"Enough is enough," said Gerry Kovacks, owner of Cellular Planet. Like everyone else, Gerry had arrived at his business this morning and found the littering ticket taped to his door. "It isn't fair. We pay taxes already. Too damn many taxes, too!"

"You go get them good, Bud Napp," cried Mr. Koh, owner of the local grocery store. Then he ripped his ticket up and scattered the confetti-sized pieces across my hardwood floor.

"We've got to fight," Danny Boggs declared. "No way I can afford four hundred bucks worth of fines in a single weekend."

Seymour, who was sitting between Sadie and me, jumped to his feet. "I found a ticket on my ice-cream truck this morning. I don't control what those little bastards do with the ice cream wrappers after I sell them! This is fascism-and I know governmental persecution when I see it! I'm a federal employee!"

"What we need is a rebellion," Milner Logan cried. He punctuated his call with a militant power fist in the air. "Power to the self-employed business owners!"

Although Milner looked the part of an aging radical, the long straight ponytail that flowed down his broad back wasn't part of a political statement. He was one-quarter-blood Narragansett Native American and had worn his hair that way since childhood.

Milner and his wife, Linda Cooper-Logan, should have been at their bakery now, with Sunday being their busiest morning. But they were both so furious about the tickets, they'd entrusted their business to a pair of part-time workers to make their voices heard.

Linda ran an agitated hand through her short, spiky Annie Lennox eighties hair. "I can't believe it's come to this!"

"Well it has," said Glenn Hastings of Hastings Pharmacy. "And it's all because of one woman. Marjorie Binder-Smith!"

You'd have thought we were in the Movie Town Theater, watching a Boris and Natasha cartoon, the way everyone in the Community Events room booed the municipal-zoning witch. When the curses and catcalls faded, Aunt Sadie spoke up.

"Why don't you tell them your news, Bud?"

"News?" Fiona Finch asked, sitting up straighter. "What news?"

Sadie grinned. "Bud has big news!"

Standing on the raised platform, Bud nodded and rested the palms of his hands on the table.

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I've had it with this town's prohibitive business taxes, stifling regulations, and outdated zoning codes. I think it's time somebody stepped up and took the system on-starting with the municipal zoning witch herself. That's why I'm running for Marjorie Binder-Smith's seat on the city council this fall!"

The Quibblers greeted the news with loud applause and shouts of support.

"It won't be easy," Bud warned, "since the councilwoman has had the backing of the town's wealthiest residents for years. They're fat, happy property owners who don't want our Cranberry Street business district to expand. But times are changing in Quindicott. We haven't seen better days in decades, and it's because of us! Our hard work! They thumb their nose at capitalists, but we don't have old money accruing oodles of interest in stocks and bonds and Caribbean bank accounts. We have to work for our living! And I promise you that I'll protect our interests and give my best if you see me through to victory!"

Everyone applauded and shouted their support; some even rushed up to Bud to shake his hand.

"Wow," Seymour said, sitting beside me. "I've never heard Bud talk like that before."

Sadie smiled and nodded. "He said he got inspired watching speech-makers on the History Channel."

"The History Channel?" Seymour frowned. "Then you'd better keep him away from the German documentaries."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean if you see Bud watching a little guy with a small, dark mustache giving angry speeches to throngs of blond people, change the channel"

His announcement over, Bud sat down.

Most of the group, now much more optimistic, headed out the door, hurrying to church or back to their businesses. As the room cleared, Bud raised his ball peen hammer.

"Okay. Guess there's no other business this morning, so I'll officially close this meet-"

"Not so fast!" Fiona cried. "I want to know how Penelope's investigation is going. And I think I have some information that may help."

Halfway out of their seats, Milner and Linda paused.

"There's an investigation?" Linda asked. Blue eyes wide, she plopped back down, dragging Milner with her. "Tell us more."

"Yeah, I'm kind of curious myself," said Bud. "So I cede the floor to Penelope McClure." He banged his hammer, and I noticed Brainert shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

I stood and brought everyone up to speed about the audio speaker falling in the theater and the tragic "accidental" death of Dr. Lilly in my store. I told them about the burglary of Dr. Lilly's lighthouse bungalow, seeing Dr. Rubino hurrying into the woods, then seeing him later with Harmony Middleton. Then I told them that I believed someone was trying to kill Hedda Geist-Middleton, too-and that Pierce Armstrong was tangled up with her past as well as Dr. Lilly's new book.

"Whew!" Linda cried. "That's a brainfull!"

"Don't worry, we can puzzle this out if we just apply a little logic," Milner insisted. "Anyway, it's more interesting at the moment than mixing another batch of pastry dough. I've been working like a dog and I can use a break."

Fiona Finch had already read Dr. Lilly's just-published book cover to cover, so she took the floor next. Today she wore a kelly-green pantsuit and a blue-and-yellow parrot pin.

"Well," she began, "I want to start by saying that Murdered in Plain Sight is a fascinating book. My only complaint is that the author waits until the final chapters to reveal her intriguing theory-"

"This isn't a reading group, Fiona," Seymour griped. "Don't waste our time with your literary opinions. Just cut to the chase!" "Stuff it, mailman. I'm the one who read the book!" Fiona then cleared her throat and proceeded to tell everyone the story of Hedda Geist's rise from nothing to minor stardom, and the events surrounding the death of studio chief Irving Vreen.

"Dr. Lilly believes Hedda Geist was involved in a conspiracy to eliminate Irving Vreen, and I think she makes a solid case for murder," Fiona concluded.

"She most certainly does not!" Brainert responded. "There's simply no proof at all, only innuendo. Why, I could not even discern a motive, and what's a crime without a motive?"

That's my problem with all this, too, Jack murmured.

As the ghost's deep voice rumbled through my still-sleepy mind, I automatically smiled. "Jack," I silently whispered. "Good morning."

Morning, baby. Enjoy yourself last night?

"What do you think?"

I think you know what I think.

"Have you been listening to all this?"

Yeah, sweetheart. And if I had a head, it would be aching by now. I'd rather be watching your backside in your bedroom.

"Jack… don't start, you're going to make me blush. Then what would I tell the Quibblers?"

That you go bored with their yammering and started daydreaming about a detective who's hot in the zipper for you. What else?

"Jack!"

"I'm telling you, Fiona," Brainert argued, as my cheeks reddened. "There's no motive-"

"You didn't discern a motive because you obviously skimmed the text." Fiona waved her copy of Lilly's book under Brainert's nose. Dozens of multicolored Post-its fluttered like tiny UN flags.

"Dr. Lilly claims to have read memos from Jack Warner, the head of Warner Studios, begging Irving Vreen to release Hedda from her contract so she could work for him. Warner told Vreen that he wanted to bring Hedda out west, to Hollywood, and give her starring roles in big-budget movies opposite the likes of Humphrey Bogart, Robert Mitchum, and Edward G. Robinson. Can you imagine a young woman in her twenties getting such an amazing offer?!"