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Quinlan staggered from the blow on his shoulder.

"That's enough," Gus Eisner said. "Just shut up. You're upsetting the ladies."

"I'm not upset," Corey said. "I'd like to pull out all your teeth and listen to you scream."

"I don't have any teeth," Hunker said. "That ain't a good punishment for this group."

What to say to that? Quinlan thought and winked at Corey. She looked furious. Thomas was walking on his own, but Corey was helping him. His arm wasn't bleeding so much now, but the blood loss was taking its toll, that and shock.

Sally was trudging along beside him, looking pale and very thoughtful. He said out of the side of his mouth, real low, so maybe all those old people wouldn't hear him, "Hold up, Sally. We'll figure out something. Hell, I could take at least a dozen of the old guys, no problem. Could you pound the old ladies?"

That made her smile. "Yeah, I could pound them into the dust. But I want to go back and get Amory St.

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John. They just left him and Amabel there, James, both of them. They'll get away. My aunt, well, I don't know, but she's not quite the aunt I'd hoped she was."

An understatement, Quinlan thought. Another blow for her, another person she'd believed she could trust had betrayed her. Thank God her mother had come through for her. He thought he just might come to like Noelle St. John a lot in the future. If he had a future.

Quinlan said, "Maybe the calvary will arrive before St. John and your aunt get their wits back together and can get away. But even if they do escape, we'll get them sooner or later."

To Quintan's surprise, they were herded up the wide, beautifully painted white steps and into Thelma's Bed and Breakfast. He guessed he had thought they'd be taken to the Vorheeses' house.

"I'll be damned," Quinlan said as he got a poke with a rifle, shoving him into the large drawing room.

There was Thelma Nettro, sitting on that chair of hers that looked for all the world like a throne. She was smiling at them. She was wearing a full mouth of false teeth and her pumpkin peach lipstick.

She said, "I wanted to join in the fun, but I just don't get around as well as I used to."

There was Purn Davies sitting on one of the sofas, looking white and shriveled. Good, Corey had whacked him hard.

"Why are we here?" Quinlan asked, turning to Reverend Hal Vorhees.

"You're here because I wanted you here. Because I ordered my people to bring you to me. Because, Mr. Quinlan, I'm going to tell you all what we're going to do with you."

They all stared at Martha as she moved from behind Thelma Nettro's chair. There was nothing soft and bo-somy about her now. There were no pearls around her neck. Her voice was loud and clear, a commander's voice, not her gentle cook's voice announcing an incredible meal. Jesus, Quinlan thought, what was going on here?

"Martha?" Sally said, bewildered. "Oh, no, not you too, Martha?"

"Don't look so surprised."

"I don't understand," Sally said. "You're a wonderful cook, Martha. You go out with poor Ed. You take grief from Thelma. You're nice, damn you. What's going on?"

Quinlan said slowly, "I knew there had to be a ringleader, one person with a vision, one person who could get all the others to fall in line. Aren't I right, Martha?"

"Exactly right, Mr. Quinlan."

"Why didn't you just let them elect you mayor?" Sally said. "Why murder innocent people?"

"I'll let that go, Sally," Martha said. "Oh, poor Mr. Shredder. You, Corey, set him down in that chair.

Too bad Doc Spiver fell sick of cowardice and remorse. He drew the straw and had to kill that woman who'd overheard a meeting we were having. We caught her on the phone, dialing 911. Poor bitch. She was different. We didn't know what to do with her. She wasn't like those tourists who came into town for the World's Greatest Ice Cream. No, we wouldn't ever have picked her. She was too young; she had Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

children. But then, we didn't know what to do with her either. We couldn't very well let her go-

“When she got loose that first night and screamed her head off-you heard her, Sally, Amabel told us the next day-we put a guard on her. But then two nights later she got loose again, and that time Amabel was forced to call Hal Vorhees over, because of you, Sally. There was no choice. Since it was Doc's fault that she got loose, since he'd been her guard, we all decided that she had to die. There was simply no other choice. We were sorry about it, but it had to be done, and Doc Spiver had to kill her. He just couldn't stomach it. He was going to call Sheriff Mountebank." She shrugged.

"Fair is fair. Yes, we've always been scrupulously fair. Helen Keaton drew the straw. She put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. If it hadn't been for that sheriff and that medical examiner down in Portland, it would have been declared an accident. Yes, that was a pity. Amazingly unfair."

It was remarkable, Quinlan was thinking, that every criminal he'd ever known had loved to talk, to brag about how great he was, how he was smarter than everyone else. Even a little old lady.

"Yeah," he said, "a real pity." Martha was fiddling with her glasses, since she wasn't wearing her pearls, but her voice was calm and assured. "You don't appreciate what we've done, Mr. Quinlan. We turned a squalid little ghost town into a picture postcard village. Everything is so pristine. Everything is so beautifully planned. We leave nothing to chance. We discuss everything. We even have a gardening service for those who don't enjoy tending flowers. We have a painting service that comes in every week.

Of course, we also have a chairperson for each service. We are an intelligent, loyal, industrious group of older citizens. Each of us has a responsibility, each has an assignment."

"Who selects the victims?" Corey asked. She was standing beside Thomas, her hand on his shoulder. He was still conscious, but his face was white as death. She'd wrapped a hand-crocheted afghan around him. It looked as if a grandmother had spent hours putting those soft pastel squares together.

Quinlan stared at that afghan. Then he stared at Martha. He'd be willing to wager that she had knitted the afghan. No accounting for grandmothers. Martha was a vicious cold-blooded killer.

Martha laughed softly. "Who? Why all of us, Ms. Harper. Our four gentlemen who play gin rummy around their barrel? Yes, they look over everyone who drives in for refreshment at the World's Greatest Ice Cream Shop.

"Zeke down at the cafe eyes every tourist from his window in the kitchen. When he's too busy, then Nelda pays attention when folk take out their wallets to pay.

"Sherry and Delia run the souvenir shop in that little cottage close to the ocean cliffs. They check out tourists there. As you can imagine, we must make decisions very quickly." She sighed. "Sometimes we've erred. A pity.

One couple looked so very affluent, drove a Mercedes even, but we only found three hundred dollars, nothing else of any use. All we could do was send Gus to Portland with the car to sell it. It turned out it was leased. That was close. As I recall, Ralph refused to lay them out, didn't you, Ralph? Yes, that's right, you said they didn't deserve it. And we all agreed. They weren't honest with us. They lied."

"Exactly right," Ralph Keaton said. "I just wrapped them each in a cheap sheet, the dirty liars. Helen wanted the name Shylock on their grave marker, but we knew we couldn't be that obvious so we changed it to Smith, so nondescript it was like they'd never even existed."

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"This is amazing," Sally said, looking at each one of those old faces. "Truly amazing. You're all mad. I wonder what they'll do with all of you. Put you all on trial as mass murderers? Or just chuck you into an insane asylum?"