Free Fete Worse Than Death (9781101595138) by Claudia Bishop

helpless.
    “If no one minds, then I’ll step in temporarily.” Quill looked down at her sketch pad, where she’d made a shortlist of things to be done immediately. Actually, it was quite a long list. “Well. I’m not sure where to start, here. The fete’s in two weeks and there’s a ton of work to get through.” She made one last stab at getting out from under. “I don’t suppose Adela would consider stepping back in as an advisor, Elmer? We all know there’s nothing to these nutty allegations.”
    To Quill’s horror, Elmer started to cry. “She’s talking to a lawyer. She texted me.”
    “That’s a good thing,” Quill said warmly. “That way she can refer any, um…inquiries from people to her counsel. All the best people do it, Elmer.”
    “A divorce lawyer,” Elmer sobbed. “On account of that tap on her behind with the gavel.”
    “Oh.” Quill sat back. “Yikes. I’m truly sorry.”
    Dina tapped at the office door and stuck her head inside. “Umm…Quill? Brady Beale is here to see you.”
    “Brady Beale the car dealer?” Quill said blankly.
    Dina nodded, and glanced furtively over her shoulder and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Shall I let him come in? I can tell him you said no. He says now that there’s a vacancy on the steering committee he wants to fill it.”
    “That son of a B!” Elmer said. “He’s trying to hang my wife out to dry! You let him come in here, Dina, and I’ll…” Elmer balled his fists. “I’ll sock him, that’s what I’ll do.”
    Dookie cleared his throat. “Violence,” he said gently, “is not the answer. I think, Dina, my dear, that we should invite Brady to the table.”
    Quill bit her lip uncertainly.
    “Not a bad idea,” Althea said briskly. “Best way toknow your enemy is close-up. I vote to let him in, too. As for you, old son”—she clapped Elmer briskly on the shoulder—“no socking, whacking, thumping, or hitting. Okay?”
    Elmer’s lower lip was stuck out so far, Quill thought he might trip if he got up too quickly. But he put his hands flat on the table and jerked his chin down in agreement.
    Quill got up and sat behind her desk, leaving the fourth chair at the table free. “Okay, Dina. Let him in.”
    “I stuck him out in the foyer. Hang on.”
    Brady walked into the office with a broad smile that faltered under Elmer’s glare. He was of medium height, thin, and his dark hair was thinning on top. Quill thought he was in his mid-thirties, perhaps older. He’d been married once or twice, although she was pretty sure he wasn’t married at the moment.
    He shook hands solemnly with Quill, and then Dookie. He nodded at Althea. “Brady Beale, of Peterson’s Automotive.”
    “Althea Quince.” She gave him a measuring glance. “I saw you on television last night.”
    His face lighted up. “Not bad, was it? I thought the coverage was a little light, myself, but Carol Ann thinks we can get the media down from Rochester at the next meeting. Too much to hope for national coverage, but there you are.”
    Elmer made a noise like a garbage disposal with a fork in it.
    “Yes, well,” Brady said hastily. “If you saw the news last night, Mayor, did you hear me say one word against your good wife? Or one word in support of those citizenswho asked me to offer the space in my showroom for their meeting?”
    “Are you telling us you didn’t know the nature of the protest last night?” Dookie asked. His mild, inquiring gaze was steady.
    Brady’s eyes were flat brown. He widened them innocently. Then, since it was hard for anyone to lie to Dookie Shuttleworth, he said, “I had an inkling. No more. But as a neutral party, how could I say no to some concerned citizens who just asked for enough space to hold their meeting?”
    You could say no to Hitler, Quill thought. Or Pol Pot. Not that Carol Ann’s in the same category, but she’s pretty darn close.
    Dookie’s gaze hadn’t faltered, and Brady rubbed the back of his neck uneasily.