Quill made a noise in protest. Nora shrugged dismissively. "Life of a small-town anchor."
Quill, who'd been reacting to the listing of society's horrors rather than the impediments to Nora's career, glanced at her in surprise.
"So I'm egocentric," Nora said in shrewd response to Quill's expression. "It doesn't take long to knock compassion out of you - not in my business. Too few plum assignments and too many hotshot kids waiting to take your place if you screw up. Nice guys finish last. If they even get in the race at all."
Quill, despite the press of her schedule for the day, was genuinely curious about a life so different from her own. "Why did you choose it as a career?"
"I could say: You don't know how many journalism students get inspired by the Woodward and Bernstein affair. I could tell you: I got suspended from school for staying home to watch the Watergate hearings when I was sixteen. But the truth of the matter is, I like to bug people. I like to get in their faces."
"Watergate?" said Quill.
"Surely not."
"Oh, yeah, I'm a lot older than I look, Quill. A large part of my salary goes to what's euphemistically known as aging face procedures. I had my first lift at thirty-seven. Which was two years later than Mrs. Kennedy had hers." She grinned abruptly. "You know, kiddo, come to think of it, I can see where you might have big-time problems as an innkeeper. Anybody could read your face like a book. How do you keep your guests from finding out how you really feel about stuff like face-lifts?"
Quill blushed so hard she felt warm. "I don't... I mean, if a face-lift's what you want - " She abandoned this defense, which sounded lame even to herself, and stood up. "Would you like a few more of these pastry bows? I'd be happy to send Kathleen for some. Unfortunately I've got a full morning and I have to get to Syracuse this afternoon, so unless there's something specific we can do for you, I'm going to have to excuse myself."
"Sit down and don't mind me, Quill. I'm in the business of needling people. What I'd like is a tour of the Inn. Officially, I've got two days vacation before I go back on duty to report on the senator's wedding - "
"Ex-senator," Quill said automatically.
"And thank God for that, right?" said Nora. "I mean the dirt I've got on that guy. I wish I could broadcast the half of it, but I can't. Not for a while yet. It'll curl your toes when I do, cookie, let me tell you." She examined Quill thoughtfully, and a catlike grin crossed her face. "You might find out yourself, soon enough. Anyhow, as one of the few members of the media brotherhood to be allowed to cover the Santini wedding, I'm practically guaranteed a network feed, but I might as well see what other programming I can scrape up while I'm here. The Inn'd be just right for a little Christmas Eve spot - you know, as background for the station's Christmas message. Maybe a ten-second spot on holiday food or child carolers. Too much to hope you've got a local bunch of photogenic carolers, I suppose."
"Carolers we've got. The Reverend Mr. Shuttleworth's children's choir from the Church of the Word of God, the Women's chorus from H.O.W, and I'm pretty sure the volunteer firemen are - "
"Wait, Wait, Wait, Wait, Wait. H.O.W.? H.O.W. what?"
"The Hemlock Organization for Women," said Quill. "Most of them are here at the Inn right now. Mr. Santini's organized a series of fund-raisers involving some of the local groups. H. O. W. was the first to accept."
"A feminist organization? In a country village the size of what-three thousand and something? And here I thought the happy villagers were farmer's wives and quilters. Well, I'll be dipped. How long has this been going on?"
"Just a few weeks," Quill said uncomfortably. "And it's not anything really radical. At least, they aren't violently radical."
"There's that readable face again." Nora almost purred. "Come on, cookie, there's a story here. Give."
"There's nothing to give." Quill stood up again. (And this time, she thought, I really mean it.) "I love the idea of the Inn as background for the station's Christmas message. John's always after us to be more public-relations oriented. We used to use a small advertising agency here in town for P.R., but the guy moved on to New York a few weeks ago. So I've sort of assumed the responsibility. What about collecting the staff around the Christmas tree in the foyer? Or the dining room. We put pine garlands around the windows overlooking Hemlock Gorge every year. That'd make a great backdrop, especially if it snows. When it snows, I should say, since it always snows up here in December."
Nora closed a cool hand firmly around Quill's wrist. "Just call me Bird Dog. What about H. O. W.?"
Quill sat down at the tea table again. The table was a drop leaf, made of cherry. She'd found a set of four fan-backed chairs in the back room at a farmhouse auction and refinished them to go with the table. She looked at the empty chair opposite Nora with critical attention. The cotton damask upholstery wasn't wearing well.
"Quill?"
"Hmm?"
"The investigative reporter thing is in my blood. If you don't tell me, I'll just ask somebody else. Like that Mrs. Muxworthy, your housekeeper?"
"Doreen," said Quill. She bit her finger nervously, then folded both hands firmly in her lap.
"That's the one. She looks just like somebody who'd know everything about everybody in a town this size. Kind of like a nosy rooster."
Quill was conscious of exasperation. "Doreen's a friend of mine," she said stiffly, and then immediately regretted it. The most irritating thing about Nora was her gift for backing people - okay, her, Quill - into defensive positions. And for demanding and getting sententious responses. "There's nothing special or unusual about H. O. W."
Nora picked up a pastry bow, inspected it, took a large bite, and set it back on the plate. Quill tugged at her hair in irritation. Who was going to eat a half-bitten pastry bow? The recipe was one of Meg's best. And it was I expensive to make. And it wasn't just the one mangled pastry bow, there were three half-eaten ones abandoned on Nora's plate as well as the half-gutted crepe. This was significant of Nora's attitude in general. Mentally she counted backward from five, then said, "H. O. W.'s not a story, really. Just an incident in the life of a small town. We had village elections this year in November and in the general upset - "
"All of New York's Democrats lost their seats. I wouldn't call it a general upset. The whole thing was a rout."
"Well, we both know a lot of incumbents lost their seats. And not just the governor and Alphonse Santini. The Village of Hemlock Falls town government toppled, too. Our justice of the peace has been replaced." Quill hoped her smile wasn't too stiff. "And so was our sheriff, and a couple of other officials."
"The sheriff, yeah," said Nora, clearly bored, "so what kind of job does a small-town sheriff get after he's been dumped?"
"A pretty remunerative one. Myles, that is, Sheriff McHale had been one of the top detectives with the N.Y.P.D. before he retired here. After the - um - upset, he took a job with one of those global investigative bureaus. They made him quite an offer. They're sending him overseas for a year." Quill carefully pulled the mint out of her grapefruit juice and set it on the rim of her saucer. Her hands were steady.