A Carol for a Corpse (14 page)

“Good grief,” Quill said. She moved a rack of spices off her rocking chair and sat down. “Wow. How in the world did they accomplish this in eight hours?”

“They didn’t,” Meg said briefly. “The electrician and the plumber were here all last night. Ajit and the Bs promised me that the equipment would be down only for breakfast and lunch, and they were right. We’re ready for dinner as soon as I get the pots and pans put away. Everything’s operational. Although I’ve still got to store that junk”—she pointed at the jumble of towels, spatulas, ladles, and egg whisks on either side of the fireplace—“but Elizabeth, Peter, and Mikhail could clear it up in twenty minutes if I asked them to. If I wanted to, we could start on dinner.”

“Do you want to start on dinner?” Quill asked after a moment.

Meg rubbed her nose. “There won’t be much of anyone in the dining room, that’s for sure.”

“Do you like it? Not the lack of guests—the new kitchen.”

Meg looked around uncertainly. “I don’t know. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Quill said. “I think it’s terrific. I can see that the traffic pattern’s going to allow you maximum access to every part of the kitchen from the central point of the stove. It was brilliant of—who designed this?”

“Benny.”

“It was
so
smart of him to put the prep sinks on either side of the stove. You’re going to save yourself a ton of walking, Meg. And the sous-chefs can stand on the other side of the sink and work from that end. Yes. I like it.” She bit her lip. “What about you?”

Meg walked inside the U from one end to the other. She turned the water in the sinks on. She bent down, grabbed two saucepans that were stored under the counters, and put them on the burners. She turned around and looked at the bread oven. Then she burst into tears.

“Meg!” Quill said, stricken. She sprang from the rocking chair and rushed to her sister. “Oh, Lord. I should have had all my teeth pulled before I called Lydia Kingsfield. I’ll regret it to my dying day!”

“It’s terrific!” Meg sobbed.

“What?!”

“It’s terrific! I love it!” Meg was still in her toque. She rubbed her nose with her sleeve. “Jerry is going to turn pea green when he sees this!” She stood with her head down for a moment, heaved a deep sigh, and said in a tear-free voice: “Would you like a cup of cappuccino from my brand-new totally awesome espresso machine?”

“Sure.”

“Decaf?”

“Sure.”

Meg bent over and pushed a few buttons to the side of the sink on her left. A faint whirring struck Quill’s ear.

“And maybe some berries and cream?”

“I missed lunch,” Quill admitted. “And there weren’t enough scones at tea. Sure.”

Meg turned to the right-hand sink and pulled out a drawer. “Look,” she said. “A refrigerator drawer.” She took a few steps down the aisle. “And look here. A microwave drawer.”

“Holy crow.”

A buzzer chirped. Meg put a large white cup of cappuccino in front of Quill. “The stools aren’t here yet, but you’ll be able to sit on the opposite side of the counter from me, if you want.”

Quill sipped the cappuccino, which was excellent. There was a confusion of noise at the back door: the clatter of boots on the floor, excited voices, a stamping of feet.

“The guys are back,” Meg said. “Ajit and the Bs got Mike to help them bring the equipment in. They want to do a run-through of the elves dancing.”

Quill looked around for the elves.

“Oh, LaToya’s got all of them in the Tavern Lounge. They have this cute little number. You’ll never believe who wrote it for them.”

“Harvey?” Quill said.

“Me!” Meg beamed with modest pride.

“You?”

“I was inspired by the kitchen. And to think of all those years you’ve made fun of my singing.”

“I’ve never made fun of your singing.”

“You most certainly have.” Some distant memory made Meg’s cheeks flush with indignation. “Anyhow, I wrote a little verse and hummed the tune for Bernie, and once he figured out the tune, he said he’s going to record it using his keyboard thingies and he thinks that Lydia’s going to use it on the show as a theme song.”

Quill found herself unable to say anything at all.

“And,” Meg added, “I get paid for it. Anyhow, everyone’s in the Tavern Lounge tapping their little hearts out. Go see how they’re doing.”

Quill took the long way around to the Tavern Lounge to give herself time to calm down. An innkeeper’s days could be stress-filled and busy. She should be used to it, by now. She’d survived the visit of the Church of the Rolling Moses and the mighty Moses himself, a giant wrestler turned evangelical preacher. She’d coped with the Civil War reenactors’ mistaken charge of the Inn, rather than the hill north of the vegetable garden. And she’d handled the brawls between those two irascible chicken kings, Colonel Kluck and his nemesis, not to mention the invasion of Leo “Boom-Boom” Maltby and the Boom-Boom girls.

So she was ready for dancing elves. She just wasn’t sure she was ready for dancing elves on top of the sudden addition of forty-four millionaires to the village of Hemlock Falls all in the same day.

“And step and kick and step and kick. Terrific. Great. LaToya, get those legs up higher.” Bernie walked up and down in front of the laboring dancers, waving a broomstick in lieu of a conductor’s wand. “Good Taste,” he hummed in a surprisingly tuneful voice. “It’s just Good Taste / a-a-and quite a place / to be h-a-a-a-ppy.”

Quill moved quietly into the Tavern Lounge, to avoid breaking the performers’ concentration. Nate the bartender was behind the long mahogany bar cleaning wineglasses with a soft cloth and grinning at the sight of Bernie, LaToya, and Melissa giving the Rockettes a run for their money. At least Quill thought he was smiling. With his full brown beard, stocky build, and shock of bushy hair, it was hard to tell. Quill walked up to the bar and settled in front of him.

“Hey, boss.”

“Hey, yourself.”

“The usual? Or something a little stronger?”

“Vodka, please. It’s been a day.”

Nate poured a jigger of Grey Goose into a tumbler filled with ice, added a slice of lemon peel, and place it in front of her. Quill took a grateful sip.

“Is it true? What they’re saying about that trailer park? They say you were there.”

“It is true,” she said, “and frankly, I have no idea why Zeke Kingsfield wanted me there, but I was.”

“That part’s easy.” Nate resumed glass polishing with an angry vigor. “The Hammer wanted you there to make it legit.”

“Make it legit?”

“Everybody knows you can’t be bought. Or they’re pretty sure, at least. So yeah, he wanted a reliable, hometown witness and he got one.”

“My goodness,” Quill said. “You really think so?”

Nate set the glass down and leaned forward. “But all I want to say is that there’s no justice. No, sir. Why those forty-four people instead of me? And a bunch of trailer trash to boot.”

Quill took a larger sip of vodka. She’d never seen Nate act this way before. Resentment. Name-calling. A dangerous hostility. There’d be a lot of that in the coming weeks. Money was the snake in Eden. Zeke Kingsfield had a lot to answer for.

Nate scowled in the direction of the kitchen elves. “You know that welfare dishwasher you and Meg took on?”

Quill turned on the barstool. Melissa stood between Elizabeth and Mikhail, their arms linked, all three giggling their heads off. Her hair had fallen free of its ponytail and she looked young, and happy, and for the first time since Quill had hired her, carefree.

“I heard that she’s one of them that got the money. I’m a taxpayer, right? The government takes its slice out of what you pay me every week. And the government
gave
her that trailer. With
my
tax dollars.”

“GoodJobs! gave her the opportunity to buy the trailer because she has a job with them,” Quill said. “Marge Schmidt made her the loan.”

Nate wasn’t listening. “Since when are government agencies buying people houses?”

“Well,” Quill said vaguely, “Katrina, you know.”

“And the last hurricane in Hemlock Falls was when?”

“Please pay attention to me, Nate. She has part of her mortgage deducted from her paycheck every week. She’s a single mother, Nate, and she works hard, and she’s doing her best for her little boy.” She smiled at him. “And you know what? When I came back into town with Kingsfield, there were a couple of people from the trailer park outside the Croh Bar, already, drunker than skunks. One of them was Dooley Norton, who works at the paint factory, and I know for a fact his shift started at one o’clock. But Melissa showed up for the lunch shift. This million dollars hasn’t made a difference to her work ethic.”

“That’s only because she’s going to be on TV.”

“I didn’t get the impression that was a real motivating factor for her,” Quill said wryly. “But maybe you’re right.”

Nate sighed, put the polished wineglass in the rack, and started on another. “Well, maybe she does deserve a break, the poor kid. As for Dooley Norton.” Nate chuckled. “That fathead don’t know his ass from a hole in the ground, excuse my language, Quill. And he’s pretty damn dumb about poker. I just might go down to the Croh Bar after I finish up here and relieve him of some of the money that’s burning a hole in his pocket.”

“Take five, elves,” Benny caroled. “And then into the costumes! We want lay some tape this evening. That was wonderful, LaToya darling. Kiss-kiss.”

“Oh, kiss my butt, Benny,” LaToya said good-naturedly. “Oh, the depths to which I have descended.”

“They look pretty hot and sweaty,” Nate said to Quill.

“You’re right.” Quill raised her voice a little. “Benny? Would everyone like something cold to drink at the bar?”

“You are a lifesaver, Quill darling!” Benny clapped his hands sharply together. “No alcohol, loves. Not until we’ve shot a few scenes in the kitchen. Then you can get soused to the gills, for all I care.” He settled on the barstool next to Quill and announced, “I, on the other hand, not having to keep time other than with my watch, am going to have a glass of your finest red.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Melissa joined them.

“You’ve had quite a day,” Quill said. “It’s good to see you here, Melissa.”

“I couldn’t let Meg down,” she said in her soft voice. “Quill? Is it true? Do you think we’re going to get our million dollars?”

“It would seem so,” Quill said carefully. “Do you have plans for it?”

She grinned. “Now there’s a silly question. Of course I do! I took that ten-thousand-dollar check right down to the bank and you know what, Quill? I bought a car! I took Caleb right down to that used car place.”

“Peterson’s,” Quill said.

“And I found the cutest little Ford Escort. Used, of course, but it’s guaranteed for a year. And as soon as I get a chance, I’m going to check out Ithaca College and go back to school.” She sighed. “It’s like a dream come true.”

“Just don’t let the dream turn into a nightmare, honey.” LaToya leaned affectionately against Benny’s side and asked for a Diet Coke. “With a lot of ice, Nate, if you don’t mind.” She turned to Quill. “That little song Meg made up is just great. If Benny here can approximate the tune on his keyboard, we’re thinking of passing it by Lydia and using it as the show’s theme song.”

“Meg,” Quill said with heartfelt sincerity, “never ceases to amaze me.”

“How’s the weather?” LaToya asked abruptly.

“It’s supposed to snow. As a matter of fact, it’s started already.” Quill gestured toward the French doors that led to the flagstone patio outside. The floodlights illuminated one of those snowfalls consisting of big, fat, feathery flakes.

“Now that ought to please His Lordship,” Benny said. “The man’s a fool for skiing. Uh-oh, attention, troops.” He raised his wineglass in the direction of the archway to the main part of the Inn, where Lydia was walking rapidly toward them. She looked surprisingly young and vulnerable. “Oh, hell, Benny,” she said. “I’m sorry. I put my head on the pillow for twenty seconds around three and look at me. Out like a light for hours. If housekeeping hadn’t tapped on my door, I’d be asleep yet.” She yawned and blinked at Quill. “Well. You’re back, I see. I hope you don’t mind, but I sent that Mike of yours out to do some work on the ski trail. And I talked to that dreadful chicken-looking person, Doreen? About the linens. Mine are to be changed every day.” She held an admonitory hand up. “I know a lot of the luxury hotels have started the practice of using the same sheets two days in a row, but I don’t put up with it at home, I’m certainly not putting up with it here. And oh, since LaToya’s tied up with this dancing-elf crap, I gave your little Dina a few things to do for me. I’ll need her again tomorrow, too.”

Quill realized she was gritting her teeth. She wiggled her jaw to relax it and said mildly, “She’s not ‘my’ little Dina, Lydia. Slavery became illegal in 1862.”

“Tell that to that arsehole Zeke,” someone whispered.

Lydia whirled. “Who said that?” She was greeted by a profound, uneasy silence. Her gaze raked Ajit, Benny, and the others. “All of you,” she said, her voice heavy with threat, “need to remember which side of the bread has the butter.”

Quill raised her voice a little. “So perhaps you could let me know when you need something, rather than go to my staff directly?”

“Fine. Sure. Whatever.” Then Lydia smiled, catlike. “And how did
your
morning go?”

“Full of surprises,” Quill said.

“I’ll bet. I caught a little of it on TV. Do you know where Zeke got to, after all the shouting died down?”

“He said he was going to take the car into Syracuse.” Quill looked at her watch. “That was about five, or so.”

“But the chauffeur’s off duty. He’s planning on driving himself?”

“CNN has set up a live feed at one of their satellite stations there.”