It was a bizarre and impossible scheme, but no one asked Molly why she had done it. They knew why. In a fussy tone, one of the Mothers said: “This time you went too far.”
“It’s under control,” Molly insisted. “Except for the voles. They’re not under control.” Another Mother asked: “Any chance of finding them?”
“You never know,” said Molly.
“Horseshit,” said the first Mother. “They’re gone for good. Dead, alive, it doesn’t matter if we can’t locate the damn things.”
Molly said, “Please. Keep your voice down.”
The second Mother: “What about these two men? Where are they now?”
“My condo,” Molly replied. “Up at Eagle Ridge.”
“Lord have mercy.”
“That’s enough,” said Molly sharply. “I said it’s under control, and it’s under control.”
A silence fell over the small group. No one wished to challenge her authority, but this time things had really gotten out of hand. This time there was a chance they could all go to jail. I’ll have some more tea,” the first Mother said finally, “and then I’d love to hear your new plan. You do have one?”
“Of course I do,” said Molly McNamara. “For heaven’s sake.”
When Joe Winder got to work, Charles Chelsea was waiting in yet another blue oxford shirt. He was sitting on the edge of Winder’s desk in a pose of casual superiority. A newspaper was freshly folded under one arm. “Fine job on the press release,” Chelsea said. “I changed a word or two, but otherwise it went out just like you wrote it.”
Calmly Joe Winder said, “Which word or two did you change?”
“Oh, I improved Mr. Kingsbury’s comments. Couple of adverbs here and there.”
“Fine.” Winder wasn’t so surprised. It was well known that Chelsea invented all of Francis X. Kingsbury’s quotes. Kingsbury was one of those men who rarely spoke in complete sentences. Didn’t have to. For publicity purposes this made him perfectly useless and unquotable.
Chelsea said, “I also updated the info on Robbie Raccoon. Turns out he got a mild concussion from that blow to the head.”
Winder forced a smile and set his briefcase on the desk. “It’s a she, Charlie. And she was fine when I spoke to her last night. Not even a bruise.”
Chelsea’s voice took on a scolding tone. “Joey, you know the gender rule. If it’s a male character, we always refer to it with masculine pronouns—regardless of who’s inside the costume. I explained all this the day you were hired. It comes straight from Mr. X. Speaking of which, weren’t you supposed to get a haircut?”
“Don’t be a dork, Charlie.”
“What’s a dork?”
“You’re not serious.”
Charles Chelsea said, “Really, tell me. You called me a dork, I’d like to know what exactly that is.”
“It’s a Disney character,” said Joe Winder. “Daffy Dork.” He opened the briefcase and fumbled urgently for his sinus medicine. “Anyway, Charlie, the lady in the coon suit didn’t have a concussion. That’s a lie, and it’s a stupid lie because it’s so easy to check. Some newspaper reporter is going to make a few calls and we’re going to look sleazy and dishonest, all because you had to exaggerate.”
“No exaggeration,” Charles Chelsea said, stiffening. “I spoke with Robbie Raccoon myself, first thing this morning. He said he got dizzy and sick overnight. Doctor said it’s probably a concussion.”
Winder popped two pills into his mouth and said, “You’re amazing.”
“We’ll have a neurologist’s report this afternoon, in case anybody wants to see. Notarized, too.” Chelsea looked pleased with himself. “Mild concussion, Joe. Don’t believe me, just ask Robbie.”
“What’d you do, threaten to fire her? Bust her down to the elf patrol?”
Charles Chelsea stood up, shot his cuffs, gave Joe Winder his coldest, hardest look. “I came down here to thank you for doing such outstanding work, and look what I get. More of your cynicism. Just because you had a rotten night, Joey, it’s no reason to rain on everyone else’s parade.”
Did the man really say that? Winder wondered. Did he really accuse me of raining on his parade? “That’s the only reason you’re here?” Winder said. “To thank me?”
“Well, not entirely.” Charles Chelsea removed the newspaper from under his arm, unfolded it and handed it to Joe Winder. “Check the last three paragraphs.”