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services. It wasn’t Quill’s favorite space at the Inn, but it served a very useful purpose.
    Quill tapped at the door as she opened it.
    As she’d thought, nobody noticed the tap, much less her belated entrance. The room was overcrowded and at first glance, it seemed as if everyone was yelling at everybody else. Quill propped the door open with the kick plate, and took a moment to sort things out.
    Mayor Henry, his round face bright red either with heat or temper, sat at the head of the table, whacking the gavel for order.
    Adela, his wife, stood nose to nose with Carol Ann Spinoza.
    Carol Ann’s outward appearance belied her inner Idi Amin. She was small and curvy with big blue eyes, naturally curly blond hair, and pink-cheeked cheerleader good looks. She smelled like shampoo and soap. She believed that clothes made the woman. During her tenure as animal control officer, she wore a unique uniform of black pants, black T-shirt, and black billed cap. She’d sent her original design for the animal control officers’ weapons belt toAlbany, with a suggestion that it be adopted statewide. The only organization to express interest had been the NRA. She’d had a brief, terrifying term as a New York state food inspector. Quill wasn’t sure what career Carol Ann was pursuing at the moment. She was very sure she didn’t want to know.
    Whatever it was, it had gotten up Adela’s nose.
    Adela hollered. Carol Ann hollered back. Her blond ponytail bobbed loosely up and down as she danced with rage.
    Adela jabbed her fist in alarming proximity to Carol Ann’s pert, freckled nose. Her cheeks matched the violent purple of her blouse. If Adela had a heart condition, it was going to manifest itself speedy quick.
    Farther on down the table, Marge Schmidt roared vehemently into her husband Harland’s ear. The Reverend Dookie Shuttleworth, pastor of the Hemlock Falls Church of the Word of God, appeared to be praying aloud. Nadine Peterson, owner of the Hemlock Hall of Beauty, sat with crossed arms and a glowering expression while she harangued Esther West. Harvey Bozzel, Hemlock Falls’ best (and only) advertising executive chewed on his tie and looked desperate.
    Quill scanned the ranks of members—it appeared as if most of the twenty-four had turned out in force—and settled on Miriam. The town librarian leaned back in her chair, watching the fracas in mild bemusement. Her large Sierra Club tote occupied the chair next to her. She caught sight of Quill and lifted the tote off the chair. Quill sidled around the end of the table and sat down. “Hey, Miriam.”
    “Hey, Quill.”
    “So, anything special going on?”
    Miriam had a sort of knowing centeredness about her character that Quill greatly admired. “Adela quit.”
    “Adela quit what?”
    “Adela resigned her chairmanship of the Finger Lakes Autumn Fete.”
    “No!” Quill turned and stared at the mayor’s wife. Adela’s large bosom heaved in indignation. “She’s run the fete for thirty years. We can’t do it without her. She doesn’t mean it.”
    “Order! Order! Order!” Elmer hollered. He whacked the gavel on the table several times for emphasis. Adela ignored him. Carol Ann ignored him. Both women were shouting, and Quill was hard put to make out what the argument was about. The exchange seemed to consist of the “you will not,” “I will so,” “can’t make me,” “old bat,” “little witch” variety.
    “This meeting will come to order!”
Elmer roared. “Adela, you’re making a fool of yourself. Sit down, dammit.” He made a grab for his wife’s arm.
    Adela, who was, Quill judged, quite senseless with fury, swung around, leaned down, and punched Elmer in the shoulder. Elmer, startled, swung the gavel and connected smartly with Adela’s backside.
    Miriam, Nadine Peterson, and Esther West gasped.
    Quill jumped halfway out of her chair and sat down again.
    A shocked—and covertly delighted—silence descended on the room like a wet blanket