A Steak in Murder (25 page)

"I do." CarolAnn was loud, as usual. "I guess you didn't hear about what happened up at the vet's?" She smirked at Harris, who smirked back. "They were up there yesterday afternoon, trying to free those poor test subjects in that so-called clinic."

"Trashed the place," offered a fair-haired trooper, as he pushed Norman into the patrol car. "Trashed the vet's office, too, and then . . ." He made a sharp thrust with his hand.

"She was knifed?" Quill said.

"Same as Candy Detwiler," CarolAnn said. "The O.M. was exactly the same, which is why they're arresting Norman for the both of them."

"M.O.," Marge said sourly.

"Huh?"

"M.O., not O.M.," Quill said. "It stands for
modus operandi."

"Now look at
that."
There was such smarmy glee in CarolAnn's voice that Quill's palm itched to smack her. A van marked THE RUSTICATED LADY, HGTV squealed to a halt behind the trooper's car. "Lally Preston's good for something, I guess." CarolAnn sprinted toward the car.

"That's her TV crew, innit?" Marge said.

"Yes." Quill glumly returned Lally's wave. Lally's cameraman got out of the back and looked vaguely
around, his camcorder in hand. Lally herself grabbed his
shoulders, pointed him in the direction of the protesters still milling around the Palate, then trotted over to Quill and Marge. She had the grace, at least, to look embarrassed. "Sorry about this, but we make an extra dollar or two when the networks call for footage. They'll cut in the national anchor later, I guess."

The cameraman ran alongside the protesters, who broke happily into their chant. One of them turned the sign that read: CLOSE THE PALATE! straight into the camera lens.

"Gee, Quill," Marge said with a grin, "that can't be good for the price of that business now, can it?"

So the truce was over. In several minutes the protest was over, as well. Lally's cameraman shot a few more feet of tape, got back into the car, and gestured to Lally.

"See you, bye," Lally said. "We all set for tonight?"

"I guess so," Quill said. "You mean the banquet's still on?"

"Of course. Time and TV wait for no man. Dead or alive."

"Uh, Lally," Marge said. "We talked about maybe serving Betty's lemon custard pie tonight? Instead of that puddin' thing Meg mixes up out of a bag."

"It's NOT out of a bag," Quill said indignantly. "It's crème brûlée, which is eggs, sugar—"

"Well, the sugar's out of a bag, innit?"

Quill slammed the door on her way back into the restaurant.

"Wow," Meg said. She was sitting at a table, her feet propped up on a chair. She was drinking lemonade. "Want some?"

"I just made a record," Quill said. She shoved Meg's feet off the chair and sat down.

"What's the record?"

"For the shortest amount of time between wanting to smack two people ever."

"CarolAnn I can understand. Who else?"

"Marge, of course. Where's Doreen?"

"Went to chase Max and bring him home. I told her it was her turn." Meg set the lemonade on the table. "So they arrested that poor geek Norman."

"Q.U.A.C.K. was up there yesterday, and Trooper Einstein must have put one and one together to get five. Those people didn't kill Laura. And I'll bet they didn't kill Candy Detwiler, either."

"I don't know, Quill. Norman's got a record."

"I can see them maybe clobbering a human over the head," Quill admitted. "But, Meg, would animal rights people kick a dog? With as vicious a kick as laid out poor Tye?"

Meg's eyes widened. "Jeez," she said.

"CarolAnn let something drop that didn't make sense. She said that Q.U.A.C.K. was at the clinic to free test animals."

"Test animals?"

"You know. Lab animals. Rabbits. White rats. The sort they use in labs to test cosmetics."

"Laura Crest didn't have test animals at her clinic."

"I know who can tell us if she did. Jack Brady."

First, they drove out to Motel 48, where the hopeful little desk clerk said she hadn't seen him all night, and if they found him, would they tell him they could have a drink some other time. Then they went to the Inn. Marge, in charge of setting up the conference room for the Chamber lunch, said belligerently she hadn't seen Brady, and would they please get their keisters outta there, unless they had a couple million in their pockets to drop into her bank account.

They finally found Jack at the Croh Bar, slouched over
a table in the corner and listening to Patsy Cline's "Walkin'." He looked awful. The skin under his eyes
was purple. He hadn't shaved. He sat like a man defeated. He didn't notice either one of them at first. Quill signaled
Ben Croh for another round of whatever Brady was drinking with a circular sweep of her finger.

"It's beer," Meg whispered.

"So we'll drink beer."

"At eleven-thirty in the morning? I think not."

"Ladies." Brady raised his head. Quill was shocked at the expression in his eyes. "Y'all have a seat."

They sat down on either side of him. Ben set three
beers down. Quill took a sip, then remembered she hadn't had any breakfast. Meg gave her glass a disgusted shove.
Brady drained his, took Meg's with a courteous crook of his eyebrow, and drained that. Quill pushed her glass toward him. He wrapped his big hands around it. "What can I do for you two?"

Quill hesitated. "It's about Laura Crest."

He ducked his head once.

"You knew her before, Brady? Before you came to Hemlock Falls?"

He ducked his head again.

"In Texas?"

"At Cornell." He drank half of Quill's beer. "I brought up some steers from San Antonio. Fellas in the
research lab wanted to study 'em, L guess. Laura was just
gettin' herself out of school."

"She was a resident in the lab?"

"Ahuh."

And Brady, being Brady, would have seduced the young resident with no problem at all. "Brady, why would the animal rights people protest against the clinic?"

His face was bleak. "I think it was my fault. They killed her. And it was my fault." He rotated the beer glass between two palms. "I was shootin' off my mouth. In here. Laura was with me. She keeps a couple of those horses for blood serum. You know, you can make a decent buck collecting antibodies from them couple of times a week. She supplies Cornell. She needed the money. It don't hurt the horses none, to have blood drawn every once in a while. But I was kind of raggin' her about it, and that fella Norman was sitting right over there. By the jukebox. He comes up, all goofy, starts hollerin' about how animals have souls, too, Jesus." He expelled his breath. "I'm a horseman myself. You think I'd . . . anyhow, I just kind of egged him, just to tease Laura."

"It's not your fault, Brady." Quill laid her hand gently on his arm.

He didn't say anything.

"It's not your fault because they didn't kill her."

"What d'ya mean? They tore the place up."

"Who told you that?"

"Harris."

"You think they kicked Tye hard enough to put her in intensive care?"

He thought about this. "Hell, no."

"And Harris is a dolt," Meg said. She began to tap her foot on the floor in an impatient rhythm Quill recognized. She was beginning to think about having to cook that night, and she was beginning to get nervous.

"You got that right." He eased back in his chair. A little color had come back into his face. "So who tore the place up?"

"I don't know. But as far as I can gather, Q.U.A.C.K. doesn't do anything more than walk around in circles, literally, and wave their signs around. The most damage they've ever done is to let those turkeys out on Interstate
90. And they didn't even mean to do that. I know because I asked Sky about it, and she said she thought the turkeys
would just fly off. To their home in the wild, she said."

"Turkeys can't fly."

"I know that. You know that. But how much do animal rights people really know about animals?"

"Jack shit."

"Yes. So. I'll tell you what I think we should do. I think we should go on up to Laura's clinic and poke around and see what really happened."

"We've got to get to the Chamber meeting, Quill, and then I have to get back to the kitchen." Meg drummed her fingers on the table. "I know this is important, but so's the bloody meal."

"In a minute," Quill soothed.

Brady said, "Harris'll have a man on point. I know, because I'm tending to the stock up there until I can ship them off to another vet."

"Not at night, he won't. That's just to keep sightseers away. I know because Myles told me once . . ." She bit her lip and stopped.

"Who's Myles?"

"Just someone I knew."

Meg raised her eyebrows at that.

"So what do you think, Brady? Shall we do a little investigating? Tonight? After the International Night Dinner?"

"Yeh. I think we should. Do you want me to bring my gun?"

"No!" Quill said, horrified. "I do not. We'll leave from the Palate."

"It's quarter to one, Quillie. We've got to GO!"

"Hang in there, Meg. We'll see you tonight, Brady." They left him there, still brooding over his beer, and got into the Olds to drive to the Inn.

"I like this," Meg said as Quill navigated the hill. "This is the first time I get to do the dangerous stuff. I mean the visit to the clinic tonight. Not the cooking. I can handle the cooking. I think. I'll concentrate on the dangerous stuff, instead. Then maybe I won't get so bummed about having to cook."

"That's not the dangerous stuff." Quill parked under the DON'T EVEN THINK OF PARKING HERE sign and sat looking at the Inn. "The Chamber meeting's the
dangerous stuff. Fasten your seat belts, sweetie, it's going
to be a bumpy ride."

". . . disGRACE!" Adela Henry was saying, as Quill and Meg walked into the dining room. Since Marge had cut the menu prices (a move which had baffled Quill, until
she learned about the infamous booking fee) the Chamber
had resumed its monthly lunches at the Inn. The tables were arranged in a U, with the mayor and Adela at the head. Meg and Quill took seats near the end, and Meg poked glumly at the appetizer. "Peaches. Fresh peaches."

"They look great."

"I know they look great!" She bit her lip. "Maybe I should do something with fresh peaches tonight."

"The menu will be fine, Meg."

"The menu sucks. Look what happened the last time I served it. The guy croaked."

"There you are, Quill," the mayor said. "I guess we can start now that the secretary's here." He beamed around the room. "Everybody's here," he said. "Good turnout. Should be a good meeting." Quill scanned the room. Colonel Calhoun was seated to Elmer's right, as guest of honor. The Russians were lined up to Adela's left (appropriately enough). The four of them were politely attentive. The citizens of Hemlock Falls, however, were not. Most ominous was the fact that CarolAnn Spinoza was there, looking pious. Everyone else looked mad. Seeing the cross faces, Quill wasn't as sure as the mayor that it was going to be a homey, feel-good meeting. She'd seen the expressions on the faces of the villagers caught up in the morning's brouhaha, and she was fairly certain the mayor was about to get an earful.

After Dookie Shuttleworth's invocation, he did. Norm Pasquale, principal of the Hemlock Falls High School (and coach of their unsuccessful football team, the Hemlock Highballers), raised his hand to be recognized.

"Yeh, Norm," the mayor said.

"A deputation of parents came to me last night, Mayor, and expressed concern for the safety of our children. Between the bulls and the bodies, this town's not safe for anyone."

And then, Quill reflected later, the dam busted. She
abandoned taking the official minutes, letting the cacoph
ony wash around the room like a surge down a storm
drain. The complaints resolved themselves into three categories, which Quill recorded in numerical fashion in the
minutes book.

The cows, most especially the manure, and the dan
ger implicit in having a bull on the loose. Quill noted parenthetically that the focus of the protest was CarolAnn, who seemed to have a positive thing about manure, and those townspeople unacquainted with the day-to-day routine of farming.

The Russians, or more colloquially, the Commies. Quill found it of less than compelling interest that these fears emanated primarily from those Chamber members over sixty-five. She hoped that Leonid's English was as good as she thought it might be. Adela was positively rude.

Q.U.A.C.K. and the demonstration that morning. This dispute resolved itself into two factions: villagers
who thought the Commies were behind it, and those who
had sympathy for the cause.

The murders: Everyone was against them.

Meg listened to the furor with bored patience that turned rapidly to irritation. She began a tuneless hum
(overture to
The Magic Flute)
which segued into bombast
(The 1812 Overture).
Then she yelled, "Shut UP!" which astonished Dookie Shuttleworth into speech, and the rest of the room into silence.