A Pinch of Poison

by Claudia Bishop

  “Before you quit, give me at least a hint of what Myles has found out about DeMarco.”

  John shook his head.

  “Does it have anything to do with any of the principal investors here in town?”

  “Give it a rest, Quill.”

  “It just can’t be anyone we know. Whatever it is. Almost everyone we know has invested in the partnership. And they’re either too honest or too smart to get involved in anything crooked. Howie Murchison is an old-fashioned kind of lawyer—honest, professional—and he’s very smart. Now, admittedly, Elmer and Harvey aren’t the most brilliant guys to come down the pike, but Harland Peterson is one of the shrewdest people in the village. He’s made a fortune in farming, and you know how tough that is. And finally, Marge Schmidt, who is nobody’s fool. Collectively, those five own more than sixty percent of the mall. And you’re not going to tell me that any one of them is going to be involved in something crooked. I just won’t believe it. It has to be this DeMarco. He’s behaving very suspiciously, don’t you think?”

  “He’s not behaving suspiciously at all, Quill. I’ve met him. You remember him. He stayed here at the Inn while we were getting the funding together last year.”

  “I do remember him. He had a secretive sort of face,” Quill mused. “I remember thinking about it at the time.”

  “Well, you never said a word to me, if you did.”

  “It’d be just like Myles to keep interesting stuff about DeMarco under his hat. And let me hare off investigating some of my best friends, instead of focusing on the real culprit. I’ll have to put DeMarco on my suspects list. If I do decide to investigate this, that is.”

  “Quill! He isn’t a culprit if there hasn’t been any crime.”

  “Murder isn’t a crime?”

  John groaned and put his head in his hands. “Do me a favor, will you? Leave me out of any further discussions about this. And I’d really prefer that you not mention my name when you talk to Myles.” He sat up. “If you talk to Myles.”

  “Maybe I won’t and maybe I will,” said Quill, struck by this opportunity for a little harmless blackmail. “If I allude very carefully to this conversation and let him know that I know what you know, I might trick him.”

  “No allusions, please. I gave him my word.”

  “And you haven’t told me a thing. What if I—”

  “I mean it, Quill. Let’s stick to business, okay? Now. What about this free party this evening, for some of the richest people in America?”

  “It’s more than that. Meg sees the party tonight as a chance to find out if there’s anything behind Hedrick’s threats. We’re going to create a diversion, and I’m going to get my hands on Hedrick’s goods book. Now, about this diversion—”

  “We’re not going to have any trouble selecting a diversion,” said John. “It’ll be all our suppliers demanding payment, storming the back patio in a body like the cavalry driving my relatives to Canada.”

  “That was the Nez Perce.”

  “All Amerinds are brothers. Can we talk about business for a minute? Just how many people are coming tonight?”

  “Well, there’s twenty-four members of the Chamber, as nearly as I can tell, and the fifty guests we have staying here, and the sheriffs department, I guess, because Kathleen apparently invited Davy, who invited the rest of the deputies, and Myles is coming, and the Conways, so it’s less than one hundred people, John. It can’t cost all that much.”

  “So why has Meg brought in six extra kitchen staff from Cornell?”

  “Six! Gosh. I don’t have any idea.”

  “So there’s extra labor. From the figures Meg gave me, I’ve estimated a cost of sixteen dollars a head.”

  “It’s not too bad, is it? At least, not very. And it even includes the yellowfin tuna shipped in for the sushi, which is a million dollars a pound or something. She doesn’t think many locals will eat it, so she probably didn’t order very much.”

  “Thank God for that, at least. We’re looking at a minimum two thousand out of pocket, Quill. How are we going to recoup a two-thousand-dollar loss this month? An unnecessary two-thousand-dollar loss, I might add. The Kip-lings seem to be wealthy enough to afford their own party, and I’m not real sure I understand why we’re in the middle of this whole thing. We can recoup some of the losses if we have a cash bar.”

  Quill sank a little lower in her chair, scratched her left ankle, then pulled at her lower lip. “Well, they are our guests. Don’t you think—”

  John shook his head. “This is an inn, Quill. A profit-making business, supposedly.”

  “A cash bar seems so rude! The numbers have been good this quarter, haven’t they?”

  He smiled a little. “The numbers are never good enough.”

  “And of course, they are going to provide entertainment with their poetry reading.” She added doubtfully, “Which will be good publicity.”

  “We hope.”

  “I hope so,” said Quill seriously. “It’d be awful if everyone ignored their poetry. I’m so afraid it’s going to be ridiculous. Although Doreen says the Kiplings are very demanding, except for Georgia, of course. I expect that comes from being rich. Anyway, they’re much too nice a group of people to be publicly embarrassed. Georgia Hardwicke especially. Except that they’ve done this before, so maybe they don’t care about being embarrassed. So I guess I’d have to say I don’t want a cash bar.”

  John shook his head. “I like your logic. They’re rich, but nice. If they were rich and rotten, you wouldn’t object to a cash bar. But they’re rich and basically pleasant. I will never understand your politics, Quill.”

  “We’re here,” announced Meg. She and Doreen came into the office and settled on the couch. “What are you two up to?”

  “Staff meeting’s up.” Quill began to search for the agenda in the mass of papers on her desk.

  “No, I mean what’s up with you and John? John looks subdued. And you look ...” Meg settled back, crossed her ankles, and regarded her sister though half-closed eyes. “Abashed. Wait. Wait. I’m applying my famous powers of deductive reasoning! It’s the party, right?! John’s bummed because you invited too many people to the party and it’s going to cost too much!”

  “I got a way you can save money,” said Doreen grimly.

  “You can leave my salary off the budget. And that-there profit-sharing, too. I quit.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Quill. “Not again.”

  “You can save mine,” said Meg. “I quit. I in no way want to be associated with the events this evening. It’s not enough to say I’m dreading this party. I have a Foreboding. A Feeling. A Distinct Impression. Something awful’s going to happen.”

  “I know why you want to quit, Meg. You’re getting anxious over the food preparation. You always get anxious over the food preparation. And you always pull off something marvelous. What is it with you, Doreen?”

  “That Stoker.”

  “I don’t want to hear any more about Axminster Stoker, Not a word. Not a peep of complaint. What’d he do this time?” she added, reversing herself.

  “He’s follering me around.”

  “Following you around? If that’s all he’s doing, take it as a compliment.”

  “That ain’t all he’s doin’. He’s stickin’ his nose in. Like this-here party for example.”

  “How the heck did everyone get invited, anyway?” asked Quill plaintively. “We’ve got the whole town coming, for free. Poor John’s in a swivit.”

  “I’m tellin’ you, ain’t I? It’s that-there Axminster Stoker.” Doreen folded her arms across her meager chest. “Said it’s part of a customer satisfaction ‘thank you’ campaign, or some dura thing, and went around blatting to the whole town.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “I don’t kid about that boob.”

  “How many people do you think will show up?”

  “We’d be safer figuring who ain’t.”

  Quill looked at Meg. “Okay.”

&
nbsp; “Okay what?”

  “Okay how come you’re not swinging from the chandelier?”

  “Because he told me about it. I’ve got extra help coming in from Cornell. And I’ve tripled the supplies order.”

  John made a noise like a tire losing air.

  “Oh. Well. Good. So we’re prepared. Except for the fact that we’re going to be broke.” She patted John’s knee. He winced. She didn’t blame him. It was more of a blow than a pat. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she was being unreasonable, but she didn’t care. “I’m so glad you guys saw fit to tell John and me, Meg. I mean, I’m only the manager here. And John, too. He’s merely in charge of profits. Not to mention losses. John, why don’t you quit, too? And me? I’ll just go ahead and get that ticket to Detroit.” She threw up her hands. “We agreed to control expenses this month. As a matter of fact, we agreed to talk to each other about what’s happening, and do we ever? No. I set up these boring weekly meetings just so we can plan ahead, and look what happens. Do you know what I could be doing instead of wasting my time here? Do you?” She smacked her hand flat on the desk. “I could be painting! But I’m not! Because you guys just go ahead and arrange huge parties and order mountains of supplies for a free party for a bunch of people I don’t even want to talk to. And I’m tired of it! There! You guys satisfied?”

  “Jeez,” said Meg. “Sorry.”

  “PMS,” said Doreen.

  John cleared his throat diffidently. “No offense, Quill, but you were the one that gave Axminster Stoker carte blanche. And he’s the one that did all the inviting. And, kiddo, the party was your idea in the first place.”

  “Just... wait.” Quill put both hands over her face. Outside, the lawn mower sputtered to a stop and started again. She wanted, suddenly, to be standing in front of her easel, her hair grayed with paint, her jeans smelling of turpentine. She took several long breaths. “Is that Brat of the Month award around anywhere? I’ll wear it for a week, I promise.”

  Nobody said anything. Quill peeked at them, then lowered her hands to her lap. “I have been that bad, really?”

  Doreen smoothed her apron. Meg whistled a few bars of “Who’s Sorry Now.”

  John just looked sympathetic and said, “You’ll get through this somehow.”

  “It’s just—”

  “We know,” said John. “Take your time. We’re all here. Quill, whatever you decide about what you’re going to do. About Myles. About your work.”

  Quill blinked back a sudden sting of tears. “What I’m going to do is settle down and get to work. So. What’s on the agenda this morning?” She found the memo she’d been searching for under the stapler. “Oh, dear. Employee satisfaction. Oh, dear again, I scheduled a lecture from—”

  “Good morning,” said Axminster Stoker. “I’m sorry I’m a bit late but someone”—he pointedly avoided Do-reen—”asked the desk to suspend my wake-up call.”

  “Wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re thinkin’,” said Doreen belligerently.’”Course if I’d bin a ree-ceptionist what temporarily lost her job on account of some meddling fool, I might forget stuff like that myself. Not sayin’ I would, but I might.”

  “Well!” Axminster rubbed his hands together with a dry, papery sound. “Merely a process upset. Shall we get down to business? Sarah? You’ve passed around the pre-reading for today’s little discussion on team building?”

  “Um,” said Quill. “I’m truly sorry. I forgot.”

  “But you do have the results of the Quality Circle problem-solving sessions with the sous chefs.”

  “My sous chefs?” asked Meg. “What were you doing messing with my sous chefs, Quill? Especially in the mood you’ve been in lately. They’ll all quit, too, I’ll bet. Just before the party.”

  “I haven’t done a thing with your sous chefs, truly, Meg. I haven’t done anything about the Quality Circles for a week.”

  “A whole week?!” Axminster’s voice rose in what, in a more ebullient man, might have been a wail of despair.

  Meg crossed her legs in satisfaction. “I thought things were going a little more smoothly than usual these past few days.”

  “Now, Meg, I’m sure we all appreciate Axminster’s efforts on our behalf.” Quill sighed. “It just takes so much time, Axminster.”

  A slight gleam of desperation appeared in Axminster’s eye. “You’ll recall from our meeting last week that you were all assigned homework, outside your major competency areas, to hone your leadership skills. You were to problem-solve with the maintenance people, Margaret. Sarah was to meet—” He broke off. “Who’s that in the garden?”

  Quill sat up straight. Ken Sakura walked in the rose gardens, the sun striking coally glints from his hair. He stopped by the fish pond and sat on the stone bench, looking down at the koi. “That’s Ken Sakura.”

  “Checked in with his pa last night to the extra bed in the Shaker suite,” said Doreen sourly. “After they come back from the sherr’fs.”

  “Did Mr. Motoyama come with them?” asked Meg in mild interest.

  “Yep. That Mr. Sakra senior was some kinda pissed off at him, too.”

  Quill, who was remembering Ken Sakura’s essay on “Energy in Art,” said absently, “It’s Sakura, Doreen. S-A-K-U-R-A.”

  “You did say Sakura!” Axminster interrupted, with excitement. “A Japanese gentlemen? He isn’t by any chance related to Sakura Toshiro, the multibillionaire?”

  “Yes,” said Quill.

  “Do you know who he is?!”

  “Sakura Toshiro,” said Quill. She realized she’d risen part way out of her chair. That she was drawn to the garden and the answers that might lie there. “Managing director of Sakura Indus—”

  “Pardon me, pardon me, pardon me.” Axminster raised a hand shaking with excitement. “He is only the inventor of the KOP theory. He is merely a byword in the world of key operating processes. That’s all.”

  “Goodness,” said Quill feebly.

  “My God!” Axminster looked into the distance, his khaki-colored eyes alight. “My God. The master! Here in Hemlock Falls. I must speak to him.”

  “Not here,” said Doreen laconically. “Drove off with that crazy Jap driver—”

  “Doreen, darn it!” Quill frowned at her. “Please don’t use that term.”

  “Well, chauffeur, then. And he ain’t crazy, for real, I guess, although he drives like a sum-a-bitch.”

  “Can you arrange it, Sarah? A proper introduction? My Lord, he’ll be fascinated with the improvements I’ve installed here at the Inn. Perhaps he would consent to observing a team in action—Wait! I have something even better. The results from the Do-It-Yourself reception team. No? I can see you all are not taken with that idea. Well, perhaps that wasn’t quite the success we had anticipated. I know! He’ll be at the customer celebration tonight, will he not?”

  “Axminster, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that.” Quill, conscious of an extreme impatience quite unlike her usual capable response to business problems, made a deliberate attempt to keep her voice from rising. “This party is going to cost us a great deal of money.” She felt much better at the expressions of approval on John’s, Meg’s, and Doreen’s faces. She felt effective. “We really must put a stop to—”

  “Please! All of you. I have a great, very great favor to ask.” Axminster stood in the center of Quill’s Karastan carpet, to the right of the peach medallion, his hand upraised. “To my regret, I must ask you to please adjourn this meeting. I have factored in your disappointment. I am accountable. But I must have time to prepare a cogent, yet eloquent summary of my Hemlock Falls Strategic Plan in time to present to Mr. Sakura this evening. I’m sorry to disappoint you all. I have taken us off-line. But even the strictest interpretations of process control allow for exceptional events. This is clearly an exceptional event. Will you forgive me? Will you let me go?”

  Quill thought: / can go in the garden and ask him. He can help me paint again.

  “No problem here,” said Jo
hn.

  “Hotcha,” said Doreen, “I got real work to do.”

  “You bet,” said Meg, rising with unflattering alacrity. She paused on her way out the door and wriggled her eyebrows at Quill. “You,” she said, “stay away from my sous chefs. Take a little time off. We’ve got it all under control.”

  “Margaret! Hold on! We’ll reconvene next week,” said Axminster. “Same start time, but we’ll have to allow another two hours for a makeup session.”

  John, Doreen, and Meg turned to look at Quill as a unit. An accusing unit. In the garden Ken Sakura got up from the bench and walked out of sight, down the graveled path. “Axminster...” She stopped. Took a deep breath. Looked at her staff. Blew out with a sigh. “Let’s talk about it later. Would you guys excuse me for a moment? Customer satisfaction survey, Axminster, very important.” She stuck her head back in the door. “By the way. Meeting’s adjourned.”

  She found him by the waterfall, watching the cascade of water through the branches of a willow curved over the gorge.

  He turned with a welcoming smile.

  “Mr. Motoyama’s back?”

  “The charges were dropped. Your sheriff arranged an apology between Motoyama and your mayor’s wife. My father is impressed with Sheriff McHale. He finds him capable. For an American.” His smile was infectious. “Motoyama should have been retired years ago—but it would have killed him, I think, to have no purpose in life.”

  “And that’s important,” said Quill. “A purpose.”

  He glanced at her. “It’s all there is, don’t you think? A worthy purpose, of course. Such as your work.”

  “I’ve been waiting to get a chance to speak to you. I appreciate what you said. The comment about shibui, last night, I mean.”

  “The ‘essence of the beautiful,’ shibui. Beauty itself. There’s no real translation possible into English. Plato came close to describing the idea, and, I’ve always thought, so did your Transcendentalists. But it’s a concept that’s been submerged by commerce in current times. Not just here, but in my own country as well.”

  Quill watched the water fall with a sense of perfect understanding that made her very nervous, and completely inarticulate.