A Steak in Murder (30 page)
"And Meg told him to run," John said.
Doreen patted Quill awkwardly on the shoulder. "Any
guy'd save your life like that, I woulda tolt him to run, too."
"So, here's the scoop." Meg took a deep breath. "I told Harris I killed Calhoun."
"You're kidding!?"
"I'm not kidding."
Quill lay back on the pillows. "Oh, my goodness."
"So we've got to get our stories straight."
"You mean, lie to the police?"
Meg nodded.
"But, Meg. Won't there be a trial?"
"Howie says unlikely. Justifiable homicide or whatever."
"Did you tell Howie about all this?"
"We didn't think it prudent," John said.
"No one knows but us." Doreen scrubbed her nose with her fist. "That son of a gun Calhoun would have kilt you, if he could. And Meg, too."
"Why wasn't Brady in the examining room with you, Meg?"
"Nobody thought CarolAnn Spinoza killed Laura Crest except you," Meg said blithely. "Brady left me there with the tape recorder and went around to the front so that he could follow Calhoun when he came in. Only problem is, Calhoun came in the back way, found me, and almost got you before Brady got him." Meg gave Quill her sunniest smile. "Got it?"
"I guess so."
"So we're agreed? On what you and I tell Harris?"
Quill lay back.
"You have some problems with this," Meg said. "I knew you would."
"Not with letting Brady go," Quill said. "I mean, he saved us both."
"No. It's not that. John, could you and Doreen leave us alone for a second?"
Doreen, put out, opened her mouth to protest. John put a gentle hand on her arm and led her from the room. Meg waited until the door closed, then said. "It's Myles."
"He wouldn't understand at all, Meg."
"It's up to you, kiddo. I have to say I agree with you. This will put a barrier between the two of you. Maybe a final one."
"No maybe about it," Quill said wryly.
"It's not too late to tell Harris the truth, you know. He doesn't think much of women anyway. He's one of the few men we know who'd be perfectly ready to be
lieve we were too stricken with girlish fear to know what
went on. And he sure didn't like Brady."
The door burst open. Harris walked into the room. Quill looked at him a long moment, lay back against the pillows, and said in a faint voice, "Oh, Meggie. He's here. He's not going to take you away, is he?" She struggled winsomely to sit up. "Sergeant, what my sister did, she did because she loves me."
"Oh, Quill," Meg said.
"Oh, Meg," Quill said.
"Now, girls." Harris sat down in the chair by the bed. "You just take your time and tell me all about it."
Quill sat on the back porch, rocking in the evening air. They'd closed the dining room for the evening, and the
house was finally quiet. There'd been a stream of visitors
that afternoon, after she'd left the hospital. Miriam and
Esther, with a bouquet of flowers. The mayor and Adela,
shocked and sympathetic. Howie, who looked closely at both Meg and Quill, then said, "I don't want to know a thing about it," and left as quickly as he'd come. Dookie Shuttleworth, who had been shocked into sympathetic speech and run on so long that Doreen had told him to git. There'd been media, as well. Lally Preston had thrown up her hands and gone back to New York, but the Syracuse television station had been hanging around the Palate all afternoon. John had given them a brief statement, and Quill was sure there was going to be a (very unflattering) shot on the evening news of both her
and Meg driving away from the hospital in their battered
Oldsmobile. She still hadn't had time to wash her hair.
She'd left word for Myles.
Doreen poked her head out the screen door. "You okay out there?"
"Yeah, but if I don't wash my hair soon, I'm going to faint all over again."
"You want a hand? You can't get that face wet."
As she scrubbed Quill's hair in the kitchen sink, Doreen said, "Sher'f comin' back?"
"At some point."
Doreen dug her fingers into Quill's scalp. "You know what I mean."
"I left word on his voice mail."
"Voice mail," Doreen muttered. "Best way to dodge a relationship ever invented." She rinsed Quill's hair in warm water, then wrapped her head in a towel. Quill heard the phone ring, then stop. She sat up. Water dripped down the back of her neck.
Meg came into the kitchen, her face pensive. "Myles is on the phone."
"I'll take it upstairs."
She went up slowly. Her face ached. She was tired. She sat in the rocking chair next to the window and picked up her extension. Below stairs, she heard Meg yell, "Got it?" and she shouted, "Yes." She waited a moment, then put the phone to her ear. "Hey."
"My God, Quill. What the hell's going on?"
"The usual. Murder and mayhem."
"You're all right, I take it."
"Fine. A scratch on my cheek. A couple stitches. No biggie."
"And Meg?"
"She's fine."
"I've talked to Harris."
"Before you talked to me?"
"I wanted to get the facts straight. I don't think there's going to be a problem. It's clearly a case of self-defense." No suspicions in his voice. Quill wanted, suddenly, to weep. "Do you need me?"
"No," Quill said. "No. We're just fine." She asked him about the job he was on, received assurances that
things were going as well as could be expected. Promised
to see him soon, and rang off.
"You didn't say, 'I love you,' " John said. Quill looked up in surprise. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle
you. Just wanted to let you know that Marge and Harland
are downstairs. Are you too tired to see them?"
"No. What . . .?" She smiled at him. "You look pretty happy. Don't tell me, she's ready to sell."
"Almost better than that, I've got a buyer for the Palate. But we'll get to that in a bit." He held out his hand. "Come on, Quill. We've got an Inn to buy back."
"We're still one hundred thousand short," Quill said
glumly. They were in the kitchen of the Palate. The meet
ing with Marge and Harland had been brief the night before, much longer this morning. They'd managed,
somehow, to serve the lunch trade, while discussing ways
to raise the five hundred thousand dollars Marge wanted to sell the Inn at Hemlock Falls back to them.
"We've got the four hundred," Meg said worriedly. She sent an absentminded smile toward Bjarne, who, set
a plate of fresh strawberries in front of them.
"Yes." John put his pencil down. "The Marriott
wants to run the Palate as a signature restaurant for the
longhorn beef."
"All the publicity about the crossbreeding isn't going
to put customers off?" Quill asked.
"It shouldn't. The purebred beef is as advertised,
Quill. And the Marriott name carries a lot of weight with
the consumer."
"The bank'll give us the hundred k," Doreen said.
"Whyn't we just go with that?"
John shook his head. "Not a good idea. They want a
second mortgage, nine percent interest, and personal loan
guarantees. No way."
"There's got to be some way to raise that money."
Quill frowned.
"It's five-thirty," Meg said. "I'll make some coffee
and we'll do some brainstorming."
"You cannot," Bjarne said. He put the filet knife carefully in its slot on the butcher block, folded his arms, and
stared at them.
"What do you mean, we cannot?" Meg said crossly.
"Make coffee in my own kitchen?"
"Talk business in
my
kitchen." His glare was icy,
made even more intense because his eyes were such a
pale gray. "Who has worked, worked in this kitchen
while Herself has been off in New York interviewing for
the TV cameras?" He flung his hand at Meg. "Who is
the real talent behind the Palate? Who has been brow
beaten into cooking for my sworn enemy, those (here he said what must have been a very bad Finnish word, since
Quill didn't understand it. The enemy of my people?) And who has DONE it! I, Bjarne Bjornson."
"My goodness," Meg said.
"Oh, dear." Quill got up and went to him.
"No and no!" Bjarne folded his arms. "I will give you the four hundred thousand. In exchange for ownership."
"You've got four hundred thousand dollars, Bjarne?" Meg rolled her eyes. "I must be paying you too much."
"
I
do not have four hundred thousand American dollars," Bjarne admitted. "But my government has."
Quill blinked at him. "Your government has?"
John grinned, something Quill had rarely seen him do. "The Russians," he said. "Is that it?"
Bjarne made a spitting motion. "I have contacted my sponsor in Helsinki. If the Russians can invest in America, so can we."
"But . . ." Meg trailed off. She tugged at her hair with both hands. "The Finns?"
"Why not the Finns?" Bjarne said. "You have something against Finns?"
"It'll work," John said. He leaned forward and began to make rapid notes. "We provide an opportunity for you to bring Finnish citizens to work for the Inn . . . I'll want to talk to Howie Murchison, Bjarne, and your people. Will they spring for a trip to Helsinki?"
"Oh, yes," Bjarne said. "It is very beautiful in Helsinki in July."
It was late summer in Hemlock Falls. The warm gold light
of August wrapped the rose garden in drowsy quiet. The Queen Elizabeth roses were in splendid bloom, the bush
loaded with more flowers than had ever been there before.
The dog sniffed at the base of the tallest bush with eager interest. A strong odor of cow, not that old. He raised his nose to the breeze, but the odor wasn't carried
to him from anywhere else. Just here, in this garden, with
the fish swimming in the stone pond.
He jumped over the low stone wall surrounding the garden and trotted to the lip of the Gorge. The waterfall filled the air with more intriguing scents. He stiffened. Rabbit. Definitely rabbit. He plunged down the side of the hill to the stream beneath.
"Max!"
One floppy ear bent back.
"Max! Dinner!"
Rabbit? Or a dish of dry food in the stone flagged kitchen at the Inn? He sat down, scratched heartily, and went back up the hill.
Marinade for
Texas Longhorn Beef
Ingredients:
2 parts olive oil
1 part soy sauce
ground ginger to taste
dry mustard to taste
1 part papaya extract
Mix, pour over beef, and chill for several hours.
Claudia Bishop
www.spectrumliteraryagency.com/stanton.htm
Claudia Bishop (Mary Stanton) writes the popular Hemlock Falls mysteries from her farm in upstate New York, where she is surrounded by great vineyards, wonderful restaurants, and the incredible beauty of the Finger Lakes. In the cold winter months, she lives in a small house in West Palm Beach, Florida. She can be reached at her website,
www.claudiabishop.com
.
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