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Authors: Claudia Bishop
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that have to do with hats?” Marge demanded. “And what are you talking about, ‘big stuff coming down in Hemlock Falls’?”
“Just a few of us are in the know, if you get my drift. The mayor made a couple of calls yesterday. Just to the movers and shakers, if you get my drift.”
“You’re drifting all right, Harvey.” When Marge’s temper was roused, as it appeared to be now, she had the belligerence of a tank. “Nothing big goes down in Hemlock Falls without me hearing about it.”
This, Quill knew, was not a boast, but a fact.
Harvey smiled and put his fingers to his lips. “It’s big. Very big. I can tell you that. It’s going to put Hemlock Falls on the map. That’s what Elmer said.”
“All that means is you don’t know a thing about it, either,” Marge said.
Quill looked at her. “Charley Comstock did say something yesterday morning about some new business at the bank meeting, come to think of it. But he was very vague. You haven’t heard anything, Marge?” If anyone was a mover and shaker in Hemlock Falls, it was Marge.
“Charley?” Marge looked thoughtful, but she let it drop. The members were filing in to the meeting. She marched forward to take her usual spot next to Harland Peterson at the head of the table. Quill herself retreated to the corner farthest from the mayor’s podium. The room was long and narrow, and the rear was ideal for those Chamber members (like Quill herself) who preferred to sit in meetings unnoticed. Back in the mid-1900s, the conference room had been a keeping room for food storage. Such a space offered few usable options. Quill had installed a beige Berber carpet, painted the walls a soft cream, put up some whiteboards at the far end, and added a credenza with a sink to accommodate coffee service.
Chamber meetings were the only time that she was thankful for the proportions of the room. The space really wasn’t usable for anything other than meetings.
But it was a good place for that. She’d scrounged a rectangular table long enough to seat all twenty-four members of the Chamber of Commerce from an auction of old public library furniture. The chief advantage of the table as far as Quill was concerned was that the farthest corner hid her from the active, highly vocal members clustered at the front, like Harvey.
Harvey followed Quill back to the end of the table, an A-frame tucked under his arm. “I’ve made some preliminary sketches of the program, here.”
“Oh,” Quill said again. “I see. You’d like me to design the cover?”
“We sure would!” Harvey placed the A-frame on the table with a flourish. “The cover cries out for the Quilliam touch!”
“For God’s sake, Harvey. Are you trying to cadge off Quill again? Tell him you won’t do it, Quill.” Miriam Doncaster swept into the room. She dropped into the chair next to Quill’s and shook her head in some disgust. Miriam had moved to Hemlock Falls more than twenty years before, with a husband in tow. The husband had picked up and moved on, leaving Miriam with a ten-year-old to support and a large mortgage to pay off. She’d taken a job as town librarian and paid off the bank. The ten-year-old was grown up and practicing as a lawyer in Cleveland. And Miriam had settled into the village with the ease of a Hemlockian born and bred. “You realize what he did with your sketches for the Texas Longhorn Cattlemen’s thingie, don’t you? Sold them. Sold them on eBay as original Quilliams. He got a pretty price for them, too.”
“I personally donated the money to the high school,” Harvey said frostily.
“That you did,” Miriam agreed. “For the Harvey Bozzel Career in the Arts Scholarship.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Quill said hastily. “I’d be glad to do it. What with all the money hassles, I haven’t been working at all lately. This will be a good project to limber up, so to speak.”
“And if we do decide to put the sketches on eBay, the money will be put to a good
“Just a few of us are in the know, if you get my drift. The mayor made a couple of calls yesterday. Just to the movers and shakers, if you get my drift.”
“You’re drifting all right, Harvey.” When Marge’s temper was roused, as it appeared to be now, she had the belligerence of a tank. “Nothing big goes down in Hemlock Falls without me hearing about it.”
This, Quill knew, was not a boast, but a fact.
Harvey smiled and put his fingers to his lips. “It’s big. Very big. I can tell you that. It’s going to put Hemlock Falls on the map. That’s what Elmer said.”
“All that means is you don’t know a thing about it, either,” Marge said.
Quill looked at her. “Charley Comstock did say something yesterday morning about some new business at the bank meeting, come to think of it. But he was very vague. You haven’t heard anything, Marge?” If anyone was a mover and shaker in Hemlock Falls, it was Marge.
“Charley?” Marge looked thoughtful, but she let it drop. The members were filing in to the meeting. She marched forward to take her usual spot next to Harland Peterson at the head of the table. Quill herself retreated to the corner farthest from the mayor’s podium. The room was long and narrow, and the rear was ideal for those Chamber members (like Quill herself) who preferred to sit in meetings unnoticed. Back in the mid-1900s, the conference room had been a keeping room for food storage. Such a space offered few usable options. Quill had installed a beige Berber carpet, painted the walls a soft cream, put up some whiteboards at the far end, and added a credenza with a sink to accommodate coffee service.
Chamber meetings were the only time that she was thankful for the proportions of the room. The space really wasn’t usable for anything other than meetings.
But it was a good place for that. She’d scrounged a rectangular table long enough to seat all twenty-four members of the Chamber of Commerce from an auction of old public library furniture. The chief advantage of the table as far as Quill was concerned was that the farthest corner hid her from the active, highly vocal members clustered at the front, like Harvey.
Harvey followed Quill back to the end of the table, an A-frame tucked under his arm. “I’ve made some preliminary sketches of the program, here.”
“Oh,” Quill said again. “I see. You’d like me to design the cover?”
“We sure would!” Harvey placed the A-frame on the table with a flourish. “The cover cries out for the Quilliam touch!”
“For God’s sake, Harvey. Are you trying to cadge off Quill again? Tell him you won’t do it, Quill.” Miriam Doncaster swept into the room. She dropped into the chair next to Quill’s and shook her head in some disgust. Miriam had moved to Hemlock Falls more than twenty years before, with a husband in tow. The husband had picked up and moved on, leaving Miriam with a ten-year-old to support and a large mortgage to pay off. She’d taken a job as town librarian and paid off the bank. The ten-year-old was grown up and practicing as a lawyer in Cleveland. And Miriam had settled into the village with the ease of a Hemlockian born and bred. “You realize what he did with your sketches for the Texas Longhorn Cattlemen’s thingie, don’t you? Sold them. Sold them on eBay as original Quilliams. He got a pretty price for them, too.”
“I personally donated the money to the high school,” Harvey said frostily.
“That you did,” Miriam agreed. “For the Harvey Bozzel Career in the Arts Scholarship.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Quill said hastily. “I’d be glad to do it. What with all the money hassles, I haven’t been working at all lately. This will be a good project to limber up, so to speak.”
“And if we do decide to put the sketches on eBay, the money will be put to a good
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