Free Fete Worse Than Death (9781101595138) by Claudia Bishop Page B

eh, Reverend?”
    Elmer cleared his throat and smoothed the lapels of his seersucker jacket. “Those organizers cost a bundle, you know. We had one of them when the chicken people were here for the Fry Away Home contest. Took a percentage of the gate. Trouble is…” His nose reddened and a tear rolled down his cheek. “Paying for it might be a problem.”
    “There is no way Adela stole that money,” Quill said. “Besides, a percentage of the gate means tickets, right? We always get a ton of walk-ins. If not, maybe we can pay this person from village funds, somehow.” She tapped fruitlessly at her keyboard. “I’m not getting much action here.”
    Althea adjusted a pair of reading glasses onto her nose, then got up and made shooing motions. She had ornate rings on all ten fingers. “I’ll handle it. I’m not bad at computers for a little old lady. You’re talking to someone who shipped three hundred tons of yak’s milk from Tibet through Marrakesh to Chicago all online. You all go see about breakfast. I’m starving, and the mayor here is going to be all the better for some calories. Right, Mayor? I’ll work the computer and come up with a list of names, and then you can decide.” She looked over her spectacles at Brady. “Not a bad suggestion, Mr. Beale.”
    “You’re going to do it, then?” Brady said. “Spend allthat money for an out-of-towner to come in? I work for free, you know.”
    “I think it’s probably best,” Dookie said. “Perhaps next year, Brady, when we are creating the membership for the steering committee, you would consent to join us.”
    “Whatever.” Brady got up. “I’ll say good-bye then. Good to see you all,” he added heartily. “If you’re in the market for a car, you know where to find me.”
    Althea waited until the door closed behind him and winked at Quill. “I’ll bet you’re feeling a little better now, my dear.”
    “To be honest, I feel like a ten-ton weight’s been lifted off my back.” Quill smiled at them. “Althea’s right about breakfast, Elmer. Let me go check on how it’s coming along. I’ll be right back.”
    Thankfully, Quill escaped to the kitchen, where she found her sister flattening veal with a large mallet.
    “Hey, Quill.”
    “Hey, yourself.” Quill resisted the temptation to sit in the rocker. If she sat down, she wouldn’t want to get up for anyone except her son. “Guess what?”
    “You decided to commit seppuku rather than chair the fete committee.”
    “They’re hiring an event coordinator!”
    Meg’s face lighted up. “No! Hey!” She held her hand up and Quill slapped it gleefully. “You’re saved, by God. I am like, totally psyched on your behalf.”
    “I don’t know why we didn’t think of it before. It’ll be expensive.”
    “It’ll be worth it. Besides, odds are good Adela will be back in harness soon, right?”
    “As soon as I can find out who took the money.”
    Meg looked at her. “You’re back in the detecting saddle again? How does Myles feel about that?”
    Quill changed the subject. “I put an order in for four Eggs Quilliam in my office. I’ve come to see when it’ll be ready.”
    “No, you didn’t. You came to escape your fete. Get it? Fate. Fete.”
    “I got it.”
    “Of course your breakfast is on the way.” Meg turned and shouted over her shoulder: “Elizabeth! How’s Quill’s order coming along?”
    Elizabeth Chou didn’t raise her head as she deftly sliced cantaloupe. “Another three minutes.”
    “Told ya.” Meg whacked the veal even flatter. “Bet you wish it was thirty.”
    “I wish it was three years. Honestly, Meg, this is just a mess. What the heck could have happened to that money? And how did Carol Ann know anything about it?”
    “Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she was just being Carol Ann–ish, which is to say, she’s a big-time troublemaker and lucked into the fact that the money’s gone. Now she can dress up in jackboots and march around town calling for justice.