phrase 'prompt repayment of the loan,' just when it was most inconvenient to hear it. Bankers wanted to lend you money when you didn't need it, charged horrible interest rates when you did, and all too clearly preferred that two hundred meals with a profit margin of 75% be pumped out by a raft of sous chefs and dumped in front of gluttonous hordes instead of carefully chosen, beautifully cooked meals presented to a discriminating few.
To Quill, fully booked Saturday nights were an etching by Thomas Hobbes, a perception reinforced this evening because of the costumed Chamber members. But given the Rableiasian noise level and rate of consumption in the dining room, the First Hemlock Savings and Loan guys were undoubtedly pleased as Punch.
There was no accounting for taste.
A place had been set for her at the Chamber table and she sat down between Elmer Henry and Howie Murchison. Mavis was four chairs away. Keith Baumer had invited himself to the dinner and had squeezed himself next to her. His right hand was under the table, his left busy shoveling bites of Potatoes Duchesse into Mavis' open mouth. Mavis squealed at periodic intervals; Dookie Shuttleworth, eyes fixed on his plate, frowned disapprovingly on her opposite side. Directly across from Dookie, Marge and Betty slurped Zinfandel with abandon.
'Meg's surpassed herself with this lamb,' said Howie to Quill, his tricorne tilted rakishly over one eye. 'What's in it?'
Peter Williams set a plate of lamb in front of her. Quill unwrapped the tinfoil encasing the chops.
'It's coat dew agnes ox herbs!' said Keith Baumer loudly. Mavis and Marge shrieked with laughter. He waved the hand- written menu card at Quill and grinned sweatily. 'Says so right here, Howie. But - oh!' He pulled a face of mock horror. 'See Quill's face? Is it my French, Quill? Tell her how good my French is, Mavis.'
'You bad boy!' Mavis shrieked, whacking him energetically with the menu.
Quill ate her lamb absent-mindedly, trying to figure out a way to get Mavis alone. An after-dinner brandy in the Lounge was clearly a bad idea - she was three sheets to the wind, if not four. Maybe Mrs. Hallenbeck could help. Quill glanced across the table. The widow was listening with glazed attention to Norm Pasquale, who was able, without any encouragement at all, to recite the entire high-school-band program-listings for the past twenty years. '... clarinets in 'Mellow Yellow' ' Quill heard him say. He was up to 1976.
'Lemon?' said Howie in her ear.
'I'm sorry, what?'
'I said you don't want to eat your lemon, and you were about to.' He took her fork, dumped the lemon slice on his plate, and placed the fork back in her hand, 'No, You're right, I don't, Howie, could you do something for me?'
He peered at her over his wire-rimmed glasses, 'You do want that stuff from the drugstore....'
'I want him' - she pointed to Baumer - 'out of the way so I can talk to Mavis.'
'I suppose I could take him into the Lounge for an after-dinner brandy.'
'What a good idea,' she said cordially. 'It'll be on the house. As a matter of fact, why don't you give him several?'
Howie looked at Baumer doubtfully, 'He's had quite a bit already.'
'He's not going to drive anywhere, so I don't care if Nate has to carry him upstairs feet first.. Drink,' she said recklessly, ''as much as you want, as long as you keep him occupied.'
Quill stood up, tapped her water glass, and thanked the Chamber for its continued support of the Inn over the years. This was met with warm applause, She expressed her conviction that Sunday's presentation of The Trial of Goody Martin would be the best yet, This was met with enthusiastic shouts. She invited the members to have brandy and crSme caramel on the house in the Lounge, which was met with more cheers, except for Marge, who rolled her eyes and yelled, 'milk puddin' !' to no discernible purpose, Esther leaned across Elmer Henry and interpreted helpfully, 'She wants to hold the meetings at the diner next year, She says these foreign puddings make Americans sick, She says...'
'Thanks, Esther. I get the picture.'
In the general scraping of chairs, Quill edged around the table and grabbed Mavis by the arm. 'I'm going to the ladies' room before I go to the Lounge, Want to come with me?'
'Why, sure, sugar,' Mavis moved like a rudderless boat, amiably correcting course as Quill guided her to the main-floor bathrooms. Inside, she peered blearily at herself in the mirror, 'Shee-it, Would you look at this hair?' She patted the stiffly lacquered waves delicately. Quill, confronted with a real live opportunity for detection, wondered wildly where to start. What would Myles do? Ask to see some identification, probably, which was no help at all, since she doubted that much would be gained by asking to see Mavis' driver's license. Besides, she already knew Mavis.
Or did she?
'Mrs. Hallenbeck seems a little... difficult... at times. I really admire the way you handle her. Have you known her long?'
Mavis stretched her lower lip with her little finger and applied a layer of lipstick. 'Long enough.'
Well, that answer was loaded with information. Quill took a moment to regroup. 'I was absolutely fascinated to learn that you and Marge are old friends,' Quill tried again. 'Have you visited her in Hemlock Falls before this trip?'
'That ol' girl don' like you too much,' said Mavis. 'Why you want to know that?'
'John Raintree mentioned that he'd seen you before... I think,' Quill said hastily. 'I may have misunderstood.'
'That Indian fella? You know what we say down South?' From the sly look in Mavis' eye, Quill didn't think she wanted to know what they said down South.
'Indians're worse liars than niggers.' Quill drew a deep breath. Doreen pushed the swinging door to the bathroom open, stuck her head in, and said brusquely, 'You're needed, Miss Quill.'
Mavis dropped her lipstick into her evening bag and closed it with a snap. 'I better be gettin' back to that
