It was Betsy who answered. “I’m going to be a bride again.”
“I like celebrations and parties. We gonna ’ave a big one?”
Smythe lowered her to the floor and waited for her to reply. She looked at the three people in the doorway. “Oh, yes, it’s going to be a wonderful wedding. I’m going to invite everyone we know.” She reached for his hand. “And this time, if you try to leave me at the altar, I’ll hunt you down and skin you alive.”
He was humbled by the trust she’d just given him. “I promise you, love—I’ll never leave you again.”
“And if he does, I’ll ’elp ya hunt him down,” Wiggins offered.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
QUILL’S CHRISTMAS PROJECT
MEG’S CHRISTMAS DELIGHTS
MEG’S MINT CHUTNEY
About the Author
THE HEMLOCK FALLS MYSTERIES
1 pretty little town in upstate New York
1 picturesque inn overlooking Hemlock Gorge
2 talented sisters better at solving crimes
than they are at their day jobs
1 (or more) murders
A WINNING RECIPE FOR MYSTERY LOVERS
Don’t miss these Hemlock Falls Mysteries . . .
GROUND TO A HALT . . .
Murder doesn’t stop the Inn’s pet food conventioneers from fighting like cats and dogs—but it does bring business to a grinding halt.
A DINNER TO DIE FOR . . .
Less-than-friendly professional competition. A serious case of cold feet. And, oh yes, a local murder. Could things go worse on Meg’s wedding day?
BURIED BY BREAKFAST . . .
The leader of a raucous group of protestors turns up dead— and the Quilliams must quell fears and catch a killer before another local V.I.P. is greeted with an untimely R.I.P.
A PUREE OF POISON . . .
While residents celebrate the 133rd anniversary of the Battle of Hemlock Falls, the Quilliam sisters investigate the deaths of three people who dined at the Inn before checking out.
FRIED BY JURY . . .
Two rival fried chicken restaurants are about to set up shop in Hemlock Falls—and the Quilliams have to turn up the heat when the competition turns deadly.
JUST DESSERTS . . .
There’s a meteorologist convention coming to the Inn, and it’s up to Quill and Meg to make sure an elusive killer doesn’t make murder part of the forecast.
MARINADE FOR MURDER . . .
The Quilliams’ plans for the future of the Inn may end up on the cutting-room floor when a group of TV cartoon writers checks in—and the producer checks out.
A STEAK IN MURDER . . .
While trying to sell the locals on the idea of raising their own herds, a visiting Texas cattleman gets sent to that big trail drive in the sky. The Quilliams set out to catch the culprit and reclaim their precious Inn . . . without getting stampeded themselves!
A TOUCH OF THE GRAPE . . .
Five women jewelry makers are a welcome change from the tourist slump the Inn is having. All that changes when two of the ladies end up dead, and the Quilliams are on the hunt for a crafty killer.
DEATH DINES OUT . . .
While working for a charity in Palm Beach, the Quilliam sisters uncover a vengeful plot that has a wealthy socialite out to humiliate her husband. Now the sleuths must convince the couple to bury the hatchet—before they bury each other.
MURDER WELL-DONE . . .
When the Inn hosts the wedding rehearsal dinner for an ex-senator, someone begins cutting down the guest list in a deadly way. And Quill and Meg have to catch a killer before the rehearsal dinner ends up being someone’s last meal.
A PINCH OF POISON . . .
Hendrick Conway is a nosy newsman who thinks something funny is going on at a local development project. But when two of his relatives are killed, the Quilliam sisters race against a deadline of their own.
A DASH OF DEATH . . .
Quill and Meg are on the trail of the murderer of two local women who won a design contest. Helena Houndswood, a noted expert on stylish living, was furious when she lost. But mad enough to kill?
A TASTE FOR MURDER . . .
The annual History Days festival takes a deadly turn when a reenactment of a seventeenth-century witch trial leads to twentieth-century murder. Since the victim is a paying guest, the least Quill and Meg could do is investigate.
Don’t miss Claudia Bishop’s
new veterinarian mystery series,
the Casebooks of Dr. McKenzie, including
The Case of the Roasted Onion and
The Case of the Tough-Talking Turkey!
Hemlock Falls Mysteries by Claudia Bishop
A TASTE FOR MURDER
A DASH OF DEATH
A PINCH OF POISON
MURDER WELL-DONE
DEATH DINES OUT
A TOUCH OF THE GRAPE
A STEAK IN MURDER
MARINADE FOR MURDER
JUST DESSERTS
FRIED BY JURY
A PUREE OF POISON
BURIED BY BREAKFAST
A DINNER TO DIE FOR
GROUND TO A HALT
A CAROL FOR A CORPSE
The Casebooks of Dr. McKenzie Mysteries
by Claudia Bishop
THE CASE OF THE ROASTED ONION
THE CASE OF THE TOUGH-TALKING TURKEY
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A CAROL FOR A CORPSE
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
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For Julie
CAST OF CHARACTERS
AT THE INN AT HEMLOCK FALLS
RESIDENTS OF HEMLOCK FALLS
And other members of the Hemlock Falls Chamber of Commerce
PROLOGUE
There had to be some way to kill him.
And it had to be soon.
Everyone was gone. The meeting room still held a faintly congratulatory air, enhanced by the professionally decorated Christmas tree standing to the right of the wet bar. Two empty bottles of Moët et Chandon lay abandoned at the coffee station, jammed onto the plate of pâté, caviar, and the remains of soft French cheeses. The C-SPAN people had left an orange extension cord coiled under the windows overlooking Times Square.
He’ll be back in here in just a few minutes, full of himself. Crowing like a rooster. I could wind the cord around his neck from behind. Jerk it tight. Hold on for a sweet, sweet eternity until . . . no. That’s stupid. You can’t be anywhere near him when it happens.
A brightly colored array of advertising brochures sprawled across the conference table, all that was left after the contracts had been signed, sealed, and notarized, the copies initialed, the files tucked away into the lawyers’ briefcases.
The brochure read:
PARADISE FOUND! THE INN AT HEMLOCK FALLS
The headline overprinted one of Sarah Quilliam’s elegant paintings of the Inn in summer. The huge old mansion was centered in the middle of a velvet-green lawn, and surrounded by gardens blazing with roses. The grounds swept down to Hemlock Gorge, where the waterfall cascaded into the river. Quill’s artistry was as vivid as ever. You could practically hear the rush of water. They needed a brochure for the winter months, too. Somebody would have to get on that.
If the gorge is as steep as it looks—I could push him right over the top. He’d bounce all the way to the bottom.
“What the hell are you grinning about?” Zeke Kingsfield blew into the conference room like the sickest of ill winds blowing absolutely nobody any good.
Keep it mild. Keep it humble. Most of all, keep it sweet. “Just happy with what’s ahead. All of us at the magazine are.” A little smarm couldn’t hurt. “Another brilliant deal, Zeke. Really. Brilliant.”
Kingsfield swelled like a pig bladder. “The crap with the Inn, you mean? Sure. Fine. Whatever. Just as long as that chef . . . what’s her name?”
“Margaret Quilliam, Meg.”
“Yeah. Her. Just as long as she keeps a lid on it.” Zeke’s eyes narrowed and his thin lips got even thinner. “If she doesn’t?” Zeke shrugged. “She’ll rue the day. I can tell you that. They don’t call me the Hammer ’cause I play the drums. I’m in absolute control of the Inn deal. It’s the trailer park deal that better work.”
“If you don’t mind my saying so, that’s the deal that’s going to catch the nation’s eye.”
Zeke smirked. Then he scowled and said, “And if I find one word of that sucker’s been leaked in Hemlock Falls, there’ll be hell to pay. You can count on it.”
“Everything’s going to be fine, Zeke.”
“It’d better be.” He shot his cuffs and looked at his diamond-encrusted Rolex. “We’ve got the jet booked for tomorrow at noon. Add my skis to the list of stuff I’m taking with me. There is a ski run in this godforsaken village, isn’t there?”
There was an insert in the most elaborate of the brochures. “They’ve just completed two new cross-country runs. According to this.”
“’Kay. So get a move on. I’m taping that interview with Charley Rose in twenty minutes. And for God’s sake, get this pit of a room cleaned up.” He snapped the edge of the cheese tray with an irritable thumb and slammed out of the room. The tray teetered, then tipped and spilled its contents onto the monogrammed rug, obliterating a handful of Zeke’s initials.
There had to be a way to kill him.
And it had to be soon.
CHAPTER 1
“You’re telling me if I don’t sign this thing, we’re going to lose the Inn?” Meg Quilliam sat directly opposite Mark Anthony Jefferson. Mark was president of the First National Bank of Hemlock Falls. The same bank that held a half-million-dollar past-due mortgage on the Inn at Hemlock Falls.
Not to mention an additional half-million-dollar line of credit. Also past due.
“Losing the Inn would be one outcome, yes,” Mark Anthony Jefferson admitted.
Meg narrowed her eyes in a lethal squint, slammed both small fists onto the Mark’s desk, and shouted, “And a merry flippin’ Christmas to you, too!”
Sarah Quilliam ran one hand through her hair and wished, not for the first time during this meeting, that her little sister would just shut up. “Meg,” she said as patiently as she could through gritted teeth. “Mark isn’t saying anything of the kind.” She added, under her breath, “I knew you wouldn’t understand what’s happening here. I just knew it.”
Meg made a sound like a teakettle on the boil.
Quill bit her lip. If there was anything Meg hated more than a meeting about their mortgage, it was a condescending sister. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” Quill amended hastily. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”
Meg folded her arms across her chest and asked coldly, “How did you mean it?”
Quill cleared her throat nervously, but she met her sister’s eyes with her chin up. “Well, if you weren’t such a drama queen, I could have prepared you for this.”
“Me! Me the drama queen! As if this whole bankruptcy thing has just dropped on us out of the blue. You’ve known about this for months.” Meg sank back into her chair and drummed her fingertips furiously on the chair arm. “And you waited until now to tell me. Right before Christmas, naturally. Perfect timing, sis.”
“I wanted to be sure Kingsfield made us a real offer. An offer we can live with. An offer that will let us keep the baby and the bathwater.” Quill made a face and added lamely, “So to speak.”
Meg growled.
Mark Anthony Jefferson shifted uneasily in his large red leather chair. Someone—perhaps Clarice, Mark’s chic and stylish wife—had piled a pyramid of blue and silver Christmas balls next to the inkstand. Quill thought about moving the ornaments out of Meg’s reach. The eight-inch sauté pans in Meg’s kitchen at the Inn were her sister’s missiles of choice, but the ornaments would do in a pinch.
Mark looked at them both sympathetically. “It’s been a rough year for a lot of small businesses, ladies.”
“I don’t get it,” Meg said. “We’ve survived tough times before. Why is this different?”
Quill ran her hands through her hair, which was thick, red, and wildly springy. “I wish I knew. I’m the one that writes the checks. I’m the one that books the guests. If anyone knows anything about why we aren’t getting more trade, I should. But, Meg, as far as I can tell, there just isn’t any business! There hasn’t been for the last six months!”
�
��Come to think of it,” Meg mused, “we did go under once before. We got fed up with trying to run the place a few years ago. We sold it to Marge Schmidt, remember? But then we bought it back again and things were just fine. So what makes this time different?”
“The new resort down the river has made a great deal of difference in the town’s economy,” Mark said.
“It’s made a big difference to us, that’s certain,” Quill said gloomily. “They’re very white linen”—she interrupted herself at Mark’s questioning look—“their restaurant’s very upscale, and that’s direct competition for us. And they rotate their celebrity chefs. That’s a huge draw. Plus, they have an indoor swimming pool.”
“We had Mike the groundskeeper put in a cross-country ski trail around our property,” Meg said. “That’s helped.”
“Except they use our ski trails and stay at the River Resort,” Quill said wryly—“There are more people coming to visit Hemlock Falls. They just aren’t coming to stay with us.” She put her hand to her throat.
“You okay?” Meg asked.
“Just a little queasiness,” Quill said. “On top of everything else, I’m probably coming down with the flu.” She took a deep breath. It seemed to help. “Mark, I hope you don’t think I’ve just been sitting around on my hands waiting for the bank to call the loan. I did a painting for our new brochure. Harvey’s put ads in the New York Times. I’ve invited a billion travel agents to come and scope us out. And there certainly seems to be more people around than ever before. They just aren’t staying with us.”
Prime Crime Holiday Bundle Page 104
