undiscriminating affection for the animal kingdom at
large. But if she wanted the IAPFP to become a wholly
vegan organization, there was nothing to stop meat-
manufacturing members from forming an association
of their own. She’d bet her best set of camel-hair paintbrushes that something else was going on. Something that was a motive for murder. And she had to discover
what that something else was.
Olivia had settled into a stagily contemplative pose
at her table. Out of the corner of her eye, Quill saw the
newest member of the waitstaff, Cassie Winterborne,
come through the archway leading from the Inn dining
room to the Lounge. Cassie must have drawn the afternoon shift. Olivia gestured grandly to her, and the little waitress trotted to her table. Quill slid off the stool and
headed over to Olivia’s table herself. As she left, she
heard Rudy ask Nate, “You see that episode where
Olivia got the true story out of that tiger that half
chomped his trainer’s head off?”
“Pretty amazing,” Nate agreed. “I say it’s always a
good thing to have the other guy’s point of view. Myself, I didn’t believe the trainer one bit. The tiger had the real story.”
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Claudia Bishop
“You got that right. I’ll have another Blue there,
sport.”
Quill arrived at the table and smiled at Cassie, whose
cheeks were pink with starstruck excitement. “Miss
Oberlie just wanted a bit of lunch, Quill,” she said. “It’s
okay to bring food in here, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thank you so much, my dears.” Olivia’s voice was
as much a part of her on-camera charisma as her
turquoise eyes. It was warm and luxuriant, like the best
sort of caramel. Her gaze drifted dreamily to the view
of the falls from the french doors. “I walked outside
this exquisite place, for, oh, I don’t know how long.
Eternity, perhaps. Or perhaps it was only a moment.
The very air here is filled with peace.”
“You’re going to love the Quiche Quilliam,” Cassie
breathed. “It’ll make you feel peaceful, too.”
Olivia laughed kindly. “Bless you, my dear. We’re
quite famished after our walkies. Aren’t we, Little Bit?”
The tote bag thrashed wildly.
“Does Little Bit want something besides the fresh
carrots, Miss Oberlie?” Cassie asked anxiously.
“I’ll ask.” The psychic closed those astonishing eyes.
In repose, her face was plain, with a heavy jaw and a
thin-lipped mouth. Quill wondered if she wanted to
paint her. It was the expressiveness of Olivia’s face that
lent it its charm. Getting that expressiveness into a portrait would be an interesting challenge.
Her eyes flew open. “Little Bit says, perhaps a few
green beans?”
“Oh, wow,” Cassie said. “For sure. I’ll get her as
many green beans as she wants. Can I learn to talk to
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39
animals, Miss Oberlie? I mean, I would just like, totally
freak, if I could figure out what my dog Charley thinks
about.”
Olivia shook her head, regretfully. “I’m sorry, my
dear. Truly sorry. If I could pass my Gift to the many, I
would. But, alas, it seems that I alone have been Chosen. However, if you would care to bring your pet to see me, I’d be delighted to chat with Charley.” She smiled
with warm benevolence.
“Wow, sure. Well. I’ll get right to that order, Miss
Oberlie,” Cassie said breathlessly. “Is there anything
else?”
“There is, as a matter of fact,” Quill intervened.
“Would you check and see what happened to that coffee
Meg was going to bring in?”
“Sure, Quill. And, Miss Oberlie?”
Olivia merely gazed at her warmly. “I see into your
heart,” the look said. “And I like what I see.”
“I just love your show. I just love it.”
Olivia smiled. “Thank you, Cassie, dear.”
Quill waited until Cassie trotted off to the kitchen
and then sat down.
“You were having quite a conversation with our Mr.
Baranga?” Olivia said interrogatively, before Quill
could speak.
“Uh, yes.”
“I assume that you heard about our little contretemps
in the conference room this morning.” Those amazing
eyes were sorrowful.
“Well, yes, but that’s not . . .”
Olivia put a warm hand over Quill’s. “Please accept
my sincere apologies on behalf of our association.
40
Claudia Bishop
We’re in the middle of a major policy change, and I’m
afraid tempers fray.” She sat back with a sigh. “If you
would total up the bill for the breakage and see that it
gets sent to the association headquarters, I’ll see to it
personally.”
“Well, thank you,” Quill said. “But there’s no need
for you to take the trouble.”
“No trouble at all. We’re short a secretary as you
know, and I am happy to pitch in.”
Short a secretary? Quill straightened hopefully. Perhaps Olivia had heard about the death.
“Of course, Lila won’t be resuming her duties until
late next week. It takes some time to get these things
sorted out, I’m afraid. But she will be back.”
For a horrible moment, Quill had a vision of a reanimated Lila at a computer keyboard, blood-stained fingers typing merrily away. “Her affairs?” Quill said, faintly.
“Her poor mother passed on quite suddenly, you
know.”
“Her mother?”
“You are aware she had to leave the conference on
family business. That she checked out yesterday?”
Quill bit her lip.
“Such a shame, too,” Olivia continued in orotund
tones. “You and your sister have provided the most
wonderful hotel experience for us all. I know Lila was
enjoying it as much as I am. As a matter of fact, I’ve
been making arrangements to shoot one of my Mind
segments here, as you may know already.”
“At the dog and puppy show,” Quill said. She’d for
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41
gotten about that. The dog show was one of the Chamber of Commerce’s newest fundraisers.
Olivia waved one arm in an imperial gesture. “The
peace here is . . . ineffably peaceful. The channels of
human mind to that of the Lesser Ones are well and
truly open here. This is a place that may well bring me
to the Peak of my Powers.”
Quill decided that the only way she could be forced
to watch Mind Doesn’t Matter was if she was roped and
hog-tied. She also decided that somebody else could give
Olivia Oberlie the bad news about Lila. She couldn’t
stand to be talked to in capital letters. She made a move
to get up. “Well. I have a few things to see to this morning. I’ll just . . .”
From across the room, Rudy yelled in astonishment.
“Ground into sausage? You gotta be kidding me!” He
turned on the bar stool and shouted, “Livy! Come and
g
et a load of this!”
Nate shot Quill a guilty glance. Quill sat down again.
She took a deep breath, “Miss Oberlie?”
“My fans call me Olivia. I do hope that you will, too.”
“Olivia, then. I’m afraid that your stay here may not
be as pleasant as we could wish,” Quill began.
Olivia Oberlie could swear like a trooper. And at the
news of Lila’s death, she did. The cozily caramel voice
turned brittle. The turquoise eyes glittered with rage.
Olivia’s highly valued peace of mind, in fact, deserted
her completely.
“I’m truly sorry,” Quill said, when the psychic at last
42
Claudia Bishop
ran down. “Cassie should be here with the coffee any
minute.”
Olivia lifted her lip in a snarl. “Coffee, hell. What I
need is another gin.”
Quill caught Nate’s eye and gestured. He nodded and
turned to the liquor bottles.
“Not,” Olivia said, as Nate placed a tumbler of what
appeared to be straight gin in front of her, “because I
liked Lila. I hated the little witch. But I do like good
gin.” She took a gulp and smacked her lips. “And this is
good gin.” She set the glass back on the table with a
thump. “Well, goddamit. What the hell am I gonna do
now?” She looked up as Cassie placed a plate of Quiche
Quilliam in front of her and her theatrical manner
dropped on her like a cloak. “Marvelous,” she said.
“Just marvelous!”
“And I brought Little Bit some water along with the
veggies,” Cassie said. She edged the two bowls onto the
floor. Olivia opened the tote bag and called, “Bit? Bitty?
Din-din!”
A snow white Bichon Frise stuck its head out of the
tote and surveyed them with its button eyes. Olivia set
the dog tenderly on the floor. The dog looked at the vegetables in some bewilderment, and then began to eat in a resigned sort of way. “She thanks you most sincerely,
Cassie!” Olivia said.
“Oh, wow,” Cassie breathed. Quill raised her eyebrows. Cassie needed another few days at waitress training. She cleared her throat. Loudly. Cassie cast an apologetic grimace Quill’s way. “Sorry. Sorry. I’ll be
back to check on your meal in a bit, Olivia.” She grimaced again. “I mean Miss Oberlie.”
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43
Olivia chuckled as Cassie bounced back to the hallway leading to the Inn proper. “That kind of enthusiasm’s really quite attractive, you know.”
“It is,” Quill agreed. “But our customers expect the
more traditional mode of service. Unobtrusive. Mannerly.
Not . . . bouncy. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”
Olivia shrugged in a deprecating way. “My fans,” she
said with a large gesture, “are frequently unrestrained.
It’s my Gift, you know. It draws them.”
“I can see that,” Quill said in a voice totally devoid
of expression.
Olivia cast her a shrewd, assessing look, and relaxed
into more human behavior. “It must be difficult to get
staff up here,” she said, after a bite of Quiche Quilliam.
“Mmm. This is quite good. Quite good. Anyway.” She
made that imperial wave again. “This place is in the
back of beyond. On a road to nowhere. You must be
bored out of your skull here in the winter. Can’t be
much profit in a place like this.”
So much for the ineffable peace of Hemlock Falls.
“We have very few business problems here,” Quill said
in the politest tone she could manage. “The Inn has
done very well for us.”
“Business problems,” Olivia echoed heavily. She
stuck her fork in her quiche and knocked back another
half inch of gin. “Oh, my god. Am I going to have business problems! Damn that Lila, anyway.”
“Was she really that crucial to the association?”
Quill asked in surprise.
“In the normal run of things? Hell, no. The problem’s her voting stock.”
“Oh?” Quill said alertly.
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Claudia Bishop
“Thank goodness I found you, Livy.” Pamela Durbin
settled into the chair next to Quill in a haze of lavender
sachet and a swirl of full skirts. She carried a large lace-
trimmed tote that contained a cross-looking Pekinese.
“Hello, Quill. How are you?” Her thick Georgia accent
slurred the phrase into “haaryew.”
“I’m well, thank you,” Quill said. “I hear the store is
doing well, too.”
“Money’s rollin’ in hand over fist,” Pamela said
cheerily. “Pookie here’s jus’ over the moon about it, and
so am I.” Pookie curled his upper lip over his eyeteeth
and snarled at nothing in particular.
Pamela was a fleshy woman with loosely permed
ash-blonde hair styled off her face. Quill had never seen
her without a strand of pearls and diamond ear studs.
“I’m just so glad I picked Hemlock Falls as the ideal
place to open the Puppy Palace. D’ya know I had some
customers all the way in from Syracuse this morning?
Come all this way jus’ to look at my Shiz Tsu.” She
smiled widely. A bit of her red lipstick had rubbed off
thank for scheduling this convention here, Quill. I’ve
been a loyal IAPFP-er for years and years, haven’t I,
Livy? I know what our members like.”
“I do know that you talked Ms. Longstreet into booking the convention here at the Inn,” Quill said. “And I certainly won’t forget it.”
“The whole town’s got me to thank for the dog and
puppy show this Saturday,” Pamela added complacently.
Pookie barked.
“Did you hear that?” Pamela said delightedly.
“Pookie said, ‘Right,’ didn’t he, Olivia? I swear I can un
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45
derstand everything this dog says to me.” She smiled
sweetly at Olivia. “Maybe I’m getting psychic, too.”
Olivia’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I sincerely doubt that,
Pamela. And was there something specific you wanted
from me?”
Pamela leaned across the table, her substantial
bosom flattened against the top. She dropped into a dramatic whisper. “You heard about Lila?”
Quill marveled at the speed with which Pamela had
connected with the Hemlock Falls’ gossip mill. She’d
only been in town two months, but she was already at
the center of the mill, doing more than her fair share to
keep the rumors flowing.
Olivia didn’t respond for a moment, but gazed distantly over Pamela’s shoulder. Her eyes closed. She raised her hand, palm outward and said in a faraway
voice: “I will address that in due course.” She blinked.
“Sorry. I felt—something coming through. No matter.
And yes, Pamela, I had heard about Lila. But I will not
discuss it now. We will wait for the others to join us.”
“Is that what you See?” Pamela breathed. “That the
others are going to join us soon? What others?”
“Them.” Olivia pointed. Quill turned around in her
chair. Millar
d Barnstaple shambled in from the flagstone terrace. Tall, thin, and dressed as usual in baggy chinos and a denim work shirt, Millard’s long graying
hair was tied back in a ponytail. He gazed benignly at
them though wire-rimmed glasses. His wife Priscilla
followed him. Quill wondered again at the contrast between them. Priscilla was as neat and as well tailored as Millard was sloppy. The dissimilarities weren’t limited
to wardrobe. Priscilla was as precise as her neatly
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Claudia Bishop
cropped hair. Millard, on the other hand mumbled, muttered, and blustered in all the wrong places.
“Well, well, well,” Millard said in a reedy voice. He
slouched into the chair next to Olivia. “And what are
you three ladies up to?” He smiled, showing well cared
for teeth. “Planning another murder? Ha ha.”
“Don’t be an ass, Millard,” Priscilla snapped. Her
face was white, and more than usually strained. “And
find me a chair if you please.”
Millard nodded agreeably, extended one long arm,
and pulled over a chair from a neighboring table. There
was a short yelp and Millard jumped. “Damn that dog,”
he said furiously. “He bit me.”
“You knocked him with the chair leg. He saw that as
an attack,” Olivia said, “and so, I must say, did I.” She
picked Little Bit off the floor, settled him in her lap, and
eyed the Barnstaples with imperious disdain. Pookie the
Peke emerged from the depths of Pamela’s tote and
snarled. Little Bit, in his turn, snarled back.
Millard flung his hands up in a mock defense.
“Sorry, sorry. It was old Millard’s fault, no question.
Don’t want to start a dog fight, here.”
“That Peke’s in terrible shape, Pamela.” Priscilla settled her horn-rimmed glasses more firmly on her nose.
“You ought to exercise him more often. And stop feeding him crap. Do you both good to trim off the excess fat. There’s not a ringmaster on the whole circuit that
wouldn’t throw him out of competition.”
“That may be your opinion,” Pamela said with sudden tears in her eyes. “For what your opinion is worth.”
“I, at least, have a fundamental understanding of
dogs. I don’t think they’re people in dog suits.”
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47
“You’ve got a nerve,” Pamela said in dudgeon.
“Well, Priscilla! Pamela!” Quill interrupted brightly.
“It sounds as if you both have a lot of experience with
dog shows. Perhaps you could give the Chamber some