I am hunted, beleaguered, and driven by time, Quill thought as she turned onto Route 96. It was four-thirty; she had to be back at the Inn before six for the Chamber dinner. Maybe she could just toss the spoiled meat in a convenient dumpster rather than talking face to face with Tom Peterson. But Meg would have a fit. Peterson would want to send the meat back to the supplier, who in turn would dispose of it, and process, thought Quill, will be process.
Petersons had owned much of Hemlock Falls at one time or another; as the family's fortunes declined, bits and pieces of their property had been sold off. Tom had leased the parcel on the comer of Route 96 and Falls River Road to Gil when they had gone into the car dealership together. The land abutted the warehouses and dispatch offices from which Tom ran his trucking business, a location convenient to Syracuse, Ithaca, and Rochester. Gil' s hopes of a customer base far beyond Hemlock Falls had never materialized, but the dealership managed somehow from year to year. Quill wondered who, if anyone, would take it over now that Gil had passed on.
Quill pulled into the driveway to the dealership. The Buick flags were at half-mast, and a black-bordered sign had been posted on the glass doors: CLOSED OUT OF RESPECT FOR GIL, which Quill thought had a better ring to it than 'Drowned, but not forgotten.'
She drove the car around to the converted house trailer that served as a dispatch office for Peterson Transport. It was placed outside the chain-link fence that surrounded the warehouse. She parked the car, got out, took the smelly cardboard box from the trunk, and carried it to the trailer door. Freddie Allbright, whom Quill knew from his occasional appearances at Chamber meetings as a substitute for Gil and Tom, opened the door partway and greeted her with a laconic snap of his gum.
'Hi, Freddie. Is Tom in?'
Freddie jerked his head toward the inside of the trailer. 'Mr. Peterson!' he shouted, not taking his eyes from Quill. 'Compn'y.'
'Quill.' Tom rose from his desk and came forward to welcome her. 'Come in. Sit down.'
Quill sat down in one of the plastic chairs that served for office furniture and set the cardboard box on the floor next to it. The scent of raw meat filled the air. Freddie hulked in the doorway, snapping his gum.
Tom stared at him. 'Freddie, I want you to go out and find that dog.'
'Just dig hisself out again.'
'Then find him and chain him up,' said Tom deliberately. 'He's the best security system we've got.' Freddie slouched out of the trailer. Tom shook his head. 'You never seem to have trouble keeping good help, Quill. Want to pass along your secret?' Since this didn't seem to be anything more than a rhetoncal question, Quill didn't reply. Tom settled himself behind his desk and smiled. 'What can I do for you?'
'Two things. One's kind of a pain in the neck, the other's more of a question.'
'Bad news first,' said Tom. 'Then we can end on a positive note.'
'This last shipment of beef was spoiled,' Quill said apologetically. 'I haven't brought the whole side, of course, just the fillets.'
Tom blinked his pale eyes at her. 'It's been awfully warm, Quill. Are you sure your cooler's working properly?'
'This was delivered yesterday,' said Quill, 'and your guys are great, Tom, they always bring it straight into the cooler. Meg takes the beef out to let it get to room temperature about three hours before the dinner crowd shows up. Anything that isn't used is disposed of that night. She said this stuff is tainted.' Quill rummaged in the box and unwrapped a pair of fillets. 'See the graininess at the edges?'
Tom raised his eyebrows and gave the beef a cursory glance.
'Meg and I both thought you might want to check the whole shipment.'
Tom nodded. His hands fiddled impatiently with a piece of paper on his desk. Quill, exasperated at Tom's indifference, said tartly, 'Can you give us credit for this, Tom? And we're going to need another delivery.'
'I've got one coming in from the Chicago slaughterhouse in about twenty minutes. We'll have it up there within the hour.'
'That'll be fine.'
He smiled at her. 'And the second request?'
'Oh.' Quill, not entirely sure why she was uncomfortable demurred a bit. 'I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am that Gil's gone.'
'Yes,' Tom nodded. 'Nice guy. Lousy business partner That it?' He rose, clearly prepared to show her out. The piece of paper he'd been playing with fell to the floor. It was a matchbook. A full one. The cover was folded in threes.
Quill picked it up.
'Nervous habit,' said Tom, 'ever since I quit smoking.'
'I'd like to have a pack with me. Just in case.' Quill slipped the matchbook into her skirt pocket. 'There was one thing I wanted to ask you, about your brother's wife?'
'Jack's wife?' Tom's eyes narrowed. With his thin lips and prominent nose, he looked more like a lizard than ever. 'She's no longer with us, I'm afraid.'
'They divorced?' said Quill sympathetically. 'I'm sorry to hear that.'
'Jack's dead,' said Tom. 'I don't know where that little bitch is, and I don't care.'
Quill's face went hot with embarrassment. 'I didn't mean to intrude,' she said, 'but...'
'None of your business, Quill. The past is past. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to check on Freddie. He's supposed to retrieve that damn German shepherd and plug the hole in the chain-link fence where it dug out. Has trouble remembering orders. I have to keep tabs on him every minute.' Still talking easily, Tom had her out the door and in front of her car before she knew it. He opened the driver's door and waited for her to get in. 'Any more
