“And what are we going to do about it?” Meg looked brightly from one woman to the other. “If we need a good lawyer, I can recommend someone.”
Quill eyed her sister. “Just what did you do today, Meg?”
“Oh, you know. This and that. Went to Buttermilk Falls and hiked the gorge. Justin says this is the most beautiful part of the world ever. Seeing it through his eyes, I have to agree.”
“I am so glad you had a restful afternoon.”
Meg reached over and patted her knee. “If I’d known, I would have been there like a shot.”
“You did know. I left at least six messages for you.”
Meg shrugged. “I turned my cell off when I was hiking. Wasn’t I here as soon as I did get the messages?”
“Yeah.” Quill rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Anyhow. It’s over. At least, I hope it’s over.”
“Which brings us back to my original question. What are we going to do about LeVasque?”
“Sue him,” Clare said briefly.
“We’re not very litigious,” Quill said. “But I was wondering if this qualifies as some sort of harassment. He has to be breaking some kind of law. Don’t you think?”
“Vandalism and malicious mischief,” Meg said with that infuriating air of authority. “No question. Justin says we could have LeVasque arrested.”
“Of course, there’s the matter of proving it,” Quill added. “I did ask Mike to take the sign over to Davy Kiddermeister in the hope that there’s some sort of evidence to link him to that particular prank. But I’ll bet you that last case of cheap red wine that LeVasque was careful not to leave any clue at all.”
“All this must be costing you quite a bit,” Clare said.
Quill made a face. “I didn’t dare add it up. Just ordered food and wine with total abandon. I’m due to go over the quarter numbers with John Raintree in a few weeks, and I’ll take a look at the total damages then.”
“John’s done our accounts for years,” Meg said to Clare. “He was our business manager until he fell madly in love with my sister.”
Quill took a purple throw pillow and slung it in Meg’s direction. “Don’t be a jerk, Meg.”
“Sorry,” Meg said blithely. “Anyhow, it all worked out for the best. He married a terrific woman and they have a terrific baby, and best of all, he still straightens out Quill’s messes every quarter.”
“You are being just a pain tonight,” Quill said. “Will you cut it out?”
“It’s guilt!” Meg clutched her chest. “Guilt, guilt, guilt that I’m having a fabulous time, um . . . hiking . . . while you two were forted up like those guys at the Alamo.”
“Well, the Spaniards almost won this one, too,” Quill said. “But not quite. And spare me any more gush about your hiking adventures, okay?”
“Myles has been away too-o-o long,” Meg said. She ducked, as Quill picked up a thick-ish volume of Jacques Pépin. “Now that would hurt. And I apologize for my inappropriate blabbing.”
Clare shook her head, smiling. “I think you’re in love.”
“Is that what it is?” Quill said crossly.
“She’s giddy,” Clare said. “Looks like love to me.”
“Well, LeVasque looks like a big, fat problem to me,” Quill said, bringing matters back to the issue at hand. “And I’m ready for some suggestions on how to solve it.”
“You’re not interested in suing him?”
“It’s tacky,” Meg said.
“It’s tacky and expensive, and it’s cowardly,” Quill said. “Plus, it takes too long.”
“Hit man?” Clare suggested.
“Yeah, right,” Meg said. “Next?”
“We talk to him,” Quill said.
“Hm.” Clare’s tone was dubious. “Maybe with a two-by-four hidden behind our backs, just in case?”
“No.” Quill was calm, but definite. “We’ll try a reasonable, rational discussion first.”
“Then the two-by-four?” Meg said hopefully.
“No hitting, no biting, no yelling. Just rational discourse.”
“Okay, Kissinger. It’s your funeral.” Meg reached for the bottle of wine and poured herself a second glass.
Clare stood up. “Let’s go, then.”
“Now?” Meg set the bottle back on the coffee table.
“It’s what . . . nine thirty? On Tuesday? The classes are over for the day and everyone’s sitting around with their collective fingers up their collective noses listening to LeVasque rant about how they screwed up during the day.”
“You have employee meetings at night?” Quill asked.
“LeVasque’s a night owl.”
Many chefs were, Quill knew. “Well, okay, I guess.”
“He’ll be as relaxed as he ever gets. And Madame will have had her ration of vodka for the day, so she’ll be mellowed out some. If you’re going to get anywhere with LeVasque, Quill, now’s the time. His little prank’s backfired on him. You do think,” she added anxiously, “that Adela Henry made good on her threat to clobber him with cancelling the dinner?”
“She left word with Dina that she’d settled his hash,” Quill said. “Gosh. I would have liked to have seen that.”
“He may act like he’s God Almighty and doesn’t give a hoot for the peasants, but you can be sure he’s smart enough to know he can’t get the entire village mad at him.” Clare set her jaw. “I’m ready if you guys are. We’ll show him he can’t jerk the Quilliams around. Or the Sparrows, either.”
“Okay.” Quill got up, brushed off her skirt, and rewound her hair on the top of her head. “Let’s roll, ladies.”
“So what is it we’re going to say to him?” Quill tapped the steering wheel with her fingers ten minutes later.
“Nervous?” Meg said.
“Yes. No. Sort of.”
It hadn’t taken any time at all to reach the academy. Quill pulled into the circular drive with the feeling that she’d been transported instantly from Meg’s rooms to the big, lighted building with no time at all for reflection. Or for backing out. “What kind of mother am I, anyway?” she said aloud. “Am I a wimp? Heck no! I’m setting a good example for Jack. I’m standing up for myself. For him. And for the Inn!” She put her foot on the brake but kept the car running. “I should probably park in the lot,” she said. “Not here in front. See that sign? It says: NO PARKING.”
“Who cares?” Meg said. “Besides, if you leave it here with the keys in it, we can make a quick getaway if we have to. And anyway, the guy’s a bully. And you know what happens when you confront a bully.”
“He gets even madder?” Quill said.
“No! He backs off and grovels. Right, Clare?”
“Right.”
Meg hopped out of the car and stood on the asphalt. Quill killed the engine and got out, too. Clare led the way up the wide front steps and pushed open the big oak doors.
Inside, the place smelled of fresh paint and wood wax with a slight winey fragrance. The place was dimly illuminated, the overhead lights having been turned off for the night. The classrooms with the Viking dual-fuel ranges were directly across the lavish foyer. Meg went to the glass windows that overlooked them and peered in. “Gorgeous,” she muttered between her teeth. “Damn!”
Quill peered over her shoulder. Five ranges occupied each of five workstations. Prep sinks had been built at the end of each station. Pot racks hung over each stove, filled with sauté pans and pots of various sizes.
“The knives and such are in the drawers in the middle of the workstations,” Clarissa said. “You see those cameras overhead? If a student can’t actually see the master chef teaching the class, it’s available on camera. All a student has to do is look up.”
“Words fail me,” Meg said. “Where in the heck did all the money come from?”
Clare looked surprised. “You know, I’m not sure. Investors, I guess.” She smiled, and Quill was struck again by how sad her face was in repose. The contrast was startling. “But if I’d paid more attentio
n to the money end of things, I wouldn’t be in the fix I’m in, would I? Anyway.” She sighed. “LeVasque holds his meetings in the tasting room. It’s over this way.”
They followed her down the hall to another set of giant double doors. These were carved with representations of grapevines and hops.
“The man thinks awfully big, for a short guy,” Meg muttered.
Clare tapped on the doors as a formality, then pressed the brass handle down and walked in.
The tasting room was as lavish as the classroom. The ceiling soared to twenty-four feet or more. The flooring was Italian marble with brass insets. Three of the four walls were covered in oak shelving specifically designed for wine. A long chest-high bar ran around the three walls of wine, with brass spigots at intervals of about ten feet.
Three long trestle tables occupied the center of the room. The academy staff sat at the middle one. Quill recognized Raleigh Brewster, Clare’s henna-haired neighbor. She was a little vague on the names of the rest of the members of the academy; she knew that the older woman with a nose like a hatchet and iron gray hair folded into a tight bun was Madame LeVasque, but the employees were mere faces.
A tall, handsome man, elegantly thin, leaped to his feet as Clare came into the room. “Cara!”
“Hello, Pietro.” Clare surveyed the table with her arms folded across her chest, her stance angry. “Where’s LeVasque?”
“We thought perhaps you were he.” Pietro made a face and shrugged. “He has not been seen.”
“Hiding out,” Clare said. “I’m not surprised. The little coward.”
Quill, alarmed at the belligerent tone this meeting was already taking, cleared her throat in what she hoped was a marked manner. Clare ignored her. “You all must have heard what happened at the Inn this afternoon.”
“It was a lousy trick,” Raleigh muttered.
“And an expensive one,” Clare said. “Somebody owes the Quilliams big-time for this prank.”
Madame’s iron gray eyebrows rose in alarm. “How expensive?” she demanded.
This was the first time Quill had ever heard Madame speak. And she wasn’t French. Those flat vowels (“ha-ow expensive?”) were strictly midwestern.
“You have a rough total, Quill?” Clare nudged her. “Quill?”
“Um.” Quill patted her skirt pocket helplessly.
“It doesn’t matter now,” Clare said firmly. “What matters is that you have to do something about the Maitre, Madame.”
Madame spread her hands in a gesture of grim resignation. “You know how he is.”
“I know that the only person he’ll listen to is you.” Clare dragged a chair away from the table and swung it around, so that the back faced the group. Then she straddled the seat, sat down, and leaned her arms on the back. “This harassment of the Inn has to stop. Well?”
Madame’s eyes shifted craftily. “I’m not saying he did it. And I’m not saying he didn’t.”
“Of course he did it. He put that sign up, he called the animal control officer, and he told those poor people at the Inn Quill had swine flu . . .”
“I overheard that,” Madame admitted. “He got some bad information. I’m sorry about that.”
“. . . Not to mention a bunch of other crap.”
Madame rubbed her hand over her considerable jaw and looked Meg and Quill over. “You two. Sit down.”
Meg and Quill sat in the two chairs the farthest from Madame. Madame continued to stare at them.
“Lovely place you have here,” Quill offered, as the silence stretched out.
“You’re Margaret Quilliam,” Madame said suddenly, ignoring Quill’s attempt at social pleasantry. “Bernie thought you might come and work for us. You make a decision yet?”
Meg said, “Hah!” and folded her arms across her chest.
“Thought so.” Mrs. LeVasque shrugged. “There you are, then.”
Quill felt her jaw drop.
“There you are then, what?” Meg demanded. “You’ll stop trying to drive us out of business if I come and cook for you?”
“Of course not. But Bernie didn’t like to be balked, and it’s pretty clear you balked him.”
“This is outrageous,” Meg muttered between clenched teeth.
“It’s an explanation,” Madame said. “And once I’ve got an explanation, I always had ways to keep the Maitre in line.”
She pronounced it “may-ter,” with no attempt to soften the vowel or roll the “r.” With Mrs. LeVasque, it was becoming clear that what you saw was what you got.
“Clare? I hear you’re working for these two, now?” Madame jerked her thumb at Meg and Quill. “Yeah? Well, all that would do is make him madder, don’t you see.” This was said with an air of such kindly explanation that Quill bit her lip so she wouldn’t laugh. She cleared her throat to get Madame’s attention. “But neither of these things is going to happen, Mrs. LeVasque. Meg isn’t ready to give up her situation at the Inn . . .”
“I’d rather be dead,” Meg exploded. “I’d rather eat a rat!”
“. . . And Clare is a wonderful addition to our staff. So we’d like to come to an understanding if we could.”
Madame sighed. “I’ll have to talk to him.”
Quill, heartily encouraged by the burgeoning success of her negotiations, decided to press on. “Perhaps if you asked him to come and meet with us? Right now? It’d be such a relief to us all to settle this.”
Madame looked around the table. “Who saw him last?”
“I thought I heard him on the phone in the office about seven,” Raleigh said.
“That would have been me,” Pietro said.
A man who was Chinese, compact and round-faced, raised his hand with an eager smile. He looked to be in his mid-thirties. “I’m Jim Chen, Chef Quilliam,” he said. “Seafood and fish mostly. Just let me say how much I admire your way with aspic . . .”
“Which is a shot at me,” snapped the aggressively drab middle-aged woman next to him. Her graying brown hair was skinned back from her forehead and pulled into a painfully tight bun. The thick lenses of her spectacles made her eyes look bulgy. “I’m Mrs. Owens. Fruits and jellies along with the fruit and veg. Not to take anything away from your aspic, Margaret, but you might think about how long you soak your gela—”
“Be quiet, Mrs. Owens,” Madame said flatly. “Jim, any idea where Bernie is?”
Jim Chen shrugged.
“You have anything to add other than advice for Miss Quilliam, Mrs. Owens?”
“No, Madame.” Mrs. Owens sniffed.
“Then just shut up for a while, okay? Pietro, go look in the wine cellar, will you? He’s probably after another bottle of brandy.”
Pietro tossed his head and said frostily, “I am not a sheep dog, Madame. If you wish to recover M. LeVasque, perhaps you would like to go yourself.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Raleigh shoved her chair back. “I’ll go get him. The wine cellar, Madame?”
Mrs. LeVasque shrugged. “That’s my best guess.”
Raleigh left the room to an uneasy silence, which was not broken until they heard her scream. It was short, high, and panicked. Quill was out of her seat and rushing toward the wine cellar before she had her wits together.
LeVasque lay facedown in front of the Rieslings. A blade was buried in his neck. A piece of paper was crumpled in his left hand. And there was blood all over the beautiful stone floor.
10
~Roti LeVasque~
For four personnes
6 pounds center-cut pork ribs
LeVasque Pork Rib Rub*
LeVasque Pork Rib Marinade*
The secret to roasting pork ribs is all in the technique, n’est-ce pas? It is essential to break down the tissues prior to the grilling. Rub the raw ribs with the rub. Bake in a 300-degree oven in a foil-covered pan for two hours. Brush all sides with the marinade in an attractive way. Place on a hot grill for five minutes. Turn. Grill another five minutes. Serve with panache.
*In
all fine groceries and 7-Eleven stores.
—From Brilliance in the Kitchen, B. LeVasque
“I keep telling you. He was already dead when I got there.”
Raleigh’s face was ashen, but her voice was steady. She sat in the chair she had abandoned to go search for LeVasque two hours before. Lieutenant Harker from the state trooper barracks loomed over her. He looked just like the ring-necked vultures Quill had seen on a recent National Geographic special: skinny, malevolent, and ready to feast on corpses.
Quill, Meg, and Clare were clustered at the far end of the table, with the members of the academy. Madame’s face was a stone. Mrs. Owens picked nervously at her cuticles. Jim Chen and Pietro Giancava sat with their arms folded across their chests, legs extended, in attitudes of fake unconcern.
Despite herself, Quill yawned. Harker’s head came up and his pale eyes found hers. Quill suppressed a shudder.
“It would have to be him,” Meg muttered. They had encountered Harker before. “At least he stopped glomming on to you after he heard you married Myles.”
“Hasn’t made him any smarter, though.” Quill rubbed her arms, although the room wasn’t cold. “And if he’s decided Raleigh’s the murderer, nothing short of a lightning strike will change his mind. Meg, I’m so tired!”
Meg took her hand and held it. “You’ve had an awful day. It’s been an awful night.”
“Maybe I should make some coffee,” Clare said. “The cops wouldn’t have a problem with that, right?”
“Go and do it,” Madame said flatly.
“Talk to Sheriff Kiddermeister,” Quill suggested. “He’s really in charge here. Harker’s just trying to horn in.”
“Okay.” Clare got up. Davy and two of his patrolmen stood outside the open door to the wine cellar. Inside, the forensics team did their work. The body had been taken away minutes before. Quill was glad of it. She thought she could smell the metallic reek of blood among the mingled odors of wine and fresh wood.
Toast Mortem Page 10
