A Taste for Murder (22 page)

"Dookie's prayer meeting! Meg, I'm so sorry, it completely went out of my..."
"Do you know what I've got in stock? Do you? Doughnuts! Four dozen Little Debbie doughnuts that the bread guy left here by mistake. Those doughnuts are so filled with artificial crap that people's arteries seize up just looking at them!"
"Meg, I'm really sorry. Honestly, there's been so much going on, it just..."
"Fell out of what passes for your mind." Meg stubbed out her cigarette, raked her hair back with both hands, and shoved herself away from the table. "This is just it for my reputation. Just it. You want me, I'll be in the storeroom. Hanging from the rafters."
The swinging door to the kitchen banged shut. Silence descended on the dining room.
"That is a very rude young woman," said Mrs. Hallenbeck.
"It's just Meg," said Quill. "You watch. She's probably whipped up a bunch of omelettes, or quiche, or Eggs … la Reine, and the deacons will think they've died and gone to heaven."
"You don't seem perturbed by the temper tantrum."
"Meg's cooking is her life. She takes it seriously. It's part of what makes her great. Running this kitchen is the best thing that ever happened to her."
"She should be married," said Mrs. Hallenbeck. "It would settle her down. You wouldn't have to spend so much time taking her abuse."
"She was married. To the sweetest man I've ever met. He was a stockbroker, and I swear, when he died I thought Meg was going to die. But we invested in the Inn together, and you wouldn't believe the change in her. It took a year or more for Meg to get over his death. The cooking was what did it."
"How did the young man die?"
"Automobile accident. He was thirty."
"She should manage on her own," said Mrs. Hallenbeck. "If you'll pardon an old woman's interference, my dear, she needs to lead her own life. You've cocooned her here."
"Do you think so?" Quill's eyelids drooped and she jerked herself awake. "Sorry, I used to be able to stay up all night in college. I seem to have lost the knack."
Mrs. Hallenbeck patted her hand. "Why don't you go up and take a nap? I will sit here and be alert for any unusual circumstances. I have a notepad, right here" - she tapped her black purse - "and I will write down anything untoward."
"You know, I think I will. I'm sorry we missed our breakfast" - Quill yawned - "but you're right. I'm not going to be much good at investigation if I'm falling asleep on my feet. I'll just check and make sure that everything's set up in the Banquet Room for the prayer meeting, and then take maybe an hour's nap."
"I will meet you for tea," said Mrs. Hallenbeck, "at five o'clock." Quill got up, and she added, "You know, my dear, you might think seriously about retiring from the Inn. It's a great responsibility, far too much to carry alone. Perhaps we could talk, at teatime, about other things you could do. Painting for instance. When do you ever have time to paint?"
"Not much recently, that's true. But I love the life, Mrs. Hallenbeck. It has a lot of rewards that might not be obvious to the outside eye. The Inn is a very peaceful place, you know. The past few days are definitely an exception. Our guests are almost always nice, like you, and come here to relax. Like this prayer meeting this morning," said Quill earnestly, aware somewhere in her sleep-deprived brain that she was rattling on, " - nice people, church people, peacefully praying in the Banquet..."
"Ah, Quill?" Peter Williams tugged at her elbow. Quill blinked at him. "We've got major trouble with the prayer meeting."
-12-
"They came in a van about half an hour ago," said Peter as they walked through the lobby to the Banquet Room.
"They?" said Quill. The coffee she'd drunk to stay awake must have been decaf; either she was asleep on her feet or Peter didn't make sense. "They who?"
"Right out there." He pointed to the front door.
Quill opened the door and went outside. A white Chevy Lumina van was parked on the drive. The side panels were lettered in a screaming orange. "We Save Sinners!" Quill read aloud. "Call 1-800-222-PRAY!" She walked slowly around the van. "THE ROLLING MOSES - The Rev. William Maximilian" was printed on the hood in black Gothic letters intertwined with lightning strikes. Quill shut her eyes and opened them again. The design was still there. And the phone number. They were both very familiar.
Those pamphlets Doreen was carrying around in her apron pocket.
The license plates on the van read "Florida, the Sunshine State." The inspection sticker was a year out of date.
"Quill?" Peter called to her from the lobby. He sounded worried. "They're starting the prayer breakfast now."
Quill drifted slowly back in. "I don't think I want to know what's going on," she said dreamily. "I'm on overload. As a matter of fact, I'm going upstairs to take a quick nap." She thought of her nice comfortable queen-sized bed with the muslin comforter and the cool white sheets.
Peter hesitated. "I'm the last one to judge by appearances...
"Yes," said Quill. "But these guys showed up at the prayer meeting this morning. They look pretty... unsavory, I guess you'd say. They said Doreen had called that 1-800 number and they were here to... to..."
"To what?"
"Perform an exorcism," said Peter.
"A what?"
"To rid the Inn of succubi and other stuff. I thought we'd better sit in."
Quill walked the short length of the hall to the Banquet Room. Most of the deacons were already there; Quill saw Harland Peterson, Elmer Henry, and Tom Peterson and smiled "Hello."
Dookie Shuttleworth stood by the open door, looking con- t fused. He started forward when he saw Quill, took her hand, I and patted it warmly. "We haven't seen you in quite a while, Quill. Please come in and join us." He drew her into the Banquet Room.
Despite the short notice, Meg and the kitchen crew had done themselves proud. The staff had set up a long buffet table; Kathleen Kiddermeister was making crepes to order at one end. Chafing dishes filled with The Sausage, bacon, caramelized apple, puffed potatoes, and a large Heavenly Hoggs Ham were displayed along the rest of the table length. Bowls of fresh strawberries and blueberries sat in the center of round cloth-covered dining tables set with Spode china. The room was filled with most of the regulars of the Hemlock Falls Word Of God Reform Church - and a few who weren't. Doreen sat at a table with Esther West. The ubiquitous Keith Baumer had apparently invited himself and was swallowing food at an enormous rate. Quill decided testily to put the cost for Baumer's breakfast on his bill instead of the one that went to the church.
She paused to reconsider. She wouldn't throw Baumer out. She'd perform a charitable act. Let Baumer horn in if he wanted to. She was becoming more and more convinced that he was the best suspect of all. She was not averse to supporting the admonition to let the condemned eat a hearty meal; the food in prison would be a punishment all the greater in contrast.
The happy, contented buzz of satisfied breakfast-eaters bathed Quill in a warm glow. "Isn't Meg terrific?" she said aloud.
"She is wonderful!" said Dookie. "After this delicious breakfast, Quill - "such a generous contribution to the church, my dear - I had no idea when I mentioned our money troubles that you would give us so much!"
Quill had forgotten her promise to fund the breakfast. She waved away the uneasy feeling that she'd been giving away a lot of free food since John had been gone. "Reverend Shuttleworth, there's a van outside..." Quill stopped, not sure how to continue.
"Yes. The Rolling Moses." The confused expression returned to Dookie's face and seemed to settle there. "They said Doreen Muxworthy called them early yesterday to tell them a succubus was inhabiting the Inn and their help was needed to get rid of it."
"Doreen?" said Quill, keeping her voice low with an effort.
Dookie brightened. "The Reverend William Maximilian said these - er - performances have a very positive effect on the urge of the congregation to donate to worthy causes. We agreed to split the collection plate today - and since we're in desperate need of funds, Quill, I thought perhaps... Ah! Here is the Reverend Mr. Maximilian now. Mr. Maximilian, I would like to introduce Miss Sarah Quilliam, who has so generously donated today's breakfast."
"Good eats. God bless you, sister."
The Reverend Mr. Maximilian breathed heavily through his open mouth. He was fat, hairy, and his five o'clock shadow rivaled the late Richard Nixon's. Quill hadn't seen sideburns like that since Elvis Presley gave his farewell performance.
The Reverend Mr. Maximilian engulfed her hand with his own sweaty palm and held on to it. "Rev'rund Shuttleworth is mighty lucky in his flock, little lady. Red hair like that means a passionate nature. A passionate nature. I hope you are going to join us for the service?"
Quill's response was a noncommittal "Um."
"And these are my helpers in the Lord. Byron? Joe-Frank? This little lady owns the Inn."
Guys a lot like Byron and Joe-Frank parked their Harley Davidsons outside the Croh Bar on Saturday nights. Joe-Frank had tattoos on his heavily muscled upper arms that said PRAISE GOD on the left and PUNISH SINNERS on the right. Byron's black leather jacket covered any tattoos he may have had, and just barely concealed a blackjack on his hip. His lack of visible skin ornamentation was made up for by the ring in his nose.
Quill nodded politely. She sat down next to Mark Anthony Jefferson, prey to misgivings.
"Fellows in Christ!" Dookie tapped a water glass with a spoon for attention. "We are privileged to bring a unique guest to our meeting today. I would like to introduce to you my brother in Christ, the Right Reverend Mr. William Maximilian. Willy Max has come to us all the way from Newark, New Jersey, where he was administering to another church such as ours - a church in trouble."
Dookie's eyes brightened as he warmed to his favorite topic. "Declining attendance, scanty donations, all these things are troubling the church here at Hemlock Falls, my friends. We have brought Reverend Mr. Willy Max here to support our spiritual renewal - to help us cast out the demons of avarice and miserliness, and invite in the angels of charity and openhandedness."
Elmer Henry cleared his throat in a marked manner. Dookie concluded rapidly, "Ladies and gentlemen, Willy Max and the Church of Rolling Moses!" Dookie led the applause and sat down.
Willy Max rose to his feet, tucked his thumbs into the substantial flesh hanging over his cowboy belt, and surveyed the room in silence. His brow beetled. His lower lip thrust out. He scanned the crowd, one by one, until the silence was utter. Absolute. The Banquet Room became as silent as a Carmelite nunnery at lunch. "I don't know about angels of charity," he said slowly, "I know about scarlet wimmin, and the Devil who sends them to torment our poor male flesh. Brothers and sisters," intoned the minister, "let us bow our heads and pray."
Obediently, the congregation bowed its head as one.
"Lord? It's me here, Willy Max. Your servant. Once again, Lord, I offer praises for the light of knowledge and redemption. Like Paul on the road to Damascus, Lord, I was struck down in stone by a vision of Hell. ('Cept it was in that CPR class in Sarasota, Lord, and not on a road a' tall.) Lord, we are poor cree-turs and wicked. We have fallen into temptation and into snares...."
"Snares..." said Byron and Joe-Frank together.
"The snares of lust." His voice rose, beefy hands clasped. "The traps of temptation, the pits of promiscuity!" he thundered. "There are those among us who have been plagued by visions of the Scarlet Woman of Babylon at night... is it not so, brothers and sisters?!"
"Amen," said a few of Dookie's flock tentatively.
"There are those among us who have been inflamed by the thought of wimmin. Scarlet-lipped, rouged and scented wimmin."
"Amen." The chorus was swelled by several more parishioners as the plates were cleared.
Willy Max raised his hands to the ceiling. His voice slid upward like the tenor sax at the start of Rhapsody in Blue. "YOU HAVE BEEN DRAWN TO SALACIOUS AND HURTFUL LUSTS!"
"LUSTS!" shouted those citizens of Hemlock Falls who had finished their breakfast.
"WHO AMONG YOU IS DRAWN TO DAMNATION?" A surprising number of voices said they were.
"ARE WE NOT ALL SINNERS IN THE EYES OF THE LORD?"
General agreement was expressed by the majority.
Willy Max began to move about the room, face red, arms waving. "BRING ME A SINNER, LORD, THAT I MAY SHAKE THE DEMONS FROM HIS SOUL! GUIDE ME, LORD! SHOW ME THE BLACK-HEARTED BUCKET OF SLIME."
"Right here !" said Doreen, pointing at Keith Baumer. Baumer put his fork down, gazed around with a bemused expression, and said feebly, "Look here..."
Max raised his eyes beseechingly to the ceiling. "Who, Lord, who?"
"Him, Lord, him!" Doreen screamed.
"Uh, just a minute here," said Baumer. "I'm an agnostic."
"THIS IS THE ONE, REVRUND. THIS - HERE'S THE SINNER." Doreen grabbed Baumer by the tie. His eyes bulged. Doreen pulled. Baumer rose from his seat. Some hours afterward, opinion was divided as to whether this was strictly voluntary, since strangulation wasn't held to offer a genuine alternative to repentance.
"Have you lusted in your heart?" Willy Max demanded.
"Urgh," said Baumer.
"HAVE YOU LUSTED IN YOUR LOINS!" then, in an aside to Doreen, "Leave him go, sister."
Doreen released Baumer's tie. Byron and Joe-Frank grasped him by both arms, perhaps in a humanitarian attempt to prevent him from falling.
"Fall to your knees and PRAY!" hollered Willy Max. Byron and Joe-Frank assisted Baumer to his knees with good-humored alacrity.
"ooOOOOHHHLORD!" Willy Max shouted. "Shake these dee-mons from his breast!"
Joe-Frank tapped Baumer's knees with the blackjack. Baumer fell flat, face-up.
"GET THEE BEHIND ME, SATAN!" Willy Max implored the ceiling tiles. "BOYS! PUSH THE DEVIL OUT!"
Byron held Baumer's head. Joe-Frank thumped Baumer's chest and stomach with both fists, an ecclesiastical tribute, perhaps, to the CPR class where Willy Max had first received divine inspiration.
"Help-me, help-me, help-me," Baumer wheezed, in time with the thumps.
Tom Peterson scowled. Mayor Henry jiggled one large knee up and down. Harland Peterson's lower lip stuck out like a granite ledge. Dookie Shuttleworth's expression was an interesting mixture of agony and apprehension.
"Shake the demons outa him!" yelled Byron.
"Yay, bo!" Joe-Frank responded enthusiastically.
"Mr. Maximilian?" Dookie Shuttleworth got to his feet. "Mr. Maximilian!"
The bikers stopped pummeling Keith Baumer. Willy Max gazed benignly at Dookie. "Yes, Revrund?"