Toast Mortem

by Claudia Bishop

  Quill moved carefully away from her desk.

  “That’s right,” Mrs. Barbarossa said. “I want you to go out and go upstairs. I need that nice little boy of yours. I can’t drive through the countryside with this great gawk of a girl in the car.”

  “Not Jack!” Dina said. “I’ll go with you!” Her face was so pale, Quill was afraid she was going to faint.

  “I wouldn’t hurt a hair on his head! What kind of a person do you think I am?”

  Quill moved away from the desk, step-by-step. “A very clever person, to be sure,” she said steadily.

  “Well, I have been smarter than the average bear,” she said coyly. “You just go on up now and get little Jack. The two of us will wait right here.” She bared her teeth. “If you don’t go right this minute, I’ll pull this knife all the way across her throat and be out that window before you know it.”

  “Of course you will,” Quill said. “But you’ll want to take your sister’s computer. It’s evidence. And you wouldn’t want the police to get their hands on it. Vee, is it? And the two of you are sisters?”

  “Thank God I got the looks. We never got along all that well, to tell you the truth.”

  “She didn’t seem like a very nice person.” By now, Quill was three feet from them. She held the computer out, like an offering. She held Dina’s eyes with hers and shook her head lightly. No

  “Well, she wasn’t,” Mrs. Barbarossa said fretfully. “Do you know, she wanted to take my money, too?”

  “Just like Chef LeVasque.”

  “That man! He thought the recipe was a joke! Vee tried to make the recipe herself, you know.” Mrs. Barbarossa sniffed contemptuously. “And the little jackass said he could win it in a snap. But the two of them are professionals. They aren’t eligible.”

  “So it was really LeVasque’s recipe? And not yours, after all?”

  Mrs. Barbarossa took an indignant breath. Quill raised the computer and swung hard. Dina, weak with fear, shoved herself sideways. Quill cracked the old lady on the head, driven by panic for Jack, for Dina, and filled with horror at herself.

  Mrs. Barbarossa went down like a stone.

  Quill grabbed the knife and threw it out the open window. Dina sat dazed on the floor. Quill grabbed her by the shoulders and cradled her against her breast. She pulled off her shirt and wrapped it around the wounds in Dina’s neck, then laid her carefully flat on the floor. She opened the door and shouted for Davy. Then she punched 911 frantically into the phone and shouted for the paramedics. She sat down again, Dina in her arms, half-naked, covered with blood, weeping.

  20

  Academy Welcomes New Chef!

  —Headline from the Hemlock Falls Gazette,

  August 14th

  “She was as crazy as an outhouse rat,” Meg said wonderingly. “How in the world did she think she could get away with it?”

  The sun was dropping behind the academy across the gorge. Less than twenty-four hours had passed since the paramedics had taken Dina and Mrs. Barbarossa to the emergency room. Meg and Quill sat in the gazebo. Doreen sat on the steps, silent.

  Jack was asleep on Quill’s lap. She’d had to leave him with Doreen to give her official statement to the police, but she hadn’t let him out of her sight once she’d gotten back to the Inn.

  “I don’t know how I’d have lived with myself if I’d killed her, Meg.”

  “Well, you didn’t,” Meg said. “And nobody would have blamed you if you had. What else could you do?”

  Quill smoothed Jack’s curls. “Maybe not hit her so hard.” She’d felt sick with dread all day.

  “Don’t think about it.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about it!”

  “She killed two people, Quill. She would have killed poor Dina without a second thought. She threatened you.”

  “She wouldn’t have gotten near Jack,” Quill said fiercely. “I don’t like knowing this about myself, Meg. That I can do what I did.”

  “I like knowing it,” Meg said. “You were brave. And you were in a corner. And like the man said, you did what you had to do.”

  “What man?”

  “I don’t know. The Man. What, you were supposed to stand there and let her cut Dina’s throat? Just so you could avoid clocking a monster over the head with a computer?” She reached over and tucked a curl behind Quill’s ear. “Your hair’s falling down again.”

  Jack stirred in her arms, woke, and sat up. Then he began to wriggle. “Let me down, Mommy.”

  “Not just yet, Jack.”

  “Yes, just yet! Let me down now!” He held out his arms to Doreen. “Gram!” he shouted. “Mommy’s squishing me!”

  Doreen got to her feet with a grunt. “You’d best let me take him up for dinner.”

  Quill put her cheek against Jack’s. He smelled of sunshine, soap, and little boy.

  Doreen’s face softened. “Best to keep to his routine, dear. It’s all over now.”

  “You’re right.”

  Quill let him down. He scrambled off her lap and danced out of the gazebo and into the sunshine. “Chase me, Gram.”

  “I’m too old and too cranky to go off a-chasing you,” Doreen said sternly. “You get up on to bed, now. As for you two,” she put her hands on her hips. “You’d best come on in and eat something. You haven’t had a thing all day, Quill. And as for you, missy, you’ve got some free time on your hands—you can spend it making something tasty for your sister.”

  Quill clapped her hand to her head. “The Welcome Dinner! I forgot all about it! Shouldn’t you be at the academy?”

  “Cancelled,” Doreen said. “So she’s free as a bird. I’m taking Jack up, now, and I’ll look in on Dina.”

  “Don’t wake her up,” Quill warned. “Andy Bishop prescribed a sedative for her. I finally got her to take it. The more she rests, the faster she’ll heal.”

  “She’s going to have a right good scar,” Doreen predicted gloomily. “But at least her head’s still attached to her neck. Wouldn’t have been if it hadn’t been for you, Quill.” She touched Quill’s cheek with a gnarled finger. “I’m proud to know you, missy. You did the right thing.”

  The heaviness in Quill’s heart lightened, just a little.

  “As for that Welcome Dinner, Meg will tell you all about that. Goat!” She turned and trudged across the lawn after Jack.

  Quill raised her eyebrows. “Goat?”

  “Nobody wanted goat.” Meg settled comfortably back into the lounge chair. “We had exactly three confirmed guests. Once the word got out about the entree, people stayed away in droves. Of course, the hoorah here had something to do with it, too.” There was a cynical twist to her mouth. “We’d be full up tonight if I hadn’t closed the kitchen.”

  “It wouldn’t have been anyone from Hemlock Falls,” Quill said warmly.

  “No,” Meg agreed. “But the media’s not prone to either tact or respect. I’ve got Mike posted at the end of the driveway in the pickup.”

  “I didn’t think of that. That was smart.”

  “Glad it meets with your approval. So.” Meg moved restlessly in her chair. “Did Davy let you in on the particulars?”

  “Some. Mrs. Barbarossa—it’s Serena Canfield, actually, started paying blackmail money to LeVasque about a month after she got all that cash.”

  “So it was his recipe.”

  “Yes, it was. The contest has strict rules about professionals, of course. Only amateurs. And Serena claims that once the news about her win was publicized, all kinds of people came out of the woodwork demanding money from her.”

  “I’ve heard that happens to people who win the lottery.”

  “It’s one of the reasons a lot of state lotteries let you opt for anonymity. Anyhow, Serena’s quite the blogger. She met a few other lottery winners online and came up with the idea for this group.”

  “WARP.”

  “It stands for Winners Against Rapacious Predators.”

  “Oh, my.”

  “That was Col
lier’s contribution, by the way. The name.”

  “The mortgage banker?”

  “Ironic, no?”

  “Very.”

  They grinned at each other.

  Quill was feeling better and better. “They formed this group and elected Serena president. Her gruesome little joke was that they all take the names of dead lottery winners. All of them wanted to change their names, because every single winner had the same problem. Demands for money from relatives, friends, and strangers.

  “Anyhow, Serena decided she’d had enough of Le-Vasque’s demands. So she arranged this little convention here at the Inn.”

  “She planned to kill him all along?”

  “Apparently.”

  “The state of New York isn’t going to like that.”

  “Premeditated, without a doubt. So, she killed him.” Quill took a deep breath. “This is an even uglier part. Vee . . .”

  “That’s Mrs. Owens.”

  “Vee decided she had a right to some of the money, too. After all, she was the one who’d passed the winning recipe along to her sister. And Serena had had enough. She’d given LeVasque more than four hundred thousand dollars, the state and the feds had taken a bunch for taxes, and she had jewelry bills to pay.”

  “You mean those rhinestone brooches?”

  “Weren’t rhinestones at all.”

  “Golly.”

  “Yep. A jewel and her money are soon parted.”

  Meg groaned.

  “Bobby Ray Steinmetz was the obvious person to take the fall for Vee’s murder. He had a record, and he was going through his lottery winnings at a rapid rate, so Serena figured the police would find a motive if somehow the robbery part came out.”

  “She met Vee at the statue in Peterson Park to hand over more cash. And after she killed her, she took it back.”

  “How did she get her hands on the knife from my kitchen?”

  “Sheer bad luck for Clare. I don’t think LeVasque actually meant to steal it, Meg. But you were chasing him around the prep table with the sauté pan, and I think he just grabbed it with some muddled idea of defending himself. He left it in the kitchens at the academy and Serena picked it up because it was the biggest, heaviest knife on the rack. She told Davy she wanted to make sure she did the job right.”

  “So poor Clare . . .”

  “Should be out of jail as soon as Justin can get the proper paperwork done.”

  “Then she’ll be home for dinner,” Meg said with an irritating air of complacency. “Justin’s a genius.”

  It took more than a few hours to get Clare out of the Five Points Correctional Facility, but she walked into the Tavern Lounge with Justin late Saturday afternoon looking worn, too thin, and happy.

  “Hey!” Meg leaped out of her chair and hugged her. “You’re free!”

  “You’d think it’d be like the movies,” Clare said wryly. “You find the real murderer and boom! You’re presented with the jailhouse key. Doesn’t work like that.”

  “Process,” Justin said with a half smile. He put his arm around Meg and kissed the top of her head. “Are we in time?”

  “We haven’t started yet.”

  “What’s with all the balloons?” Clare said. “Is it somebody’s birthday?”

  “Mine!” Jack said. “I’m two!” He proudly put three fingers up. He held a stuffed rabbit by one ear. Max trailed after him. Bismarck trailed after Max. The cat took a long look at his mistress, then strolled up and twined around her ankles. Clare bent down and rubbed his head. “I missed you, too, buddy.”

  “That is my lion,” Jack said. “And that is my birthday cake. And that is my mommy.” He cocked his head to one side. “All of my friends are here.” He pointed. “That’s Dina. She hurt her neck. But it’s going to be okay, Mommy says. That’s Davy, her good friend. He is helping her with her neck.”

  “Because his arm is around her?” Clare guessed.

  “Exactly. And there are my friends from the kitchen, too. And Mike. Mike is a good digger, but not as good as I am.”

  “And your gram, of course.” Clare waved at Doreen.

  “Yes.” He clapped his hands in delight. “They are all here for my birthday! It’s because I’m two!”

  “You are a fortunate boy,” Clare agreed. She stiffened. “My God. Is that Madame?”

  Quill glanced over at the corner table. Mrs. LeVasque sat between Harland and Marge. Harland looked mildly grumpy. (What sixty-two-year-old dairy farmer wants to be at a birthday party for a two-year-old boy? Quill had seen that he was well supplied with beer.) Marge listened attentively to Madame. All three of them turned and looked at Clare.

  “There’s an opening at the academy,” Quill said. “Madame was hoping you’d be interested. And your old rooms at the annex are ready for you and Bismarck.” She paused. “Meg and I persuaded her that the employment contract you had with LeVasque should have been voided by his death.”

  “So you’re free to choose.” Meg put her hands on her hips. “What I’m thinking is that the two of us working together can come up with pretty fabulous ideas to keep the tourists coming to both places. What about it.”

  Clare turned perfectly white. Then a tide of red swept up from her collarbone to her hairline. “I don’t owe anybody any money anymore.”

  “Let me sort those ‘any’s out.” Meg closed her eyes. “Hmm. The answer would be no, you don’t owe anyone a thing.”

  “And I’ve got a job?”

  “If you want it.”

  Clare pinched her nose hard, but two tears ran down her cheeks. “I owe you,” she said. “If I can think of a way to thank you . . . there’s no way to thank you.”

  “Sure there is.” Meg grabbed her by the arm. “About that recipe for the shortbread . . .”

  “Meg,” Quill said.

  “So never mind about the recipe for the shortbread.”

  “I can’t quite take all this in,” Clare admitted. “I think I’m dreaming.”

  Meg grabbed her arm. “C’mon. You’ll be right across the gorge from us. It’ll be cool.” She dragged Clare over to the table. Justin grabbed Meg’s free hand and followed them. Quill watched them and tried not to feel incredibly sentimental.

  Jack tugged imperatively at Quill’s skirt. “Daddy.”

  “I know, darling. I miss him, too.”

  “Daddy!” Jack pulled at her skirt and she turned around.

  There he was, standing in the doorway. His hair was a little grayer around the temples. There were a few more lines around his coin-colored eyes. And he was darkly tanned from some desert sun thousands of miles away.

  “Myles,” she said.

  He opened his arms and she went into them.

  Author’s Note

  I’m absolutely delighted to be bringing the next volume of Meg and Quill’s adventures in Hemlock Falls to readers. If you have met Meg and Quill before, I’d like to say, welcome back! And if you are new to this series, thank you very much for giving us a try.

  If you have a love for cooking, I would love to hear from you. Join me for a chat any time on my blog at www.claudiabishop.com/blog. I’m especially interested in kitchen experiences.

  Q: What is your main purpose when you create a menu?

  Q: Has the way you’ve cooked changed over the years?

  Q: Where did you learn your way around the kitchen?

  Q: Do you have a favorite technique? What gives you the most pleasure at the stove?

  Q: How important is equipment? The oven? What tools are essential to you?

 

 

 
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