The Cove

Quinlan said. They had

    more time. How much more, he had no idea. But even one more minute meant hope.

    They walked like condemned prisoners in front of the mob. He was aware of the unreality about the whole situation even as he felt fear seeping deep into him.

    Quinlan said over his shoulder, "What will you preach on this Sunday, Hal? The rewards of evil? The spiritual high of mass murder? No, I've got it. It'll be the wages of trying to bring justice to people who were brutally murdered for the amount of cash they carried."

    Quinlan staggered from the blow on his shoulder.

    "That's enough," Gus Eisner said. "Just shut up. You're upsetting the ladies."

    "I'm not upset," Corey said. "I'd like to pull out all your teeth and listen to you scream."

    "I don't have any teeth," Hunker said. "That ain't a good punishment for this group."

    What to say to that? Quinlan thought and winked at Corey. She looked furious. Thomas was walking on his own, but Corey was helping him. His arm wasn't bleeding so much now, but the blood loss was taking its toll, that and shock.

    Sally was trudging along beside him, looking pale and very thoughtful. He said out of the side of his mouth, real low, so maybe all those old people wouldn't hear him, "Hold up, Sally. We'll figure out something. Hell, I could take at least a dozen of the old guys, no problem. Could you pound the old ladies?"

    That made her smile. "Yeah, I could pound them into the dust. But I want to go back and get Amory St. John. They just left him and Amabel there, James, both of them. They'll get away. My aunt, well, I don't know, but she's not quite the aunt I'd hoped she was."

    An understatement, Quinlan thought. Another blow for her, another person she'd believed she could trust had betrayed her. Thank God her mother had come through for her. He thought he just might come to like Noelle St. John a lot in the future. If he had a future.

    Quinlan said, "Maybe the calvary will arrive before St. John and your aunt get their wits back together and can get away. But even if they do escape, we'll get them sooner or later."

    To Quintan's surprise, they were herded up the wide, beautifully painted white steps and into Thelma's Bed and Breakfast. He guessed he had thought they'd be taken to the Vorheeses' house.

    "I'll be damned," Quinlan said as he got a poke with a rifle, shoving him into the large drawing room. There was Thelma Nettro, sitting on that chair of hers that looked for all the world like a throne. She was smiling at them. She was wearing a full mouth of false teeth and her pumpkin peach lipstick.

    She said, "I wanted to join in the fun, but I just don't get around as well as I used to."

    There was Purn Davies sitting on one of the sofas, looking white and shriveled. Good, Corey had whacked him hard.

    "Why are we here?" Quinlan asked, turning to Reverend Hal Vorhees.

    "You're here because I wanted you here. Because I ordered my people to bring you to me. Because, Mr. Quinlan, I'm going to tell you all what we're going to do with you."

    They all stared at Martha as she moved from behind Thelma Nettro's chair. There was nothing soft and bo-somy about her now. There were no pearls around her neck. Her voice was loud and clear, a commander's voice, not her gentle cook's voice announcing an incredible meal. Jesus, Quinlan thought, what was going on here?

    "Martha?" Sally said, bewildered. "Oh, no, not you too, Martha?"

    "Don't look so surprised."

    "I don't understand," Sally said. "You're a wonderful cook, Martha. You go out with poor Ed. You take grief from Thelma. You're nice, damn you. What's going on?"

    Quinlan said slowly, "I knew there had to be a ringleader, one person with a vision, one person who could get all the others to fall in line. Aren't I right, Martha?"

    "Exactly right, Mr. Quinlan."

    "Why didn't you just let them elect you mayor?" Sally said. "Why murder innocent people?"

    "I'll let that go, Sally," Martha said. "Oh, poor Mr. Shredder. You, Corey, set him down in that chair. Too bad Doc Spiver fell sick of cowardice and remorse. He drew the straw and had to kill that woman who'd overheard a meeting we were having. We caught her on the phone, dialing 911. Poor bitch. She was different. We didn't know what to do with her. She wasn't like those tourists who came into town for the World's Greatest Ice Cream. No, we wouldn't ever have picked her. She was too young; she had children. But then, we didn't know what to do with her either.