'Carolers we've got. The Reverend Mr. Shuttleworth's children's choir from the Church of the Word of God, the Women's chorus from H.O.W, and I'm pretty sure the volunteer firemen are - '
'Wait, Wait, Wait, Wait, Wait. H.O.W.? H.O.W. what?'
'The Hemlock Organization for Women,' said Quill. 'Most of them are here at the Inn right now. Mr. Santini's organized a series of fund-raisers involving some of the local groups. H. O. W. was the first to accept.'
'A feminist organization? In a country village the size of what-three thousand and something? And here I thought the happy villagers were farmer's wives and quilters. Well, I'll be dipped. How long has this been going on?'
'Just a few weeks,' Quill said uncomfortably. 'And it's not anything really radical. At least, they aren't violently radical.'
'There's that readable face again.' Nora almost purred. 'Come on, cookie, there's a story here. Give.'
'There's nothing to give.' Quill stood up again. (And this time, she thought, I really mean it.) 'I love the idea of the Inn as background for the station's Christmas message. John's always after us to be more public-relations oriented. We used to use a small advertising agency here in town for P.R., but the guy moved on to New York a few weeks ago. So I've sort of assumed the responsibility. What about collecting the staff around the Christmas tree in the foyer? Or the dining room. We put pine garlands around the windows overlooking Hemlock Gorge every year. That'd make a great backdrop, especially if it snows. When it snows, I should say, since it always snows up here in December.'
Nora closed a cool hand firmly around Quill's wrist. 'Just call me Bird Dog. What about H. O. W.?'
Quill sat down at the tea table again. The table was a drop leaf, made of cherry. She'd found a set of four fan-backed chairs in the back room at a farmhouse auction and refinished them to go with the table. She looked at the empty chair opposite Nora with critical attention. The cotton damask upholstery wasn't wearing well.
'Quill?'
'Hmm?'
'The investigative reporter thing is in my blood. If you don't tell me, I'll just ask somebody else. Like that Mrs. Muxworthy, your housekeeper?'
'Doreen,' said Quill. She bit her finger nervously, then folded both hands firmly in her lap.
'That's the one. She looks just like somebody who'd know everything about everybody in a town this size. Kind of like a nosy rooster.'
Quill was conscious of exasperation. 'Doreen's a friend of mine,' she said stiffly, and then immediately regretted it. The most irritating thing about Nora was her gift for backing people - okay, her, Quill - into defensive positions. And for demanding and getting sententious responses. 'There's nothing special or unusual about H. O. W.'
Nora picked up a pastry bow, inspected it, took a large bite, and set it back on the plate. Quill tugged at her hair in irritation. Who was going to eat a half-bitten pastry bow? The recipe was one of Meg's best. And it was I expensive to make. And it wasn't just the one mangled pastry bow, there were three half-eaten ones abandoned on Nora's plate as well as the half-gutted crepe. This was significant of Nora's attitude in general. Mentally she counted backward from five, then said, 'H. O. W.'s not a story, really. Just an incident in the life of a small town. We had village elections this year in November and in the general upset - '
'All of New York's Democrats lost their seats. I wouldn't call it a general upset. The whole thing was a rout.'
'Well, we both know a lot of incumbents lost their seats. And not just the governor and Alphonse Santini. The Village of Hemlock Falls town government toppled, too. Our justice of the peace has been replaced.' Quill hoped her smile wasn't too stiff. 'And so was our sheriff, and a couple of other officials.'
'The sheriff, yeah,' said Nora, clearly bored, 'so what kind of job does a small-town sheriff get after he's been dumped?'
'A pretty remunerative one. Myles, that is, Sheriff McHale had been one of the top detectives with the N.Y.P.D. before he retired here. After the - um - upset, he took a job with one of those global investigative bureaus. They made him quite an offer. They're sending him overseas for a year.' Quill carefully pulled the mint out of her grapefruit juice and set it on the rim of her saucer. Her hands were steady.
Nora lifted a sarcastic eyebrow. 'Wow. So what was the reason behind this political cataclysm?'
Quill breathed a little easier. Evidently her readable face was in a foreign language, for once. 'Our party lines were gender-based this year. No special reason, really,' she added hastily, 'I mean, none at all. It started with a marital spat between our mayor and his wife and kind of escalated from there. The women lost, the women voters, that is, and the male voters won, and so the Chamber of Commerce split up.'
'What does the Chamber of Commerce have to do with the price of bananas in Brazil?' There was an impatient edge to Nora's voice.
Quill offered her the last intact pastry bow, grateful that she'd escaped interrogation about the gender wars, and even more grateful that she didn't have to attempt indifference about Myles McHale. 'I'll get to that. You'd be amazed how labyrinthian small-town politics can be.'
'If you think that life in Syracuse is any different, think again. It's just a bigger small town, that's all.'
She dug into her purse for a cigarette, lit it, and blew the smoke upward. 'I'm not going to be around that hick town for long if I can help it, or this one either, for that matter. So what about the relationship of the Chamber of Commerce to H. O. W.?'
'The Chamber of Commerce had always been the focal point of social and political village life. Not anymore. The men have formed their own organization and the women have formed theirs, and they meet separately instead of together. It's kind of stalled civic events. So I don't know how successful you'd be in finding a newsworthy story to add to your coverage of the Santini wedding. We have almost no crime here. Just a little shoplifting and that's mainly kids. And, as I said, village activity is at a temporary standstill. So,' finished Quill, getting up from her chair with a decisive movement, 'that's about it. I've got to get going, Nora. Between the wedding and Santini's entourage and their fundraiser and Christmas, I don't know which end is up today. I can ask one of the staff to take you around the Inn if you want to scout locations for a possible back- ground tape. Or I can call Reverend
