'Been to see the Reverend,' she said. 'Givin' him tips on how to wake up the sinners. Gave him a couple of ideas for his sermon, he said.' She went to the locker room to change into her work clothes. Her voice floated back to them. 'Told him about last night. Said he'd never heard of such a scandalous thing.' She reappeared, tying her capacious apron neatly around her waist. 'Thinks that there Baumer's goin' straight to Hell. Along with Mavis. Called her a right fine name, too.' She rummaged in her purse, withdrew a piece of paper, and squinted at it. 'Wrote it down. Suckabus.'
Meg started to laugh.
'Succubus,' said Quill. 'Oh, dear.'
'Sounds nasty,' said Doreen hopefully. 'Innit? What is it, exactly?'
'Succubi are female demons,' said Quill. 'They visit afflicted men in the dead of night and... ah...'
'Sap their life force,' said Meg with a wicked grin.
'You mean there's more than one?' said Doreen. 'It's not just this Mavis Collin wood?'
'Quite a few in Times Square, when I visited,' said Frank. He and Bjorn, noting the ebb of Meg's temper, had rejoined the women.
'They aren't real, Doreen,' said Quill. 'A succubus is a , metaphor for the way the people of Old Testament times viewed a certain type of woman, and as far as I'm concerned, it's a bunch of male chauvinist hooey. I don't want any more discussion about sex vampires of Hemlock Falls, or for that matter, foul substances in Keith Baumer's food. I want everyone to go back to work.'
'Yes, ma'am.' Meg saluted. 'Whatever you say, ma'am!' Quill marched back to the dining room, ignoring the snickers from the kitchen with the dignity befitting a manager who had successfully quelled an employee revolt. A hoot of laughter with distinctly Swedish overtones modified her conclusion to a half-muttered, 'Well, I told them, anyway.'
She sat down at the table to finish her breakfast. In a few minutes, Edward Lancashire joined her. 'Ready for the big day?'
'It's not really a big day for me,' Quill explained, 'or Meg either. Everyone's checked in; the dining room, Lounge, and bar are all booked, and the staff knows what to do.'
'It's the front-end preparation that's the toughest,' said Edward.
'You'd know about that,' Meg said cheerfully, as she rejoined her sister at the table. 'You're not planning on dinner here tonight, are you, Edward?'
'No. I've booked a table at Renees in Ithaca. Opening day of History Week is a little too raucous for me.'
'You're going to the play this afternoon, though,' said Meg. 'We're having a picnic. Nobody should miss the play. And you shouldn't miss my gravlax. The Scotch Bonnet salsa is fabulous.'
'Oh, I think everyone will be there,' said Edward Lancashire. 'Mrs. Collinwood. Mr. Baumer. The delightful Ms. Schmidt. I've eaten at her restaurant, by the way. It's quite good for American diner food. Perhaps even Mr. Raintree will join us?
I haven't seen him around lately.' 'He had some personal errands to run,' said Quill hastily. 'But I'm sure he'll be there, too. Nobody within fifty miles of Hemlock Falls misses The Trial of Goody Martin.'
Seeing the crowds that afternoon, Quill revised her estimate upward; tour buses brought day trippers from Rochester, Buffalo, and Syracuse. Myles and his men cordoned off Main Street, and allowed cars to park on the shoulder of Route 96 outside the central business district.
The Kiwanis beer tent did a thriving business, the Lions hot dog stand ran out of buns at two o'clock, and the Fireman's Auxiliary kiosk posted a triumphant SOLD OUT sign on the counter that had displayed wooden lawn ornaments of geese, pigs, cats, ducks, cows, and the rear ends of women in long print dresses. Gil's Buick dealership always took a booth for History Days. Quill, intent on finding out more from Tom Peterson about John and Gil, caught a glimpse of the awning over the late-model car that the dealership always planted in front of the booth. She wound her way through the tourists to it. Tom Peterson greeted her with a wave and a smile. Nadine sat under the awning, hands folded in her lap. Freddie, unexpectedly garrulous, was there, too.
'Missed you in church this morning,' said Tom, who was a deacon at Dookie's church.
'John's out of town for a bit, and I got caught up,' Quill apologized. 'You know how it is in the summer. John's due back today, though. So I'll be sure to try next week.'
'I wouldn't miss it, if I were you,' said Freddie. 'Something sure lit a fire under the Reverend this morning. Whoo-weee!'
Quill, intent on forming questions that would give her some clues as to Gil's relationship with the girl in John's picture, gave him an encouraging, if absent-minded, look.
'Hellfire and brimstone. Quite a little sermon.' Freddie leaned forward and said in a low voice, 'Just between you and me? Collections were up pretty near seventy-five per cent. The Reverend was as pleased as Punch, said the Lord was showing him the way to a resurgence of faith. And where there's a resurgence of faith, there's a resurgence of cash. Now, Miss Quill, wish we could come up with something for you that would give us a resurgence of cash. You think about tradin' in that old heap you've got for a good late-model car?'
'You're taking over from Gil?'
Freddie shot an anxious look at his boss. 'Just temporarily, like. Now, about that old heap...'
'Gil sold me that 'old heap' two years ago,' said Quill indignantly. 'It wasn't an 'old heap' then.'
'Got to have the look of success in your business,' said Freddie wisely. 'Now, I could show you...'
Quill laid a hand on Freddie's arm and promised to look at new cars. Then she walked up to Tom and said flatly, 'Was Gil worried about the business?'
'Hell, we both were. I floated him a couple of private loans to tide him over first and second quarter. He expected business to pick up.'