A Touch of the Grape: A Hemlock Falls Mystery (Hemlock Falls Mystery series) (28 page)

"And closed," Marge said.

"—was exactly the right size for a chef like me. I
want to do dinners, only, six nights a week for no more
than twenty people at a time. This place is perfect for that." She put both hands in Quill's. "You don't mind? Tell me you don't mind."

"I don't mind," Quill said. Then, quietly, "Yikes."

"So," Meg said, "now that we know where we are, we just need to establish a price."

The ensuing discussion was lively, profane—and on one occasion, Doreen did rise and threaten Marge with the Mason jar. Meg led the haggling—backed by a satisfying truculent Doreen. Betty brought in the pad of paper Marge did all her businesses with, then a second
one when Meg stood up, shrieked, and tore the first into
confetti.

The discussion lasted until four o'clock; Betty brought
in coffee and shortbread cookies, reminded Marge that it was her bowling night, and Marge was on duty in the kitchen.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'll get
on
it. So, Meg. You get the Aga, the big refrigerator, and that's it."

"Fine."

Marge licked the end of her pencil and made a note.
Then she ticked off the contingencies under her breath.
"You got too much," she declared. "I want the stove."

Meg rose to her feet for the fifth or sixth time and screamed,
"Sapristi!"
which disconcerted everyone except Marge. "That mean okay?"

"Freely translated? It means, hell, no!"

"Sapristi?"
Quill asked. "What do you mean by yell
ing
sapristi!"

"You don't think," Meg said with relish, "that I studied for two years at LeCordon Bleu and the Sor
bonne for desserts without learning how to yell
sapristi,
do you?"

"Guess not," Doreen muttered.

"Them Frogs can cuss a treat," Marge said appreciatively. "Okay. We got seventeen contingencies and a basic agreement on price. Flip you on who gets Howie Murchison to write it up."

Quill, whose sole contribution had been to lay out the depressingly large list of their accounts payable, happily
dug out a quarter. "Heads or tails?"

"Heads."

Quill flipped, slapped the quarter into her palm, and displayed it, tails up.

"Damn," Marge muttered. "All right, I got some bozo I use in Syracuse who ain't worth the fart it takes to get his attention. You get Howie. Let's close the deal ASAP, all right?"

"As soon as possible," Doreen said. "This agree
ment, you were talking, Meg, that I get maybe five thou
sand bucks?"

"Depending on the due diligence," Marge warned. "You guys got any debts you ain't told me about, we're back to the bottom on price."

"It's pretty close," Quill said. "The total haunts my dreams at night."

"And John … you said he gets a little bit more than me, because he has a few more shares."

"That's right," Meg said. "Do you want to call him and tell him?"

Doreen glanced sideways at Quill. "She oughta. The news oughta come from Quill."

"I'll call him tonight," Quill promised. "I think he'll be happy. He wrote off his shares in the company because of all the debt."

"He wrote off his shares on account of you," Marge said brutally. "Don't do to mix love and business. You girls remember that when you run this place."

"What are we going to call it?" Quill said. "I like Meg's Inn."

"Too cutsey," Meg said promptly. "And it's a restaurant, not an inn."

"Quill's Pen?" Marge suggested.

"Yuck." Meg shook her head.

"You got two artists here," Doreen said. "Call it the Palate."

"Not bad," Quill said. "Not bad at all."

Marge went into her kitchen, Doreen drove home, and
Max got up from his post by the municipal garbage can with a "finally!" sort of bark. Meg and Quill stood outside the diner, looking over their acquisition. The overcast day had given way to a mauve-colored twilight. "The stonework's really beautiful," Quill said. "I wonder what the building was before some cretin turned it into a laundry?"

Meg stooped in front of the main door. "The corner stone says 1828. It might have been a house."

"Miriam Doncaster should know. I'll ask her."

They turned to walk home to the Inn. Meg made a worried face. "There are so many 'pendings,' Quill. Pending inspection of the diner, pending due diligence. What if something goes wrong?"

"It might," Quill agreed cautiously. "But I don't think it will. Marge is a woman of her word." They walked on for a moment in silence. Then Quill said, "Why didn't you tell me you were tired of the Inn?"

"It seemed so important to you, Quill."

"It seemed too important to you!"

"I don't care where I cook," Meg said thoughtfully. "As long as I can cook. Are you going to tell Myles?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"You never know with you two. Andy will be stand
ing on his head for joy."

"Myles will, too," Quill said, although she wasn't entirely sure what his reaction was going to be. "And
what do you mean, you never know with us? Our rela
tionship should be perfectly clear."

"The only thing that's clear is that no one knows if you're going to get married or not." She eyed the engagement ring on Quill's finger. "It's been eight months
since you put that on, and not one word about wedding
plans."

"This case is keeping us both pretty busy," Quill said
evasively. They crossed Main and turned into the park.
The lilacs were at their peak. The violet glow of the
setting sun enhanced the purple flowers with an almost
neon glow.

"Stop a minute, Quill. Look at how the Inn sits up there."

" 'Whatever walks in Hill House, walks alone,' " Quill quoted.

"Oh, come on. Most of the years have been wonderful and not haunted at all."

"That's true, they have." She narrowed her eyes. "Is
that a Fed Ex truck? It is. Good. Myles said the Trenton
P.D. was sending that correspondence. I hope it gets us a little further on the solution to the murder."

"You don't want to let the police handle it?" Meg said. "I mean, now that we've sold the Inn, or practi
cally, we can give Myles back his money, and let Marge
wrestle Burke."

"We can't quit now, Meg. We're just too close."

By the time they reached the Inn, the Fed Ex truck was gone, and Dina was folding up her laptop to leave
for the day. Her greeting was a subdued "Hi, Meg, hi,
Quill," as they came in the front door.

Meg put her hands over her head and danced a jig on the carpet. "Hey, Dina! We've got great news."

"Well, it's no use telling
me"
she said rapidly, "because the answer is no. No bookings. And Mr. Smith
checked out, so there's only Mr. Pfieffer as an overnight
guest, and he didn't want to eat in a dining room all alone, so he went down to the Croh Bar."

"Mr. Smith checked out?"

"Back to the Marriott. And I'm sorry, but I'm in the middle of checking the pond data on the cocophods for my thesis, and I just didn't realize."

"Realize what?"

"That his name isn't Max."

Max, hearing his name, went "woof."

"That his name isn't Max?" Quill said, bewildered. "Why should his name be Max? The dog's name is Max. Mr. Smith's name is Thorne Smith or Henry T. Smith, depending on what job he has at the—oh, no! You didn't!"

"What?" Meg hated it when people didn't let her in on the conversation. "Oh, no what?"

"The boiled rice, eggs, and bouillon?" Quill asked Dina. "And you wouldn't let him eat anything else?"

"Bjarne said he didn't know either. He said that Americans have very strange tastes and if that's what you said Max—I mean Mr. Smith—should have, that's what he'd make. Anyhow, I'm sorry. And he was our next-to-last customer, and I feel awful. You're going broke, and I'm shoving you right in the ditch!"

Quill put her arms around her. Meg rolled her eyes and said crisply, "Kiddo. Lighten up. Come into the kitchen and I'll pour you a glass of wine. We've got some good news."

"Like what?"

"Like, really good. But I want you to keep it to your
self for a while, okay?"

"Sure," she said disconsolately. "Quill, a package
came for Robin, so I sent the Fed Ex guy to the hospital, okay? And David's guys found that thing you were look
ing for."

"You mean the third triangle?"

"Yeah."

"And the correspondence is at the hospital." Quill sighed. "Okay. It's part of the case that Myles and I are working, Dina. I'll have to go get it."

There were times when the three-mile walk to the hos
pital would have refreshed her and given her much needed exercise. But it was getting dark, and there was a bare possibility that Marge was right; there was an indiscriminate killer abroad, and Quill had never been fond of those heroines who persisted in going to the basement when everyone knew the killer was lurking behind the water heater.

She took her keys from the hook behind the reception
desk and picked up her purse. Max, who'd appropriated a place on the hearth rug next to the cobblestone fireplace, looked very pleased at the prospect of going out.

"I think you should stay here."

He barked.

"On the other hand, if you stay here, you'll just get out again and go terrorize one of the farmer's chickens."

He looked ashamed of himself, but not enough, Quill
figured, to keep him from a midnight foray.

"Okay. You're on. But there are rules to driving in the car, Max, and I expect you to follow them."

He didn't, of course, and Quill finally gave up and let him sit in her lap. It was a little hard to see over his head, but the streets of Hemlock Falls weren't clogged with traffic at any time, and especially on a night following three successive murders.

Quill parked near the emergency entrance to the hos
pital, left the windows partly rolled up, and told Max to
"stay." He settled comfortably enough in the backseat, and after praising him lavishly, she walked through emergency into the hospital itself.

The hospital was small, with a total of twenty beds,
and went under periodic review for closure by the five-county-wide hospital oversight committee. Somehow the
clinic and the small O.R. managed to stay open year after year. It was located in back of the high school athletic field, and on warm summer nights, both patients and staff could hear the pleasant hum of baseball games.

Quill walked through the empty halls, her heels echoing. There was no one on duty at reception, so Quill slipped behind the desk and checked the room registry. Freddie and Robin were together in Room Six.

She was a little concerned to find the empty chair that had been set for the young patrolman. When she walked in, Freddie and Robin seemed safe enough. They were
sitting in the cheap plastic armchairs that somehow
found their ways into every hospital Quill had ever seen.
Selena Summerhill was perched on one of the two beds in the room. She was in the middle of a dog warden story, and Quill waited until she'd finished. "… and then, of course, I said, 'I am the dog warden, NOT the pig warden, and if I were you, I would call the butcher.' "

Freddie laughed until tears came to her eyes. Quill
heard a tinge of hysteria in the laughter, and saw fear in
the nervous way she moved. So Andy's drugs, whatever they were, weren't helping. "Where's the patrolman, Selena?"

"Out to get some food. I am a village official, I told him. I will stay here until he comes back. But now you are here, and I can go. I must get my Hugh some supper."

"Quill?" Freddie looked at her with fearful eyes. "You'll stay with us until he comes back, won't you? I
told her that Sheriff McHale said a policeman, not a dog
warden, but no one listened to me. And then will you ask the sheriff if we can go home? To Trenton?"

"Why, Freddie. Of course you can go home! You're not under arrest!"

Selena looked at Quill and smiled. "Ah, Quill. I have
been trying to cheer them up, but Robin, too, says now
they just want to go home. I smuggled in a little Summerhill red, which is very good for the nerves. Would you like to try it?"

"Not right now, thanks. Oh! I wanted to thank you for giving Max a bath."

"And so you should!" she said with mock indignation. "I could lose my job! But it gave us some time to become friends." She slid off the bed and stood up. "I
will leave you ladies to your new visitor. And I will see
you, Quill." She bent down and gave Freddie a quick embrace. Freddie screamed. Poor thing. Quill thought. Poor thing.

"Bah!" Selena ruffled Freddie's hair. "We will catch this monster. Perhaps I will do it myself. Don't worry now. Have a glass of our nice wine and relax." She
whirled out the door, then popped her head back in and
added, "And tell all your friends about the Summerhill red!"