Read Online A Carol for a Corpse by Claudia Bishop - Free Book Online
Authors: Claudia Bishop
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dropped dramatically from the elaborately carved eaves. Snow topped the slate roofs like frosting on particularly elegant gingerbread houses. The December sunlight bounced dazzling prisms of light from the ice-wrapped trees.
Pine garlands twisted down the lengths of the lampposts lining Main Street. An illuminated plastic Santa, sleigh, and reindeer marched across the top of Nickerson’s Hardware store. Large wreaths decorated with colorful ornaments and red velvet bows hung over the doors to the shops. Two-foot-high Christmas trees sat in the middle of the black-iron planters. At the end of Main Street, a life-sized crèche complete with bejeweled Magi sat in front of the Hemlock Falls Church of the Word of God, next to a ten-foot-high menorah that lighted up at night and a twelve-foot minaret. All of this goodwill, Quill thought, puts Scrooge McWhirter in his proper perspective. “And besides,” she said aloud as she parked the Honda in her regular spot near the Inn’s front door, “it wouldn’t hurt to sit down and give him a little bit of advice about how the business is really run. Maybe I’ll take him to lunch.”
“It’s you he’s going to have for lunch,” Marge said bluntly, “and I’m not talking about his picking up the tab. Best to leave him alone. Come on. Let’s get the lead out.”
The Hemlock Falls Chamber of Commerce meeting was held in the conference room at the Inn. Marge and Quill arrived at quarter to ten, which, Quill reminded Marge, was earlier than necessary and they could have had a second slice of Betty’s cinnamon bread. Quill looked into the room. “And the only person in there is Harvey. So I’ve got time to go check on things.”
Marge grasped her firmly by the elbow and hauled her into the room. “You leave McWhirter alone. We’re not early. We’re right on time. Harvey wants to talk to you.”
“Harvey?” Quill stopped dead. “You set up a meeting with Harvey?” Harvey Bozzel was president of Hemlock Falls’ best (and only) advertising agency. He was responsible for several notorious campaigns in his career: the Little Miss Hemlock Falls Beauty Contest (which ended in a fistfight among the six-year-old contestants), the Civil War Days reenactment (the gallant Hemlockians in the Fourteenth Division had lost), and the Fry-a-Way Chicken contest (a corpse ended up in the deep fryer). Quill was extremely dubious about the results of meetings with Harvey.
A wide grin split his face as Marge hauled Quill to the conference table, and he hurried up to meet them. “Merry Christmas, Quill.” He took Quill’s hand in both of his own and shook it heartily. “And a Merry Christmas to you too, Marge. Well! Let’s sit down and have at it.”
“Have at what?” Quill asked warily.
Harvey patted his sculpted blond hair, cleared his throat, and took a deep, dramatic breath. “The First Annual Hemlock Falls Christmas Chorale!”
“Oh,” Quill said in mild surprise. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“Doesn’t sound too bad? Quill! Marge! It’s fantastic!”
“Are you planning a concert, then?” Quill asked.
“We’ve got that special meeting of the Chamber coming up day after tomorrow, and I thought we could have the chorale debut at it.”
“Oh,” Quill said. She’d forgotten about that. Zeke Kingsfield was famous for his real estate seminars. To the delight of the mayor—and most of the businessmen in the village— he had agreed to present a shortened version of it at a special Chamber meeting.
“And then the Reverend Shuttleworth wants us to sing at the midnight carol service, of course. And I thought maybe we could get up a caroling group to go around the village. Adela’s got the Ladies Auxiliary knitting hats.”
“Hats?” Quill said. “We’re going to be wearing special hats?”
“Oh there’s big stuff coming down in Hemlock Falls,” Harvey said importantly. “And we have to be prepared for any and all contingencies.”
“What does
Pine garlands twisted down the lengths of the lampposts lining Main Street. An illuminated plastic Santa, sleigh, and reindeer marched across the top of Nickerson’s Hardware store. Large wreaths decorated with colorful ornaments and red velvet bows hung over the doors to the shops. Two-foot-high Christmas trees sat in the middle of the black-iron planters. At the end of Main Street, a life-sized crèche complete with bejeweled Magi sat in front of the Hemlock Falls Church of the Word of God, next to a ten-foot-high menorah that lighted up at night and a twelve-foot minaret. All of this goodwill, Quill thought, puts Scrooge McWhirter in his proper perspective. “And besides,” she said aloud as she parked the Honda in her regular spot near the Inn’s front door, “it wouldn’t hurt to sit down and give him a little bit of advice about how the business is really run. Maybe I’ll take him to lunch.”
“It’s you he’s going to have for lunch,” Marge said bluntly, “and I’m not talking about his picking up the tab. Best to leave him alone. Come on. Let’s get the lead out.”
The Hemlock Falls Chamber of Commerce meeting was held in the conference room at the Inn. Marge and Quill arrived at quarter to ten, which, Quill reminded Marge, was earlier than necessary and they could have had a second slice of Betty’s cinnamon bread. Quill looked into the room. “And the only person in there is Harvey. So I’ve got time to go check on things.”
Marge grasped her firmly by the elbow and hauled her into the room. “You leave McWhirter alone. We’re not early. We’re right on time. Harvey wants to talk to you.”
“Harvey?” Quill stopped dead. “You set up a meeting with Harvey?” Harvey Bozzel was president of Hemlock Falls’ best (and only) advertising agency. He was responsible for several notorious campaigns in his career: the Little Miss Hemlock Falls Beauty Contest (which ended in a fistfight among the six-year-old contestants), the Civil War Days reenactment (the gallant Hemlockians in the Fourteenth Division had lost), and the Fry-a-Way Chicken contest (a corpse ended up in the deep fryer). Quill was extremely dubious about the results of meetings with Harvey.
A wide grin split his face as Marge hauled Quill to the conference table, and he hurried up to meet them. “Merry Christmas, Quill.” He took Quill’s hand in both of his own and shook it heartily. “And a Merry Christmas to you too, Marge. Well! Let’s sit down and have at it.”
“Have at what?” Quill asked warily.
Harvey patted his sculpted blond hair, cleared his throat, and took a deep, dramatic breath. “The First Annual Hemlock Falls Christmas Chorale!”
“Oh,” Quill said in mild surprise. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“Doesn’t sound too bad? Quill! Marge! It’s fantastic!”
“Are you planning a concert, then?” Quill asked.
“We’ve got that special meeting of the Chamber coming up day after tomorrow, and I thought we could have the chorale debut at it.”
“Oh,” Quill said. She’d forgotten about that. Zeke Kingsfield was famous for his real estate seminars. To the delight of the mayor—and most of the businessmen in the village— he had agreed to present a shortened version of it at a special Chamber meeting.
“And then the Reverend Shuttleworth wants us to sing at the midnight carol service, of course. And I thought maybe we could get up a caroling group to go around the village. Adela’s got the Ladies Auxiliary knitting hats.”
“Hats?” Quill said. “We’re going to be wearing special hats?”
“Oh there’s big stuff coming down in Hemlock Falls,” Harvey said importantly. “And we have to be prepared for any and all contingencies.”
“What does
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