Elmer had soft brown eyes, rather like a cow's, Quill thought, or the more amiable breed of dog. He fixed them on her and asked earnestly if she was all right.
"Oh. You mean about this business with Dorset. Yes, Mayor. I'm fine."
"Talked to McHale just now. Seemed to think I..." Elmer flushed. "Quill, you gotta believe me when I tell you I had no idea what these fellas were up to."
"You mean Frank Dorset and Bernie Bristol?"
"And that scum Santini." He shook his head. "And to think that a United States senator... well, by God, I lever would have thought it, or I wouldn't have done it."
"Done it? Done what?"
"Authorized the purchase of that dang hidden camera. Cost the town plenty."
"How much is plenty?"
"Pretty near fifty thousand dollars - "
"Fifty thousand!" gasped Quill. "Good grief." Where'd the money come from?"
"Discretionary budget," he said gloomily. "Pret' near emptied it for the next year. Means no town celebration this summer, that's for certain. And here," he said indignantly, "and here this Santini is tellin' me how much money the village is going to make from this and how we'll have money comin' out our ears and look-it. The traffic fines all come from the townspeople anyhow. I did some figuring and it comes out even worse. I'd be a sight more popular if I'd just gone ahead and raised property taxes. And now, after this - ah - unfortunate Incident last night... Well. I'm sorry, Quill. If I'd ever :bought this would happen in a million years, I never would have done it. You can," he said hopefully, "yell it me if you like. I cert'nly deserve it."
"The town's going to do a lot more yelling when they find out how much you paid for that camera," said Quill, who was, in fact, awed at the amount. "Wow."
Elmer nodded miserably. "They're talking special election anyways, you know. The women. On account of what happened to you. If they find out I spent that money, I'll be out on my ass - sorry, but you know. Just like what's her name from England. Thatcher, that's it."
"Oh?" asked Quill, not sure if the mayor was allying himself with Labor or the Conservatives in that debate.
"Word of this gets out, I ain't going to have a friend left in this world."
"I won't tell anyone, Mayor. I mean, the episode's over, as far as I'm concerned."
"Myles thought as you might not need to mention any more than you had to, if I came and told you I was sorry," he said ingenuously.
Quill, who had been experiencing warmer than charitable feelings about the six-foot-tall, baritone-voiced sheriff since his sudden reappearance in her life that morning, set her teeth. "He did, did he?"
"Knows you pretty well, I expect."
Quill reflected on this and had to laugh a little. Myles certainly seemed to know her better than she knew herself. She realized she didn't mind that as much as she used to. `I suppose he does."
"You glad he's back?"
She smiled.
"My," he said. "I can see that you are. I am, too. I'd sure like things to be the way they were before the November election. Myles backing office and Howie, too."
"A lot of people would have preferred a different result from the general election, Elmer. If there's nothing else, I'd better talk to Meg about any preparations for your meeting. You're sure you don't' want Meg to cook anything?"
"The guys are cooking a whole steer in the woods," Elmer said proudly. "On a huge spit. Mr. Blight himself had the idea. You met him yet?"
"Not yet."
"He's amazing. Just amazing. He's gonna join us at the sayance this afternoon with Mrs. McIntosh. There's going to be a whole pile of us there. All the McIntoshes, Santini, and, of course, Mr. Blight. I thought maybe I'd get a chance to ask about the special election, you know, in case these spirits of Tutti's really know anything. I'd be happy to ask anything you want to know on your behalf."
"The senator will be there? Then you sure can," Quill said flippantly. "Ask them who was in the woods last night. Ask them who murdered Nora Cahill and Frank Dorset. Tell them," she said, inspired, "that you know for a fact the murderer was seen."
"You're kiddin'," said the mayor. "Who seen `im?"
"Just tell them that several of us in town know," said Quill. "Tell them the word is getting around."
"You're up to something."
Quill reached over and patted his hand. For the first time in three days she was the pattor instead of the pattee and she was glad of it. "What we both know, Mayor, won't hurt either one of us. As long as it reaches - or in your case - doesn't reach, the right people."
The mayor sighed. "Or the wrong ones. You watch it, Quill. You don't want this person comin' after you."
-8-
"What do you mean you can't tell me what the mayor wanted?" Meg stood in the middle of her full team of sous-chefs, looking like a pony among Percherons. "And you're going where?"
"Don't yell, Meg."
The Finns found this funny. The Canadian and the kid from Texas smiled at the Finns. The Frenchwoman - Lisette - frowned and went, "Pssstah!"
"If Meg doesn't yell, it's a day without sunshine," Bjarne explained.
"Orange juice. A day without orange juice is a day without sunshine," Lisette said. "They are confused in their English. Plus, they are watching too much television."
"That's what's confusing me, Quill, your English. I mean, I'm not hearing this. You're off to Syracuse again, when we have two huge parties - no, three, counting H. O. W. tonight. A rehearsal dinner tomorrow and a wedding on Saturday? And it's because of what the mayor said that you can't tell me?" Meg picked up a wooden spoon and threw it across the room. It bounced off a copper saut‚ pot and clattered to the floor.
"So I think we may be looking at kickbacks. I can't tell you any more than that."
"Kickback?" Her eyes widened. "You don't think the mayor is involved in anything illegal?"
"Of course not. I think he's a dupe."
"Adela'd agree with you there."
"My guess is that Nora was on track with the story, and I want tot go to Syracuse to talk to her editors at the news station."
"Won't it keep?" Meg wailed.
"If I don't go now, when would be a better time? Tomorrow, with Claire and Elaine and Tutti getting more and more frantic about the wedding? At least tonight they'll all be at the shower Meredith is holding for Claire in the lounge. Saturday, the day of the wedding, not to mention Christmas Eve when all those editors at the station will want to go home? Sunday, which is Christmas Day? Besides, if I wait much longer, the station will have cleared out her desk, and unless they've reassigned the story, what evidence there is may be destroyed or sent home to her parents or whatever."
"Look." Meg set the sherry bottles down with care, primarily, Quill thought, so that she could gesticulate without disturbing the sediment. She thrust her hands through her hair, tugged at it, and said with exaggerated patience, "Tell Myles. Have him go to Syracuse."
"I can't." Quill bit her lip. "I would really like to, but I can't."
"Why?!"