Dread on Arrival

by Claudia Bishop

“I am dubious. I’ve seen Ancestor’s Attic, you know. Tree always has one major disappointment or embarrassment.” Quill braced her foot on the floor and set the rocker going.

  “He likes making people look foolish, you mean. Not very nice.”

  “No. He is not very nice.”

  “I don’t remember Adela’s paintings all that well. Are they any good?”

  “Early American landscapes. Oils. The artist is obscure. Rebecca Winthrop. A woman who painted at a time when women weren’t respected at all. And for all I know, she may be experiencing a vogue, now.”

  “But the paintings themselves?”

  Quill shook her head. Musicians wince at flat notes. Writers wince at clunky prose. Painters wince at bad lines.

  “So are you going to warn Adela and Elmer? Aren’t you meeting them for lunch in, like, ten minutes? You could drop a word then.”

  “A lot of art criticism is subjective. Not only is it subjective, it’s subjective within the context of the prevailing culture.”

  Meg took a second to work this out. “Hm. So you aren’t going to say a thing?”

  “I’m not going to say a thing. Not to them, anyway.”

  “You’ll tackle the Great Edmund himself? Phuut! You got hope.” She slapped the sheet of pastry into an oven and began prepping a second sheet. “So why do those guys hate each other, anyway? Barcini and Tree. Sounds like a comedy act.”

  “There wasn’t anything funny about this morning, I’ll tell you that. Although I don’t think they hate each other as much as they like the ratings coming from a widely publicized feud.”

  Meg stared at her. “My sister the cynic.”

  “Your sister the realist.” She wanted to add, “There’ll be further trouble, mark my words,” but didn’t.

  Kathleen Kiddermeister pushed open the swinging door that led to the kitchen and stuck her head inside. “Quill? Mayor Henry and his wife are here. They said you’d be joining them? I did a setup for five, like you asked.”

  Quill smoothed her hair, straightened her sleeves, and adjusted her skirt, frowning at the lump in her pocket. She followed Kathleen into the dining room. Suddenly, she remembered why she had the lightbulb in her pocket. “Will you see Davy anytime today, Kathleen?”

  “Dina will probably see him before I do. I think they’ve got a date tonight. Ever since my baby brother was made sheriff, I only see him at a family picnic or a birthday. How come? If it’s to fix a ticket, forget it. He won’t even fix them for me, and I’m kin.”

  “I’ll give the lightbulb to Dina, then.” She smiled at Kathleen’s raised eyebrow and turned the smile on Elmer and Adela. “Hi, Mayor. Hi, Adela.”

  Elmer, who had just taken a large bite out of a rye roll, half rose in his seat and gestured hello. Adela looked stern. Quill sat down, unfolded her napkin, and waited while Kathleen filled the water glasses.

  Adela glanced at her watch. “I did think Mr. Tree would have made an effort to be on time.”

  Quill saw with a pang that the couple had dressed carefully for the lunch; Elmer had abandoned his usual sports coat and chinos for a new blue three-piece suit. Adela wore a deep purple pantsuit with a ruffled navy blouse and her best costume jewelry.

  Adela was—Quill searched for the appropriate word—decisive, that’d be it. A decisive woman who tended to decide more for Elmer than he seemed to want, but it was clear the couple was devoted to one another.

  Elmer swallowed his roll and grabbed another one. “Mr. Tree’s a busy man, Adela. It’s okay with me if he’s running a little behind. Gives us a chance to talk with Quill about the campaign.”

  “We appreciate your endorsement, Quill.” Adela inclined her head in a rather imperial manner. “Of course, under the circumstances, it’s what my grandson would call a no-brainer.” Her smile was stiff.

  “The circumstances?”

  Adela picked up a roll and put it down again. “We didn’t get to the high school until things had settled down. But I understand that Marge Schmidt made quite a spectacle of herself. I can’t imagine anyone in the village supporting her now. Not that anyone supported her before.”

  “Would you like to order now?’ asked Kathleen, who was hovering.

  Adela glanced at her watch again. “I think we’ll wait until the rest of our party arrives.”

  “I’m pretty hungry now,” Elmer said. “I’m pretty near starved.”

  “Why don’t you ask Meg for a small starter plate, please, Kathleen,” Quill said. “Would either of you like some wine with lunch? A glass each of the Keuka red? Great. I’ll join you.”

  Kathleen bustled off. At two thirty on a Tuesday, the dining room was virtually empty, except for a young couple lingering over coffee in the corner near the wine rack. Adela looked at them and, apparently deciding that they were safely out of earshot, she said, “Marge Schmidt actually threatened Mr. Barcini with arrest, Harvey tells me. I’ve never heard of such a thing. That woman is the absolute limit. She’s no more fit for mayor than Nadine Peterson’s poodle.”

  “Actually,” Quill began. “The citizen’s arrest was a brilliant tactic. It defused a highly volatile situation.”

  Adela’s cheeks were red, which made her blusher look orange. “Nonsense. A citizen’s arrest? Who ever heard of a citizen’s arrest?”

  “The arrest thing is not a bad idea, campaign-wise,” Elmer said. “I called Howie Murchison to get a legal opinion once I got the story from Harvey Bozzel. He says it’s okay in New York State, at least the way Marge did it. I asked if I could maybe arrest Marge for impersonating a mayor. That’d show her some.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Elmer. And what’s all this about her inciting our folk to riot?” Adela folded her arms under her prow-like bosom. “Pushy. That’s what the woman is. Pushy.”

  Quill tried again. “Actually …”

  Adela’s face got redder. “What’s more, I heard there’s going to be some sort of story on the six o’clock news. A fine thing that would be for this town. I lay all of this terrible publicity at Marge Schmidt’s door.”

  “A story on the six o’clock news?” She knew it. She was right. This whole brouhaha with Barcini and Tree was a publicity stunt.

  She saw Kathleen come out of the doors to the kitchen with a large tray and tried to remember when she’d last eaten. She was starving. Kathleen set out the starter plates and a platter of savories. Quill selected one of each—shrimp, tapenade, and what looked like cheese—and served Adela and Elmer before she served herself.

  “Quite delicious,” Adela said. “Although I think Clare Sparrow may have the edge on the pastry.”

  “Don’t tell my sister. This news story, Adela, about the feud between Barcini and Tree … who told you about it?”

  Adela’s eyes widened in dismay. “They’re going to run a story about Mr. Tree and that awful man Barcini, too?”

  “Belter’s not so bad,” Elmer said. “I like these shrimp thingies, Quill.”

  Quill’s head was beginning to hurt. “Too? What news story are you talking about?”

  “Harvey called the TV station,” Elmer said briefly. “Said Marge was a local hero. Local busybody is more like. Had to fire Harvey as my campaign manager, of course.” Suddenly, he looked stricken. “I suppose that means Marge Schmidt will snatch him up. Figures.” He heaved a deep, heart-sore sigh. “We might not be mayor after all, Mother. Have to admit it’s a possibility.”

  Adela frowned. “Don’t be absurd, Elmer. This town would be nowhere without us, and you know it and everyone else knows it, too.” She bit her lip, and for a terrifying moment, Quill thought she was about to cry.

  “Well,” Quill said brightly. “I wonder what could be keeping Edmund and Rose Ellen.”

  “They’re probably over to Marge Schmidt’s having lunch at the All-American Diner,” Elmer said.

  “Nonsense. Mr. Tree’s a gentleman. He wouldn’t be rude enough to break a luncheon date.” Adela looked at her watch a third time.

  Quill shoved
her chair back and got to her feet. “Excuse me a moment, will you? I’ll just make a quick call and see what could be keeping them.”

  She kept a cheerful smile in place until she was in front of the reception desk in the foyer.

  Dina looked up from her textbook. “You look mad as fire. Anything wrong?”

  “Would you get Rose Ellen Whitman on the phone for me?”

  Dina reached for the landline. “You don’t want to call her on your cell?”

  “I don’t want her to have my cell number.”

  “Good thinking. Shall I try the shop or her cell?”

  “Cell, first.”

  Dina dialed, listened a moment, then said, “Hi, Ms. Whitman. This is Dina Muir at the Inn. Mrs. McHale would appreciate a call from you as soon as possible.” She hung up and looked at Quill expectantly.

  “Voice mail?”

  “Voice mail. But you know Rose Ellen. She never picks up. Except maybe for Warren Buffett. She just listens to the messages.”

  “Warren … never mind. Could you try the store? One of the Petersons works there, I can’t remember if it’s Arlene or Samantha, and if Rose Ellen isn’t there, she might know where I can find her.”

  “It’s Arlene. She says Rose Ellen is the biggest witch she’s ever worked for in twenty years of retail. What are you going to do when you do find her?”

  “Drag her back here by the scruff of the neck. She and Edmund were supposed to have lunch here with the Henrys.”

  “She’s a mean person, Quill. I told you that from the get-go.” Dina had the number of Elegant Antiques on her BlackBerry; she looked it up and got the store on the landline. She listened for a moment and looked at Quill: “Voice mail.”

  “Give me that.” Quill took the receiver and heard Rose Ellen’s whispery voice: “… Sorry we are not available to take your call. Please leave your name and number.”

  Quill pitched her voice a little higher than usual. “This is David Denby’s office from the New Yorker calling for Ms. Whit—”

  “Hello?” Rose Ellen said languidly. “Mr. Denby, is it?”

  Quill was generally equable. But she lost her temper. “No, Rose Ellen. It’s Sarah McHale. The Henrys are here for lunch. Where are you?”

  “You’re working for David Denby now?”

  “Cut the sarcasm. Why aren’t you here? Is Edmund with you?”

  “The Henrys. I don’t think I know the Hen … wait. That chubby little man with the wife with the disastrous fashion sense. We may have mentioned lunch in passing, but something’s come up. You’ll give them my regrets, won’t you?”

  “You cannot,” Quill said tightly, “insult nice people like this. As a matter of fact, you can’t insult anybody like this.”

  “Oh, my. You are in a bit of a state, aren’t you? Well, I’m sure you’ll come up with a suitable excuse. Tell them how very, very sorry I am. Oh! You could invite them to the cocktail party tonight. There. That’s a nice thing, isn’t it? They’ll be the only locals there. They’ll love it. And if you could drop by the store for just a minute? I’ve got a great idea to run past you.”

  Quill dropped the receiver into the cradle with a word that made Dina blink.

  “You look pretty mad,” she offered, after a moment.

  “I am pretty mad. The sooner these … people leave Hemlock Falls, the better. Argh. What am I going to tell the Henrys?”

  “You’ll think of something. But before you go back in there, you might want to comb your hair. If you wouldn’t grab at it like you do, it wouldn’t fall all over the place.”

  Quill felt in her skirt pocket for her comb and found the lightbulb. “Are you going out with Davy tonight?”

  “Not out, exactly. We’re going over to his place for a DVD and a pizza.”

  Quill offered her the lightbulb.

  “That’s a Baggie with a lightbulb in it.”

  “It’s evidence. Maybe.”

  Dina’s eyes widened. “We’re on a case?”

  “Not exactly. Is Davy getting anywhere with the burglaries?”

  “Not really. It’s hard to value what’s been taken since the people who got burgled lost stuff they’d stuck in the attic or the basement because it wasn’t worth much. He expects them to stop, now that the Ancestor’s Attic show has made the selection.”

  “That doesn’t make sense, Dina. It never made any sense. If the burglar was after loot to take onto the show, what’s going to happen when the real owner sees it on TV?”

  Dina sucked her lower lip thoughtfully. “You’ve got a point.”

  “Of course I have a point.” She was still cross. She took a deep breath and put the Baggie on the reception desk. “Ask him to check this for prints, would you? Tell him to call me if he wants to know why.”

  She took another deep breath and went back into the dining room.

  Adela and Elmer had finished all the savories. They sat alone in the dining room like abandoned luggage. Adela turned eagerly as Quill came up to them. “Hey,” she said. “I got hold of Rose Ellen.”

  “They’re on their way, then,” Adela said.

  “I’m afraid they’ve been held up,” Quill said, improvising. “There’s been a little accident with one of the crew on the TV show, and poor Edmund had to take care of it.”

  Adela looked concerned. “Is there anything we can do?”

  “Not a thing,” Quill said cheerfully. “It’s all been taken care of, but I’m afraid Edmund’s assistant was supposed to call you and didn’t. They are both so, so sorry. They asked if you might care to drop by their private party tonight. Just the two of you and the crew of the show. It’s here in the Tavern Lounge at seven.”

  Elmer expanded a little. “A private party, eh? I think we might be able to do that, Mother?”

  Adela’s brow furrowed. Quill was pretty sure she was mentally going through her closet. “I assume it’s black tie?”

  “Yes, indeed. It’s their engagement party, as a matter of fact …”

  “Oh, my. I suppose Vanity Fair will send a photographer.” Adela turned pink with pleasure. “I’ll have to check my appointment book, but I’m fairly sure there is nothing urgent this evening.”

  “Terrific. If you can’t make it, just leave word for Dina. Now, Edmund insisted that the lunch is on him and Rose Ellen, so you order anything you want from Kathleen. Anything. And if you don’t mind, I have an errand to run, so I’ll leave you now. Try the crème brûlée for dessert. It’s one of Meg’s triumphs.”

  Quill marched back into the foyer and into her office. She retrieved her tote and looked up to find Dina staring at her from the doorway. “What!”

  “Nothing. Not a thing. Nada.” She pushed her spectacles into place with one forefinger. “Are you headed somewhere?”

  “I’m going down to Elegant Antiques and yell at Rose Ellen.” She plopped her tote on the desk. “Instead of spending the afternoon with Jack, the way I wanted to.” She sat down and put her head in her hands. “I don’t think I can do this, Dina. I can’t be Jack’s mother and run this Inn. I’m going crazy.”

  “You’re missing Myles,” Dina said wisely. “I’ve read about this mommy-stress thing. It’s perfectly normal. You just can’t let it get to you.”

  “I have been a little touchy lately.”

  “Who wouldn’t be? Mommy stress is especially hard on older mothers. I mean, if you were like, in your early thirties even, you’d have a lot more energy and …”

  “Stop right there.”

  “Um. Sure. I didn’t mean to be ageist. Sorry.”

  Quill cleared her throat.

  “Right,” Dina said hastily. “Look, it’s almost three o’clock so Jack’s down for his nap so you wouldn’t be spending time with him anyway. That’d he be conscious of, I mean … You can go and yell at Ms. Whitman and be back here by four, the way you usually are.”

  “Unless,” Quill said, “I’m in jail for assault.”

  Dina grinned. “Me or Ms. Whitman?”

  �
�You, I’d like to whack up the side of the head. Ms. Whitman, I’d like to murder.”

  8

  ∼Pears in Cream∼

  Serves 6

  3 firm seasonal pears, Bosc or Bartlett preferred

  3 cups English Cream (see recipe)

  3 cups heavy whipping cream, slightly thickened after whipping

  ¾ cup pear liqueur

  ¾ cup sugar

  4 ounces chopped walnuts

  Peel and halve pears. Place cut side down on a baking sheet and slice lengthwise into thin strips. Transfer strips to individual gratin dishes, six in all. Combine the English Cream, the whipping cream, and the pear liqueur with a whisk. Divide the mixture into six portions and pour over the pears. Sprinkle sugar on top of each pear. Arrange walnuts to the side of the pears. Broil in broiler for thirty seconds.

  ENGLISH CREAM:

  1 cup heavy whipping cream

  ½ vanilla bean, cut lengthwise

  3 beaten egg yolks

  ¼ cup sugar

  Bring cream and vanilla to a boil, stirring all the while. Beat egg yolks and sugar together until pale yellow. Carefully combine the two mixtures over medium heat, whisking constantly, until mixture thickens. Cool in the refrigerator.

  Elegant Antiques was in a three-story cobblestone building on Main Street. The building had been the Tompkins County Farmer’s Bank in the mid-nineteenth century. The bank had been the biggest in the five-county area, and the building was huge. When the bank failed in the crash of ’29, the space had been carved into retail shops on the street level, with apartments above. Rose Ellen had rented all three floors of the space on the south corner of the building. The store occupied the first and second. Rose Ellen lived in a small apartment on the third. There were large windows on two sides of the ground floor; the south window faced Elm; the west window faced Main. The Balzac Café coffee shop occupied the space right next door, and there were three more stores after that. It took Quill less than five minutes to get there and another frustrating ten minutes to park.