-turs and wicked. We have fallen into temptation and into snares...."
"Snares..." said Byron and Joe-Frank together.
"The snares of lust." His voice rose, beefy hands clasped. "The traps of temptation, the pits of promiscuity!" he thundered. "There are those among us who have been plagued by visions of the Scarlet Woman of Babylon at night... is it not so, brothers and sisters?!"
"Amen," said a few of Dookie's flock tentatively.
"There are those among us who have been inflamed by the thought of wimmin. Scarlet-lipped, rouged and scented wimmin."
"Amen." The chorus was swelled by several more parishioners as the plates were cleared.
Willy Max raised his hands to the ceiling. His voice slid upward like the tenor sax at the start of Rhapsody in Blue. "YOU HAVE BEEN DRAWN TO SALACIOUS AND HURTFUL LUSTS!"
"LUSTS!" shouted those citizens of Hemlock Falls who had finished their breakfast.
"WHO AMONG YOU IS DRAWN TO DAMNATION?" A surprising number of voices said they were.