Page 30 of Killer on the First Page
LOJIC, as the lodge was known, was an elite, secretive society that required prospective members to answer a single skill-testing question in order to join, that question being “Do you want to join LOJIC?” Almost everyone in Happy Rock was a member, either lapsed or active. At the annual LOJIC parade, there were often more people in the parade than watching the parade. Normally, the Great Imperial Master (“Grand Bricklayer,” to use the proper title) would be piped in ceremonially, but trained bagpipers were thin on the ground in Happy Rock, so it fell instead to Mabel Greene and her accordion.
Mabel (one half of Myrtle & Mabel, who ran the local café) was a small but determined woman, older than most, stronger than many, with a firm jaw and an accordion that was as large as she was. The fingernails-on-chalkboard pitch grew higher, more strident—even occasionally hitting recognizable notes along the way—as the guests crowded in to witness the spectacle. As well they might. Many of them thought someone was throttling a cat (though less melodiously) and wanted to get a good look.
“Never had a lesson, our Mabel!” said Doc proudly.
In she marched in her tartan kilt with sweatpants underneath, leading the way for...
“So that was the big do he had tonight,” said Edgar.
Owen McCune, carrying the Staff of Office with a tasseled sash draped across his shoulders, followed Mabel in. He stopped splendiferously, raised his hand in greeting on behalf of the lodge. A powerful effect, undone only by the fact that he was still in his grease-stained coveralls from earlier. A smattering of applause, more bemused than amused, greeted Owen as the last of the accordion notes died a long and agonizing death.
Miranda thought of the many red carpet events she’d attended in her day, the Golden Globes, the Emmys, the People’s Choice Awards. The barrage of flashbulbs, the frenetic waving of microphones.Ms. Abbott! Ms. Abbott!and sometimes the slip-up:Pastor Fran!There had been no accordions. No bewhiskered mechanics in sashes. No friends. Just fame. Speaking of which...
Creeping in shyly in Owen’s wake was—
“Bea! You came!”
“I thought you might run out of SunnyD,” she said, proffering a large jug of the stuff.
“Wonderful! I’ll run it into the kitchen. Did you bring your copy of theBoudoirbook? The author is here! He can sign it for you.”
“Oh, I must have left that in the B&B.” Then, confiding in Miranda, Bea whispered, “To be honest, I’m not such a fan. They’re a little risqué for my tastes. But I do enjoy spending time with Harpreet. She was so excited when she started her club, I signed up right away.”
“Your secret is safe,” said Miranda, making the classic locking-my-lips-and-throwing-away-the-key gesture.
As they made their way down the hall, they passed the floral arrangements and arrays of food on offer, and Bea said, “Oh my. Very artistic.”
When they entered the kitchen, Bea came face-to-face with her archnemesis: Geri.
“Hiya!”
Miranda made the introductions.
“So you’re Bea! It’s a real pleasure to finally meet. Our B&Bs practically face each other across Tillamook Bay. We’re in Hiram Henry House, on the road to the lighthouse. That nice police chief dropped off your peach cobbler earlier, thank yousomuch for that.” Geri looked around the cramped kitchen. “We’ll just need to find something to display it in.”
“It was already in a tray.” Bea had spent time arranging her cobbler just so in her finest Tupperware. “Plus there were plastic forks. Did Ned bring the plastic forks? He was supposed to bring the plastic forks.”
A frozen smile from Geri of the silverware implements. “Of course. How quaint. We shall put your peach cobbler out with the assorted desserts.”
She referred them to a carefully prepared schedule her husband, Gerry, had posted on Edgar’s fridge:sliced almond mini crepes with Castelvetrano olives, to be served at 7:59 p.m.; desserts (assorted) to be served at 8:16 p.m.Bea’s cobbler would be included under the catchall “assorted.” At precisely 8:16 p.m.
Miranda didn’t know it at the time, but G&G’s tightly scheduled timeline would prove fatally important to at least one guest later on!*
Speaking of which...
* * *
PERHAPS IT WASthe silk sash with its fancy tassels, perhaps it was the lofty title of Grand Bricklayer, or maybe it was Owen McCune’s naturally dignified air, but Inez Fonio of the black lipstick zeroed in on him immediately.
“Your aura!” she exclaimed, rushing to his side. “It’s as pure as crystal. As warm as wool.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Do you have an interest in bondage?”
Miranda, passing by at that exact moment, almost tripped. She caught a surprised look from Penny, who shook her head and moved to the other side of the room.
“The bondage that holds souls to their bodies,” Inez explained to Owen. “The pulleys and ropes that bind and befuddle us. Socially.”
