'Justice, not judge,' said Quill. 'There's a big difference. You mean Bernie Bristol.'
'Davy,' Kathleen said desperately, 'didn't have a thing to do with it. And when the camera caught people speeding, well, what's he supposed to do? Just ignore it? He was only doing his job.' She darted a look at Marge and away again.
'Marge got a ticket?' Quill guessed.
Kathleen nodded miserably. 'Yesterday afternoon. And, of course, everyone's furious with what Dorset tried to do to you - '
'They are?' said Quill, pleased.
'And since you ki - I mean, since Dorset's dead, it's Davy that everyone's blaming, and if you sort of, you know, were publicly nice to him, maybe at the bank this Friday when everyone's in cashing their paychecks, or at the diner on Sunday mornings when everyone's in for brunch - '
'Kath. Wait a second. I didn't kill Dorset.'
'Nobody cares if you did,' Kathleen said warmly. 'People are glad that you did. The guy was a sicko.'
'I care if people think I killed him. Davy knows. I didn't even have a weapon. I mean, he searched me, the jerk, before I went into that cell.'
'Bjarne said there was a paring knife and a butcher knife missing from the kitchen. And you were arrested in the kitchen last night. And Davy says Meg and Howie and John went to see you after he searched you. He took a statement from Howie, and Howie admitted that all of you went into the cell together and that Meg found an excuse to send Dorset out of the cell. Davy says anyone of those three could have slipped you the weapon and be an accessory.'
'Howie admitted what? Excuse me? Meg asked Dorset to find a blanket for me. That was no excuse. It was cold in there.'
'Yeah, yeah. So. Anything you can do for Davy. Without getting yourself into more trouble, of course.'
'Kathleen, I am not a murderess. Murderer. Whatever.'
'Yes, ma'am. Would you like your breakfast now?'
'I would. And why are you calling me ma'am? The only person who calls me ma'am is Meg, and that's when she's so mad at me she wants to throw me in a snowbank.'
'Nobody liked him, ma'am. Dorset, I mean. People are glad you took care of it. You're due some respect, Esther West says.'
'Aaagh,' said Quill. 'Bring me a lot of sausage, okay?' She crossed to Marge and Betty's table and sat down.
'You look okay,' Marge said after a short, sharp scrutiny.
'I feel fine. A little tired, though.' Quill reached for the carafe of coffee and poured herself a cup. 'I hope you two aren't going to congratulate me on killing Frank Dorset.'
Marge chuckled. 'That's what everyone's saying down at the diner,' she agreed. 'You didn't get a look at the fella who did it?'
'Hey,' said Meg. She set a platter of food in front of Quill, then sat down at the last empty place setting at the table. 'Marge, Betty. Mind if I join you?'
'Not if you quit using frozen spinach in the Florentine dishes,' said Betty Hall. Her thin face split in a grin.
Meg flushed. 'Dang. I didn't think this crowd would notice. I didn't have time to set up the sourdough pancakes last night, which is what I'd scheduled for the special this morning, and the only thing I had on hand was frozen spinach. Let me get you some oatmeal. I got a delivery from Ireland earlier this week, and it's wonderful stuff. I created a brown-sugar sour cream seasoning for it I think you'll like.' There was a brief, professional discussion between the two chefs, involving the length of time needed to really scramble eggs. Twenty minutes under slow heat seemed to be the consensus. Quill ate her breakfast. Marge watched Quill tackle the eggs Florentine and waited a bit before asking again if Quill had seen the murderer's face.
'No. I'm not even sure what gender the murderer is.' Quill, who had a number of reasons for believing the murderer was male, had decided to keep those facts, and the problem of her furry hat, to herself, at Myles's request. Everyone, he'd said, should know about the coat. The more people the better.
'Male,' said Betty. 'Fact.'
'I'm not so sure.' Quill thought of the videotape from the hidden camera, with the killer dressed in her coat and hat. Dave and John had both searched the sheriff's office for it with no luck. It'd been tossed into a fire by now, she was certain. 'Whoever it was, man or woman, was about my height.' Quill had a sudden afterthought. 'Unless he, she, it wore heels.'
'He,' said Betty. 'Ninety-nine percent of serial killers are white males between the ages of twenty-five and forty-nine. Fact.'
'What about that woman in Florida?' asked Meg. 'The one who murdered six guys in a row.'
'She had an extra Y chromosome. Fact.'
'But this guy... woman... person... isn't a serial killer,' said Meg.
'There's been more than one murder, ain't there?' demanded Marge.
'I suppose so,' Meg said hesitantly. 'But - '
Marge burped. 'There you are. Betty's right. Adela Henry gave a whole report on this serial killer business to the committee just last week.'
'What committee?' Meg asked.
'S. T. S. The H. O. W. committee for Stop the Slaps. Wimmin united against domestic violence.'
