Read Online A Taste for Murder by Claudia Bishop - Free Book Online Page B

fervor. This was much more satisfactory than a tornado.

"I suppose we'll discover just how quick a study you are, Miss Collinwood?" Esther said stiffly. "Come, people, we're running behind schedule. Everybody at the pond in ten minutes."

Quill stopped John in the hall during the general exodus. "Do your plans include watching the rehearsal?"

He smiled faintly. "Not if you're a member of the audience rather than the cast."

"Thank you so much."

He glanced at her out of the comer of his eye. "Did you talk to the widows?"

"Yes."

"Is Myles going to continue with the background checks?"

"I'm not sure. John, Mrs. Hallenbeck's sitting by herself by the fireplace." Quill looked back at the chattering crowd leaving the Inn. Mavis, expansive, was in the center. "I'll just speak to her."

She crossed the lobby and sat next to Mrs. Hallenbeck. "Did you get a chance to walk in the gardens today, Mrs. Hallenbeck?"

"Not yet. Mavis and I were going to go this afternoon, but she appears to be busy. Perhaps we'll go tomorrow."

She folded her hands. "I'll wait until she is finished with her friends. The old are boring to you youngsters."

Quill was quiet a moment. It was pathetic, this small confession. "Would you like to walk down to the rehearsal with me? Only part of the cast will be in costume, but it might be kind of fun. I can't stay for the whole thing, but you're more than welcome to. There's always a crowd watching. Mostly townspeople."

"I'd like that very much."

It was one of those July afternoons that made Quill glad to be in Central New York in summer. The sky was a Breughel-blue, the sun a clear glancing light that made Quill's hands itch for her acrylics. As they came to the edge of the Falls Park and the small man-made pond that had been formed from the river water, Edward Lancashire picked his way over the grass to them.

"I'd call this a paintable day," he said by way of greeting.

"Do you paint, Sarah?" asked Mrs. Hallenbeck.

"I used to. Not much anymore."

"She was becoming quite well-known when she quit," said Lancashire. His dark eyes narrowed against the bright sun, he smiled down at Quill.

"A painter," said Mrs. Hallenbeck with satisfaction. "I knew you were quite out of the ordinary, my dear. I should like to see your work."

"My sister's work is more impressive," said Quill. "Are you finding the food to your liking, Mr. Lancashire?"

"Call me Edward. And the food's terrific."

"And what do you do?" asked Mrs. Hallenbeck.

"Oh. Reporting, mostly," he said vaguely. "What's going on down there?"

"This is the part of the play that's the witch test."

"The witch test?"

"Yes. When a person was accused of witchcraft, there was sort of a preliminary cut made of witches and non-witches. A real witch could swim. Innocent victims couldn't. So many American villages used the ducking stool as a test. The real witches swam to shore and were tried and convicted at a later trial."

"And the innocent victims?" asked Mrs. Hallenbeck.

"Drowned," said Quill.

"My goodness!" With a certain degree of ceremony, Mrs. Hallenbeck took a pair of glasses from her purse, fitted them on carefully, and peered at the makeshift stage by the ducking stool.

With the steadily increasing popularity of Hemlock History Week, the town had turned the area adjacent to the ducking pond into a twenty-acre municipal park some years before. An asphalt parking lot lay at the north edge, and half a dozen picnic tables surrounded the pavilion. The pavilion itself consisted of a large bandstand surrounded by enough wooden benches to seat two hundred spectators. The entire park fronted the Hemlock River; the Falls that formed such a unique backdrop to Meg and Quill's inn rushed gently into the river at the south of the park. The ducking pond was edged with concrete. A sluiceway was lowered to fill the pond in spring, and lifted to empty it in winter. A ten-foot fence of treated lumber stood at right angles to the pond's edge, where Harland Peterson