his cotton Dockers, and composed his features into a grave, but not solemn, expression. 'We've experienced a terrible tragedy here. Just terrible. And we sincerely mourn the passing of this celebrity in our town.'
'Celebrity?' said Betty Hall. 'She was a paid companion to that old lady. What's with the celebrity stuff?'
'She was a professional actress,' Harvey said gently. 'She was a dancing hot dog!' said Betty. 'I don't call that being a celebrity.'
'A story... now, Ralph, you can help me on this... that will probably be picked up by the national media.'
'A TV station was here,' admitted Ralph Lorenzo, editor and publisher of the Hemlock Daily News. 'But it was just the affiliate from Syracuse.'
'With the proper handling,' said Harvey, 'this can be a story of national scope.' He ran one hand through his styled blond hair and asked rhetorically, ' 'Does an ancient curse haunt the peaceful village of Hemlock Falls? Story tonight at eleven.' With absolutely no disrespect to the dead, think of the publicity.' He lowered his voice and looked at them earnestly. 'Think of the good it can do the businesses of Hemlock Falls. Quill, has anyone decided to shorten their stay with you because of this?'
'I thought it might,' said Quill, 'but no. Everyone seems to be ghoulishly interested in what's happened.'
'No, no, no, no, no. Not ghoulish, Quill. It's the universal need to validate your own existence. In the midst of death, there is life. This is a well-known phenomenon in advertising.'
'It is, huh?' Harland Peterson banged his fist on the table. 'If you're talking about keeping this play going all week, I say it ain't right and it ain't fit, and I'm going to vote against it.'
'I have to agree with Harland,' said Quill. 'This is capitalizing on - '
'On an accident that could have happened to anyone of us,' said Harvey. 'Quill, if you had decided to go on, it could have been you! Don't you see? You get on the expressway after a tractor-trailer hits a bus - you drive more carefully. These occurrences, terrible as they are for the victims, can help prevent such things from happening again. Now, if the town were to approve a small advertising budget, I'd be happy to handle the necessary press releases, to interface with the media, perhaps conduct tours of the fatal spot.'
The members responded with vehemence. Marge offered the practical opinion that it'd be good for the diner business, and probably the Croh Bar, too. Howie Murchison drew an analogy between Harvey's proposal and the behavior of ghouls; Miriam Doncaster offered a precise definition of ghoul and agreed with Howie. Freddie Bellini, the mortician, said death was a decent business and he wasn't going to sit still for nasty shots from lawyers and librarians. Quill abandoned any pretense at taking notes and wondered if John Raintree had been in a car wreck, and maybe that was why he'd gone missing.
Myles walked into the room and the squabble stopped abruptly. He was still in uniform. The lines around his gray eyes had deepened a little, and his mouth was grim. Quill thought he looked terrific, like Clint Eastwood riding into town to deal out frontier justice to the mob. He pulled a chair up to the table and sat down.
'We were just discussing the rest of History Days,' said Elmer. 'Talking about whether or not to continue with the play. What do you think?'
Myles shrugged. 'We've found all we're going to find at the site. Go ahead.'
Quill would have preferred a response more in the heroic mode. A man who looked like Myles should wither the Harvey Bozzels of this world with a phrase or two of devastating pith. A direct blaze of contempt from his steely eyes would do it, too.
'I'm hungry,' said Myles. 'Any more of the pasta around?'
Quill handed him her plate. 'Take mine.'
'So we have the sheriff's support,' said Harvey. 'I can work up a fee schedule for you right now, and then we can take a quick vote.'
Myles wiped his mouth with Quill's napkin. 'You don't have my support. I said the site's not off limits.'
'What's your opinion, then?' asked Esther. 'Harvey said you don't close the expressway after a car accident, so why should we lose the business from History Days?'
'I don't have an official opinion. My personal opinion is that we've had two deaths in the past forty-eight hours and that's no cause for celebrations of any kind.'
'We can always tell when it's not an election year, Sheriff,' said Harvey nastily. 'These two accidents could have happened anywhere, at any time....'
'They weren't accidents,' said Myles. 'Gil Gilmeister and Mavis Collinwood were murdered.' Myles swallowed the last of the pasta and stood up. The silence was profound. 'Quill, you're to notify me if any of the guests here at the Inn check out. Any of you here have planned to take any time away from the Falls, let Davey know first.' He stopped at the door, and looked directly at Quill. 'I'm going to need to talk to John Raintree. There's an APB out on him. Any of you see him, call me.'
'Murdered!' said Miriam Doncaster. 'Bullshit,' said Marge. She wiped her forehead with her napkin.
'S'cuse me,' said Ralph Lorenzo, 'seems to be a story here.' He jumped up and ran after Myles, almost colliding with Dookie Shuttleworth and Tom Peterson as they came into the conference room.
'Forgive us for being late,' said the Reverend Shuttleworth.
'We had a most important meeting at the church.'
'Sheriff says Gil was murdered, Tom,' said Howie Murchison.
'Gil?' Tom stood uncertainly for a moment. The Reverend Shuttleworth took his arm and put him into a chair.
'Murder,' said Harvey Bozzel. 'Can't see that anybody would want to murder Gil, and if they did, whacking him over the head with that front loader was a piss-poor way to do it.'
'That Mavis Collinwood, too,' said Elmer. 'Marge, you were there at the duck pond. What the hell happened?'
