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.'
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
'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?'
'I hear a helicopter,' Reverend Hal Vorhees said. 'We've got to hurry, Martha.'
'You're going to shoot us?' Corey asked, stepping away from Thomas. 'You honest to God think you can get away with killing all of us?'
'Of course we can,' Purn Davies said, rising from the sofa, looking a bit less pale. He picked up a shotgun from beside him and walked forward. 'We've got nothing to lose. Nothing at all. Isn't that right, Martha?'
'Perfectly right, Purn.'
'You're all senile and stupid!' Sally screamed.
In that instant, when most attention was focused on Sally, Quinlan grabbed Purn Davies's sawed-off shotgun and leaped to Martha. He took her down and rolled over her. He had his arm around her throat and the gun digging into the small of her back. His right hand was tangled in the chain that secured her glasses.
There was stunned silence. Thelma Nettro slowly turned around in her chair. 'Let her go, Mr. Quinlan. If you don't, we'll just kill her along with the rest of you. You agree, don't you, Martha?'
There was no choice, none at all. Quinlan knew that. He knew he had to act quickly, with no hesitation.
He had to make them believe. He had to scare them shitless. It had to be shocking. It had to punch these old people back to reality, out of the insane world they'd created and inhabited. He had to show them they had no more control. Quinlan raised the shotgun and shot Purn Davies in the chest. The blast knocked the old man off the floor, against an ancient piano. Blood spewed everywhere. The old man didn't make a sound, just slid onto the floor. There were a dozen screams, curses, and just plain horrified yells.
