'I'm all for that,' said Quill. 'But this wasn't a case t of domestic violence, you know. It was a case of murder for gain.'
Meg cocked her head alertly. 'How'd you find that out?'
Quill explained about the exchange of money on the videotape, a fact both she and Myles wanted public.
'And the tape is missing, of course,' said Betty. 'Dumb male bastards.'
Quill pointed out that if a woman was the murderer, a woman could have swiped the tape as easily as a man, then shut up when all three of her tablemates glared at her. Betty pointed out that of course with a guy like Sheriff McHale around, it just went to show you. Quill got so indignant over the implied slur on her feminism that she shut up altogether.
'So what happened, exactly?' Marge demanded.
'I'd fallen asleep on that cot, and I think it must have been the voices that woke me up.'
Marge's eyes narrowed in a calculating way, which for some reason irritated Quill profoundly. 'You heard their voices?'
'Uh-huh. One was Dorset. But as soon as they came in the cell block, the lights went out. The killer stabbed him, then shoved him through the door to my cell and rolled him in next to me. Then the killer relocked the cell door and took off, taking the key with him.'
'Dorset musta weighed all of a hunnert and seventy pounds,' said Marge. 'Musta been a man, to wrestle all that deadweight.'
The Breton sausage, one of Quill's favorites, stuck halfway down her throat. She swallowed carefully, then said, 'He didn't die right away.'
'Hung on awhile, did he? He musta said somethin' about who killed him, then.'
'He whispered for help.' Quill set her fork carefully on her plate and folded her hands in her lap. 'His throat was cut. I don't think... he couldn't get anything else out.'
Marge pursed her lips, 'Hmm.' Then, 'Lemme pour you a little more coffee.' She did so, then pulled a small notebook from the pocket of her bowling jacket. 'You got times on this? And did you get any impression at all of the murderer's weight?'
'Marge!' Meg said suddenly. 'Are you investigating this case?'
Marge shifted her large shoulders and scratched her neck with an abstracted air.
So that's why I was irritated, Quill thought with guilty surprise. Petty old me. I don't like the competition. She sat back, frowning. This feeling had something to do with Myles. And she didn't like what it said about her own motives for failing him in their relationship. If she had. Marge nudged her, and she blinked, startled.
'Thing is,' said Marge, 'Adela dropped to the diner this morning, early, with the milk crowd, and said she'd about had it up to here with town guv'mint. I mean, she'd just heard on that police scanner she carries around in her purse about you offing Dorset - '
'I did NOT - ' Quill began hotly.
'Well, I see that now, don't I,' Marge said equably. 'Anyways, she's all hot for me to run for mayor.'
'You, Marge?' said Meg. 'But Elmer's mayor. I mean, to tell you the truth, you'd be an absolutely super mayor, and I wish we'd thought of it before the November elections, but there you are. Elmer's mayor. Duly elected and sworn in.'
'That's as may be,' Betty said mysteriously, 'that's as may be. Anyways, let Marge go on. Go on, Marge.'
'Right. What H. O. W. needs is some good P.R. Public relations, like. So, I figger we find out who killed Nora Cahill and Frank Dorset, this'd be just about the best P.R. we could get.'
'So all of H. O. W. is investigating this?' asked Meg. 'Thought maybe you two'd give us and Adela a hand,' said Betty, 'seein' as how you have so much experience in the detective line.'
'But,' said Quill, 'Myles - I mean, Sheriff McHale is back.'
'Don't we know it!' said Betty. 'And a damn good thing, too. Marge was thinking maybe now you'd put some of that weight back on.'
Marge, whose nineteenth-century German forebears seemed to have passed on a genetic predisposition for substantial poundage, nodded judiciously, her three chins folding and unfolding.
'Thing is, Adela didn't know the sheriff'd be back when she laid out the campaign this morning.' Betty hitched forward and hissed conspiratorially, 'See, what we have here is Marge for mayor and Adela for justice. What d'ya think?'
'Marge would make a terrific mayor,' Quill said promptly. 'I'll go door-to-door for Marge anytime.'
'Me, too,' said Meg. 'But Adela for town justice?' She rolled her eyes. 'Sheeesh. Remember the year she was judge at the geranium competition and she brought in those Dutch imports and said they were hers and she tried to arrange a boycott of Esther's shop when Esther blew her in?'
'Yeah,' said Betty. 'I'd forgot about that.'
'And don't forget what happened after the Jell-O Architecture Contest.'
'Um... yeah,' said Marge.
Meg swallowed most of Quill's grapefruit juice, burped, and added, 'That lady is mean.'
'Well, Bernie Bristol's crooked,' Quill said flatly. She gazed with a ruminative air at Alphonse Santini, who was saying goodbye to his bride at table seven with a remarkable degree of indifference. Of course, practically anyone contemplating marriage with the whiny Claire the day after tomorrow was going to have to be equipped with indifference to whining. 'But why do we have to choose between mean and crooked? Why can't we find a town
