Dread on Arrival (15 page)

“It’s not a live show or anything. It’s a shoot. So they can rewind, or whatever, or cut.” Quill was rather vague on the details. “Have you said anything to Meg about this?”

“Poor Harvey left the store just before you got there.
She
”—the venom Clare invested in that inoffensive pronoun was remarkable—“sent him up to the Inn to talk to Meg.”

“I’d better get up there, then.”

“Right. I’ll see you at this engagement party tonight, I guess. Celebrity chef on call.” She adjusted her tote on her shoulder with a casual air. “What’s Meg planning on serving, do you know? We never did settle on a final menu.”

Quill thought with dread of the choux pastry. “I’m not sure. You know how menus go—she’s considered a couple of things. Edmund asked for a ‘sophisticated country house weekend’ theme using local produce.”

“That’ll mean pears, I expect. Pears are all over the farmer’s markets right now. I’ve got a great recipe for pears in cream. By the way, where is he in all this, anyway?”

“Who?”

“The fraud, the fiancé, the sucker-sophisticate. Edmund Tree.”

“Up at the Inn, I think. In his rooms. The Provencal suite.”

“He’s not staying with her?”

“No.”

Clare narrowed her eyes. “I know that look, Quill. You’re being discreet. Why isn’t Tree staying with his sweetie? Why isn’t she staying with him? The Provencal suite is nine hundred percent nicer than those apartments over there. I know. I checked them out as a place to live when I thought I would have to leave the academy and live on my own.”

One of the rules of innkeeping—Quill couldn’t remember which number it was—stated very firmly that what went on at the Inn stayed at the Inn. It didn’t do to gossip about the guests.

“Rose Ellen is staying pure for Edmund.”

“Say what?”

“Or maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe Edmund is staying pure for Rose Ellen.”

“Fruitcakes,” Clare said darkly. “And I’m not talking Christmas, here.”

9

∼Choux Pastry Puffs∼

SAVORY:1 pound chopped fresh, steamed shrimp, crab, or clams3 tablespoons finely diced celery1 tablespoon finely diced leek1 lemon3 tablespoons fresh minced parsley, chives and dill, combined¼ cup freshly made mayonnaise36 baked choux puff pastriesBlend all ingredients. Chill. Fill puffs.SWEET:1 cup Pecans Quilliam4 cups English Cream, flavored with curaçao36 baked choux puff pastriesMix all ingredients. Chill. Fill puffs just before serving.PECANS QUILLIAM:4 ounces butter¼ cup dark brown sugar1 cup whole pecansMelt butter and sugar over medium heat. Add pecans. Over high-medium heat, toast the pecans until caramelized. Cool. Place in blender and chop fine. Quill came through the back door of the kitchen curious about her sister’s reaction to the chance to judge the relative merits of Tree and Barcini, chefs for a day. Her curiosity was satisfied almost immediately.

“Have you ever heard of anything as stupid in your whole
life
?”

“Probably not,” Quill said cautiously.

The kitchen was usually hectic at four o’clock and today was no exception. Bjarne seared beef tenderloin at the grill. Elizabeth chopped tomatoes. Devon and Hilary, students from the nearby Cornell School of Hotel Administration, scrubbed pots.

Meg stood at the twelve-burner stove over a large sauté pan. She dumped a wad of butter and a bowl of brown sugar into the pan and turned on the heat.

“Are you going to judge the contest?”

“The Slap Down, you mean? In your dreams. I’d rather eat a rat.” She shook the pan, and then dumped a bowl of whole pecans into it. “Harvey says they’re going to have the whole pitiful performance at Bonne Goutè. What’s Clare thinking? She’s going to look like a horse’s ass.”

“She didn’t say so—well, she did say she thought she’d look like a horse’s ass—but I think Madame is forcing her hand.”

“Yeah, well, Madame’s a trip, that’s for sure. It has to be hard not to be boss in your own kitchen.” Meg looked smug.

“You know she’ll be here tonight?”

“Clare? Yeah, I know that.” Meg peered into the sauté pan. “How come these darn nuts aren’t caramelizing?”

“You’re still serving choux pastry.”

“So what if I am?”

“Clare’s specialty. I’m just asking for a little clarification.”

“You ought to be asking for caramelization. Ah! There we go.” She lifted the pan from the burner and set it on the prep table. “We’ll let it cool off a bit. Then, Elizabeth, pulverize them in the blender, would you? And then start on the cream filling. Go easy on the curaçao. People will want to taste pecans, not liquor.” Meg untied her apron and took it off. “There. We’re good to go. I’m off to the lounge. I want to check Kathleen’s setups.”

The short way to the lounge was out the back door and around the side of the building, and Meg invariably took it. Quill followed her outside. Meg glanced over her shoulder. “Are you coming with me?”

“No. I wanted to talk without risking a big hoorah in the kitchen.”

“So you’re risking a big hoorah out here?”

“What I’m doing,” Quill said with a flash of temper, “is trying to make you see reason. Why are you behaving like this? Are you trying to start a fight with Clare?”

Meg ran her hands through her hair, so that it stood up in short spikes. “I am a peaceful kind of person. I always have been. But I will respond when provoked beyond reason. I am not trying to pick a fight.”

Quill let this astonishing piece of mendacity pass. “This doesn’t make any sense. You know as well as I do that the average person can’t tell the difference between choux pastry and a wad of laundered Kleenex. So who’s going to be able to tell the difference tonight? Clare, that’s who.”

Meg scowled. It was the sort of scowl Quill hadn’t seen on her sister since she was five years old and trying to bluff about being bullied at preschool. “She sure will. And then she’s going to eat her words.”

They’d gotten around the building to the rose gardens. The gardens were one of the loveliest parts of the grounds in good weather, and even now, with fall coming on, the roses made a brilliant show of color against the emerald grass. Quill stopped and sat down on the nearest bench. She patted the space next to her. “Sit down here, Meggie. Tell me about it.”

“Edmund Tree told Meg that Clare Sparrow thought her pastry was a joke.” Quill sat curled up in one corner of her living room sofa. Jack was busy on the floor at her feet, gleefully stacking his wooden blocks in a tower and then knocking them over. Doreen was in Quill’s tiny kitchen, making macaroni and cheese. Quill, still flushed with indignation, looked up to see Doreen’s reaction. She paused, cheese grater in one hand and went, “T’uh!”

“They were going over the menu for his engagement party tonight and he asked for sweets and savories. Meg said if he wanted pastry, it’d be better to get Clare to cater.”

“She’s right, from what I hear about Clare’s pies.”

“Of course she’s right.” Quill was furious, and trying to keep it from Jack. “My sister is a good person. A great person. She acknowledges greatness in others, and Clare is a great pastry chef. Anyhow, so then Edmund tells Meg that Clare was telling anyone who would listen that Meg’s pastry was a joke.”

“You think Clare really said that?”

“I do not. I think Edmund Tree is a troublemaker. I have no idea why. Grr. I can’t wait until the whole pile of them get out of my Inn.”

“Grr,” Jack said.
“Grrr!”

Doreen grated another couple inches of cheddar cheese. “Why would he make trouble? Just for the sake of making trouble?”

“Who knows? Maybe he’s malicious by nature. Maybe he thinks he can get Meg and Clare to start a feud in front of the cameras on this Slap Down. They’re both coming to the engagement party tonight, you know. I’m really worried that there’s going to be a scene.”

“You were thinking of skippin’ the party, weren’t you?”

Quill looked wistfully at Jack. “I have to drop in for about half an hour. I was hoping Meg could handle the hostessing part.”

“Not darn likely. So much for delegating. You might better stick through the whole thing in case there’s another riot. You may not be much at delegating, but you’re pretty good at handling scenes.” Doreen thought a moment, then added, “Unless you start one yourself.”

Jack toppled his block tower with a shriek of joy. “All done!” He jumped to his feet and clambered into Quill’s lap. “I pushed them over a billion times, Mommy.”

“Good work, my darling boy. Very, very good work.” She wrapped her arms around him and rubbed her cheek over the top of his head. Life could be sweetly uncomplicated if she didn’t have to deal with guests.

Doreen gave her a shrewd glance. “Want me to get after this Tree with the mop?”

“I’m tempted. But no. I’ll just have as little to do with them as humanly possible.”

Doreen took Jack’s plastic dinner plate out of the cupboard and heaped it with the macaroni and cheese. She added a pile of cooked carrots and a sliced tomato. “They going to live in Hemlock Falls after the wedding?”

“Who? The Trees? Oh my word. I hope not.”

“What’s she going to do with the store, after she gets married, then? Hasn’t been open but a few months, and she’s been raking it in, from what I hear.”

“She certainly wants people to think so.”

“What, you think she’s broke?”

“I don’t know. There was something about the shop that bothered me. And Clare said the apartments are tiny and not very nice. You think Edmund would have given her money for a better place.”

“Maybe she’s thrifty. You look at that Marge Schmidt. She’s got more money than God and buys them chinos at Walmart.”

This was true.

“If Rose Ellen is planning on moving here, she never said a word to me. I hope not.” Quill shook her head. “It’s nuts. There’s no way an urbanite like Edmund would live here. He’s rich. He lives all over the world. She’ll probably sell the place and we’ll never see either one of them again, thank goodness.”

“Marge Schmidt said they was looking to buy a couple of acres down by the river.”

Quill closed her eyes and leaned her head against the sofa back. “You know what? I don’t have to think about these people for another hour yet, until I make an appearance at the flipping engagement party. And I won’t. Come on, Jack-a-rootie. Gramma Doreen has your mac and cheese all set up.”

“Mac and
cheese
!” Jack hugged himself ecstatically.

“Okay, pal. We’re going to forget all about Mr. Tree and his shenanigans for a bit.” Quill picked him up and headed for the small dining room table. A thunderous knocking at her door interrupted her progress halfway.

She handed Jack over to Doreen and answered the door.

“They’re gone!” Edmund Tree stood there, teeth clenched, eyes bulging in rage. He was half-dressed in a tuxedo: fine wool trousers and a starched white shirt. The sleeves of his shirt flapped wide.

“Hello to you, too,” Quill said mildly. She stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind her. “How can I help you? What’s gone?”

“Rose Ellen’s rings. Both of them. Her engagement ring, a three-carat blue white diamond set with sapphires. And her wedding ring. Both in platinum. And my cuff links. They’re vintage, rose gold. I was getting dressed and I couldn’t find the cuff links. The jewel box with the rings was gone, too. I’ve called the police. What the hell kind of place are you running around here?”

“Good grief.” Quill took a moment to collect herself. “I’m so sorry. When did you last see them?”

“Day before yesterday, I guess. I don’t know. Goddammit. Goddammit. Of course they’re insured, but Rose Ellen was very particular about this diamond. It belonged to Elizabeth Taylor. I picked it up at Sotheby’s for her. I want all of the housemaids searched. All of the other rooms, too. Right now!”

Quill’s cell phone rang in her pocket. She took it out and flipped it open. “Hey, Dina.”

“Davy’s here,” Dina’s tone was perplexed, “and it’s not to take me over to his house to eat pizza, either. He said Mr. Tree reported a burglary? Davy says he thought the burglaries would all be over because …”

“I’m with Mr. Tree now,” Quill interrupted. “We’ll come down and meet in my office, okay?” She shut the cell phone and slipped it back into her pocket. “If you’ll just give me a moment, Mr. Tree, I’ll settle my son and be right down.”

“You’re thinking about some brat at a time like this?”

Quill looked at him levelly. “I’m definitely thinking about a brat, yes. Go right into my office. Sheriff Kiddermeister is already there.”

10

∼Meg’s Country Pâté∼

½ cup diced sweet onions20 ounces sweet pork sausage¾ pound chicken breasts½ pound beef livers1 cup panko bread crumbs1 extra large egg1 cup cream cheese1 chopped clove garlic¼ cup Five Star or Hennessy brandy¼ cup sweet cream butter2 tablespoons kosher salt¼ teaspoon each thyme, rosemary, ground bay leaf, and pepper¼ cup shelled pistachios, sliced thinCombine all ingredients except pistachios in a food processor. Mix in pistachios by hand and mold into a well-greased loaf pan. Bake for seventy-five to ninety minutes in a 350-degree oven. Cool. Remove from pan and wrap in cheesecloth. Store in refrigerator for at least twenty-four hours before serving. Serve with ground mustard, cornichons or other pungent pickles, and wafers of toasted sourdough bread. “Quite a party,” Howie Murchison said. He and Quill stood at the far end of the Tavern Lounge bar. Quill sipped halfheartedly at a glass of wine. Howie nursed a Manhattan. The engagement party swirled around them. Although it wasn’t so much a swirl as a sluggish eddy, Quill thought glumly. Word of the theft of the wedding rings and the cuff links had spread like a California wildfire. By the time she’d finished her statement to Davy Kiddermeister, showered, and changed into an evening gown, she bet the farmhands at Peterson Dairy five miles out of town were discussing the thefts over the nightly milking. Rose Ellen sobbed, Edmund cursed, and the
Ancestor’s Attic
crew of assessors and staff had tsked-tsked with the kind of repellant satisfaction mean-spirited people take in the misfortunes of others. Nobody was in much of a party mood.