By Claudia Bishop
"Sisters Meg and Sarah Quilliam be sure visitors believe correct at domestic once they stopover at the lodge at Hemlock Falls. situated in upstate long island, Hemlock Falls is a small city well known for its scenic beauty--and scenes of crime . . ." catastrophe moves a trifling week earlier than the Hemlock Falls Ladies' Auxiliary hosts the once a year Spring Fete whilst the festival's chairwoman--the redoubtable Adela Henry--gives up her activity in a huff. Who's going to pass judgement on the justly popular Jell-O structure contest? Or cease the participants of the Craft Guild from sabotaging their opponents, the artful women? extra to the purpose, who's received the tact, international relations, and iron will essential to manage the cubicles and settle quarrels over the programming? Hemlock's mayor hopes to guarantee the fete's good fortune while he recruits specialist organizer Linda Connally and her employees to take over Adela's tasks. but if Connally's physique turns up within the trunk of a used automobile at Peterson's car, Meg and Sarah are again within the detecting enterprise . . .
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Extra info for A Fete Worse Than Death (Hemlock Falls Mysteries, Book 18)
I've been trying to get hold of you," Martinsson said. "Of course no one mentioned that you were off work today. " Wallander knew the machine sometimes jammed. He also immediately knew that something had happened. Although he had been a policeman for a long time, the feeling was always the same. His stomach tensed up. He held his breath. "I'm calling you from Hansson's office," Martinsson said. " "Astrid Hillstrom. One of the missing young people. " Now Wallander knew who he meant. " "She's very upset.
He picked up the revolver with the silencer that had been lying on his raincoat. He looked around quickly, then made his way stealthily to the tree located directly behind the group, and paused for a few seconds. No one had noticed anything. He looked around one last time. But there was no one else there. They were alone. He stepped out and shot each of them once in the head. He couldn't help it that blood splattered onto the white wigs. It was over so quickly that he barely had time to register what he was doing.
He didn't know if they were sleeping, but they were lost in the moment, and did not sense that he was right behind them. He picked up the revolver with the silencer that had been lying on his raincoat. He looked around quickly, then made his way stealthily to the tree located directly behind the group, and paused for a few seconds. No one had noticed anything. He looked around one last time. But there was no one else there. They were alone. He stepped out and shot each of them once in the head.