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  She thought about adding that she had many LGBTQ friends from her days on tour with the dance company, but that just sounded lame. Maud would have to take her word for it that her automatic “no” had not been a negative reaction. Knowing Patsy was gay didn’t make a bit of difference in the way Liss felt about her.

  “You weren’t living in Moosetookalook when Patsy was with Louise,” Margaret said.

  “They were partners for about eight years. If the law had been different back then, they’d have married.”

  “Where is Louise now?” Liss asked.

  “She died. Cancer. One of the fast-moving kinds. Patsy was devastated. She’s never shown any interest in anyone else since.”

  Maud nodded in agreement. “It’s as if, after she lost Louise, she decided she’d rather be alone.”

  Sherri cleared her throat. “So whoever wrote prevert on Patsy’s door must have known about Louise.”

  “That doesn’t narrow things down much.” Margaret placed a mug of coffee in front of Sherri.

  The smell had Liss sitting up straighter and wondering why her friend rated special treatment. True, it wasn’t very good coffee, but even instant was better than the chamomile she’d forced herself to choke down.

  “I’d say most people who were living in Moosetookalook fifteen or so years ago knew that Patsy and Louise were in what used to be called a Boston marriage,” Margaret said. “No one thought much about it then and I don’t see why they should now.”

  Liss stopped trying to inhale caffeine fumes. “Fifteen years? Isn’t that how long Hadley Spinner has been living in this area?”

  “I don’t think there’s much question about the identity of our vandal,” Maud said. “It has to be one of Spinner’s people. Why else would they target two shops with Ruskin connections and one owned by a lesbian? They’re all bigots out there at Pilgrim Farm.”

  “That may be the logical conclusion,” Sherri agreed, “but it’s going to be difficult to prove. If anyone had seen the culprit, they’d already have reported him.” She shook her head. “He was darned lucky not to be caught. It took some time to paint messages on all three doors, and it couldn’t have been done in total darkness. He must have had a flashlight or a lantern.”

  “How long does it take to spray paint a few words?” Margaret began to clear away cups and saucers. She gave her niece a disapproving look when she saw that Liss had taken only a few sips of her second cup of tea and had let the rest go cold.

  “That’s just it,” Sherri said. “The messages weren’t sprayed on. They were neatly printed using a paintbrush. Furthermore, whoever did it must have worn disposable gloves because I couldn’t find any fingerprints.”

  “Spinner has to be behind it,” Liss said. “You need to question him and his people. Maybe one of them will let something slip.”

  “I’ll pay a visit to Spinner’s farm,” Sherri promised, “but I doubt he’ll tell me much, and the rest of them barely speak at all.”

  “The New Age Pilgrims are beginning to sound more like a cult than a sect.” Liss folded a napkin, the only thing Margaret had left on the table, and continued to smooth the soft fabric between her fingers as she asked, “Do you think they’re dangerous?”

  “I don’t think Spinner is a Charles Manson or a Jim Jones, if that’s what you mean.”

  “As near as I can tell,” Margaret said, “with the rare exception, members of the group have never been more than a tad eccentric until recently. They were occasionally annoying, what with all that Bible thumping, but they weren’t belligerent and they didn’t go around filing lawsuits against their neighbors or threatening boycotts.”

  “That’s right,” Maud said. “Spinner has always been a chauvinist and a homophobic bigot, but for the most part he kept his opinions to himself.”

  “What about his followers? Any signs of brainwashing?” Liss’s mind was still on cults.

  “I’m pretty sure they were all like-minded to start with,” Maud said. “Spinner’s entire congregation is white and straight. The women act subservient, but nobody appears to be forcing them to behave that way. If they want to leave, they surely can.”

  Margaret looked as if she wanted to object to this last statement, but Sherri spoke again before Liss’s aunt could get a word in.

  “Do you know if they are a recognized church?” she asked. “Is Spinner ordained as a minister?”

  “I’ve always assumed he is.” Maud frowned. “Doesn’t take much, does it? You can get certified by taking a mail-order course.”

  “He performs marriages for the couples who live out at his farm,” Margaret said.

  “In this state, any notary public can do that much.” Sherri made a note in the little spiral-bound notebook she’d taken out of a pocket.

  “What do the other Pilgrims call him?” Liss asked. “Pastor? Reverend?” She hoped it wasn’t something like “The Master.”

  Once again, Maud was the one with the answer. “They’re formal with each other, at least when they’re out in public. He’s Mr. Spinner to his congregation and he uses the same form of address with them.”

  “Mr. and Mrs.?” Liss felt certain he wouldn’t tolerate the use of Ms.

  Maud cracked a smile. “Not quite. They prefer to address women as Mistress. That’s the old-fashioned, all-purpose version that covers both married and unmarried females. The husbands even address their wives that way, like they do in nineteenth-century novels.”

  Liss found herself smiling in return. She could just imagine Dan’s reaction if she started saying things like “Your supper is ready, Mr. Ruskin,” or “Come to bed, Mr. Ruskin.”

  * * *

  It took a while for Sherri to process all three crime scenes. Once she was done, and Patsy’s, the Emporium, and the craft shop were permitted to open, Liss asked Margaret to mind the store for a bit so that she could cut across the square and talk to their fellow victim. For one thing, she wanted to apologize. Patsy should never have been included in Spinner’s vendetta against the Ruskins.

  After taking a moment to scowl at the nasty word painted on the door, Liss went inside. Except for old Alex Permutter, ensconced in his favorite spot by the window and absorbed in his newspaper, the place was empty. The seating area that flanked the counter was small, boasting only three booths and two tables, although there were five stools at the counter itself. The clientele was a mix of those who came in for take-out and those who sat a spell, gossiping with their neighbors while they enjoyed the fruits of Patsy’s labors.

  A chalkboard on one wall advertised the day’s specials and listed the coffee blends available. The latter could be purchased by the cup for consumption on the premises or off, or by the pound. Bins full of coffee beans flanked self-serve grinders for those who wanted to take some roasted goodness home with them.

  As Liss looked around for Patsy, she inhaled deeply. Air redolent of coffee and baked goods had her mouth watering and her stomach growling. With a sense of shock, she realized that she’d lost the entire morning to the vandalism and that it was nearly lunchtime. If she wanted to talk to Patsy before the soup-and-sandwich crowd started to trickle in, she’d better get to it.

  She found the skinny-as-a-rail baker in her kitchen, just taking an enormous pan of brownies out of the oven. Several loaves of bread were stacked next to a cutting board and two apple pies were cooling on racks. The remains of Patsy’s early-morning baking—sticky buns, blueberry muffins, and Boston cream doughnuts—had already been relegated to a series of covered dishes on the counter.

  “What, no whoopie pies?” Liss asked.

  “Tomorrow,” Patsy promised. “You here for a meal?”

  “Maybe, but the real reason I came is to tell you how sorry I am that you were targeted this morning. Hadley Spinner’s quarrel is with Joe, and by extension with the rest of the Ruskin family, but there was no reason to attack you.”

  “Don’t worry about it, hon,” Patsy said. “It’s not your fault.”

  “B
ut you’re an innocent bystander. He should have left you out of it.”

  Patsy snorted at that. “Hardly innocent, and Spinner’s dislike of me goes way back.”

  Having set the brownies aside to cool, she seized a serrated knife and began to slice the bread. She worked with deadly speed and precision and if she made her cuts with just a little more force than necessary, Liss could scarcely blame her.

  Patsy’s Coffee House had been around since Liss was a child, thriving even in a small town like this one because Patsy was a genius in the kitchen. She had little tolerance for fools, but like any successful business owner, she knew how to put on a friendly face for her customers. Moosetookalook as a whole, or so Liss had always believed, was a tolerant if conservative community, firmly believing in “live and let live.”

  “Did you do something lately to set him off?”

  The blade paused in midair and Patsy sent her a narrow-eyed look. “I’m a lesbian. I exist. That’s enough.”

  “But how does he even know that? I mean, I didn’t until today and I’ve been in and out of this place all my life.”

  “It isn’t a secret.” Patsy frowned. “I suppose the subject just never came up when you were around.”

  “Exactly! Not that it would have made any difference to me if I had known. I don’t choose my friends according to race or religion or sexual preference.”

  “Spinner does.”

  From behind her, Liss heard the faint sound of a door opening and closing. Patsy glanced through the service window and Liss’s gaze followed hers. No one had come in. What they’d heard was old man Permutter leaving.

  “This isn’t a story I’d tell anyone,” Patsy said when the bread was sliced and stacked. “It still leaves a bad taste in my mouth, and some sorrow, too. But here’s how Spinner found out I was gay.”

  She leaned against the kitchen counter and folded her arms across her chest. A faraway look came into her eyes.

  “Spinner was one of my regular customers when he first arrived in the area. He loved my whole wheat bread and he ate lunch here sometimes. One of those times, there was a stranger eating here, too. He was a good-lookin’ fella, the kind who thinks he’s God’s gift to women. I wasn’t bad-looking myself in those days, but Louise—you know who Louise was?”

  Liss nodded.

  “Louise was a real stunner. All the years we were together, I cooked and she waitressed. That day, this man kept hitting on her, telling her what a good time he could show her. He didn’t listen when she said she wasn’t interested. Finally, to get rid of him, she called me out of the kitchen and introduced me as her lover. The guy didn’t believe her, which really ticked Louise off. She had quite a temper.” Patsy’s smile was fond. “To her mind, there was only one way to convince him she was telling the truth, so she grabbed me and laid one on me.” The smile broadened. “That was some kiss, all right. I mean, the whole world faded away for a minute there. By the time we came up for air, the stranger had slapped down a twenty to pay his bill and left. We never even heard him go.”

  Liss would have smiled, too, but she had a sick feeling that she knew what had happened next. “I suppose Spinner witnessed the entire incident.”

  “Got it in one. He was some startled, let me tell you. Then he went ballistic. He claimed he finally understood why he always felt so uncomfortable patronizing my place. What a load of cow flops! Before that day, he never once had a bit of trouble scarfing down my homemade blueberry muffins or eating my corn chowder.”

  When Patsy was upset, her Maine accent became much more pronounced. Never and chowder came out as nevah and chowdah.

  “Calm down, Patsy,” Liss said. “Don’t upset yourself over Hadley Spinner. He’s not worth it.”

  “Thinks he’s so wicked smart,” Patsy muttered. “Throwing all those big words around. He called Louise a pernicious influence and said both of us were evil, unnatural women. Then he stormed out of the place, vowing never to come back. Well, that was fine with me!” She picked up the bread knife she’d been using and slammed it back into its slot with enough force to make the entire knife rack wobble.

  “If you haven’t done anything recently to provoke him, why would he go after you?”

  “Because he’s meaner than a rattlesnake and convinced that his way of thinking is the only right way.” Patsy’s hands flew as she started preparations for Moosetookalook’s version of a lunch crowd, putting bacon in the oven for BLTs and getting lettuce out of the refrigerator to wash. “That man’s got a warped sense of morality, the kind that dictates that everyone who is different is full of sin and fit only to be shunned if they won’t see the evil of their ways. Ever hear of conversion therapy? He promotes it. He thinks sexual identity is a matter of choice. If he had his way, I’d be institutionalized, beaten, and subjected to electric shock treatments until I turned straight.”

  “That’s barbaric.”

  “Also ineffective. Like trying to use dye or bleach to change the color of your skin.”

  Patsy’s assertions worried Liss. Spinner was sounding more and more like a whack job with every story she heard about him. By defacing the doors to the craft shop and the coffee house, he’d already added new targets. Who knew what, or who, he or his followers would attack next?

  “Spinner is still trying to get people to boycott all the Ruskin businesses because Joe’s couples promotion at The Spruces violates his concept of family values,” Liss said. “Now he’s got a rally planned for the town square on Saturday.”

  “I heard,” Patsy said. “That man’s a menace.”

  “After what happened to your door, I’m afraid the protest may expand to cover much more than the hotel’s Thanksgiving special.”

  Patsy picked up two pies and carried them through the swinging door. Liss caught up with her as she placed them in the pie safe on the counter.

  “Sherri says there’s nothing we can do to prevent the demonstration. Spinner has all the necessary permits. And there’s that free speech thing.”

  Patsy opened her mouth, then closed it again, looking thoughtful. “I was about to tell you to ignore them. That’s how I’ve dealt with Spinner all these years and what I planned to keep on doing. Now I’m not so sure that will work any longer.” She crossed the café to bus the table where Alex Permutter had been sitting. “I’m young enough that I just missed the era of protests that Margaret and your parents and Joe Ruskin lived through—civil rights and Vietnam and women’s liberation and all that—but I’m beginning to understand what motivated the activists.”

  Liss followed her. “I’m not sure we want to provoke—”

  “Why not?” She gave the table a swipe with a damp cloth. “They’ve been trying to provoke us. Besides, I doubt Spinner will stop at objecting to gay couples and unmarried straight couples. Next he’ll go after divorced single parents like Angie. I bet you anything he thinks she’s going straight to hell for her sins. He’ll go out of his way to tell her so, and say so in front of her kids, too. And then he’ll start bad-mouthing the bookstore, just the way he’s slinging mud at your place and mine.”

  Patsy paused, dirty dishes in hand, to stare through her window at the town square where Saturday’s demonstration was to take place. She paid no attention when the door opened to admit Pete Campbell, even though a big man wearing the distinctive brown uniform of a deputy sheriff was hard to ignore. His steps faltered when he caught sight of the expression on Patsy’s face. Shifting his gaze to Liss, his eyebrows lifted in a question.

  She shook her head at him, indicating that it would be best if he didn’t ask it aloud. With a shrug, he made his way to the corner booth he favored and slid onto the bench seat. It was only when the couple who owned the jewelry store came in to claim a table that Patsy snapped out of her reverie.

  “Someone,” she said, not troubling to lower her voice as she stalked to the counter to dispose of the dishes, “needs to stop Hadley Spinner before he does any more damage.” Without missing a beat, she turned and w
hipped out her order pad. “What can I get you folks today? The special is a BLT with a cup of clam chowdah and a choice of apple pie or a double chocolate brownie for dessert.”

  * * *

  After she left Patsy’s Coffee House, Liss went home and made lunch for herself and Dan. While they ate, she had to fend off Lumpkin’s increasingly frantic demands for tidbits of leftover chicken. He went from his cute cat trick of begging while sitting up like a gopher to grabbing Liss’s thigh with his claws extended. Throughout the meal, Dan fumed in silence, as upset as Liss was about the vandalism that had defaced three of the businesses in their small town.

  His cell phone rang just as Liss began to clear away the plates and glasses. Dan hauled it out of his pocket and glanced at the number on the screen. “It’s Sherri,” he said, and answered the call. His side of the conversation consisted of one “uh-huh” after another with a final “okay then” before he disconnected.

  “Well?”

  “She says we can go ahead and clean the paint off the doors.”

  “Good. I hated that she made us leave it in place, but she said someone higher up in law enforcement might want to take a first-hand look at it.”

  Dan nodded. “She thought this might qualify as a hate crime, but apparently not. To tell you the truth, Sherri sounded relieved about that. I guess she doesn’t want some other department to take over her case.” A layer of bitterness underscored his words.

  “Have a little faith, Dan. You know Sherri’s good at what she does.”

  “She is, but her hands are tied until that nut-job tries something worse than having one of his goons paint words on wood. I don’t like waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

  “It’s not like he’s an ax murderer.”

  Her dry tone coaxed a reluctant smile out of him. “Are you sure? Who knows what goes on out at that farm of his.”

  Liss rolled her eyes. “I’ve got to get back to work.”