A Touch of the Grape: A Hemlock Falls Mystery (Hemlock Falls Mystery series) (16 page)

Harvey Bozzel's hand immediately went up. He waved frantically for attention.

"Cool it, Harve," Marge said, without looking back. "Can you use it for acquisitions, Pfieffer?"

"It may be used for acquisitions if the acquirer is already in a tourist-related business and if the acquiree is engaged in a tourist-related business
at that time."

Quill, who had no idea why Pfieffer needed to invest
the final prepositional phrase with such verbal signifi
cance, poked Meg in the side.

"Does that mean what I think it means?" Meg whispered.

"That Marge can use this money to buy us out? Yes."
Quill twisted her hair around her forefinger. "Bloody hell, I knew she was up to something. I knew it."

The meeting broke up. Pfieffer made a quick and well-
timed exit, before anyone realized he was gone. Selena
surveyed the disappointed members of the newly formed
Hemlock Falls Winegrowers' and Tourism Association, and with a perspicacity Quill hadn't expected, shouted, "He's in the parking lot!" This left eleven people in the room. Quill, Meg, Marge, the mayor and Mrs. Mayor, Hugh and Selena, Esther West, Harvey Bozzel, and the Reverend and Mrs. Dookie Shuttleworth.

"Bueno."
Selena said. "My ploy worked. I told Mr. Pfieffer to leave by the crushing room. He is not in the parking lot at all! He is waiting for his lunch. So, all
those people, with their hands outstretched and their ear
nest pleas for the cash, will be able to go home. Now, I think, Hugh, we should have some lunch and discuss what is to be done. Come with me to the house, please."

Selena's Spanish heritage was evident in the kitchen, which Quill hadn't seen on her first visit to the house. The floor tiles were warm bronze. The kitchen cabinets were a dark teak in the Mediterranean style. Quill ex
claimed aloud when she saw the tiled countertops. Each had been hand-painted in blues and yellows. "Very Por
tuguese," she said. "Where did you get them?"

"Selena hand-painted them herself," Hugh said. He slid his arm around her shoulders and gave her a dignified kiss. "Won't you come into the dining room and sit down?"

Paul Pfieffer, a glass of wine in his hand, was peering
nervously out the window when they walked into the dining room. He jumped when Selena swept the party
into the room, and mumbled hellos. He was clearly un
comfortable.

The dining room table was refectory-style, and had been set with a Portuguese pottery that matched the kitchen countertops. Thin crystal wineglasses were in front of each place setting. Hugh pulled the corks on two unlabeled wine bottles, and began to pour. "This is a red we bottled six years ago, after we harvested the first of our Pinot Noir grapes. I think you'll like it." He raised a forefinger in Selena's direction.

Selena struck a small bell by her glass, and a young girl brought salads in from the kitchen. "Our daughter, whom you have not met," Selena said. "Victoria, this
is Miss Sarah Quilliam, whom you so much admire. She
has seen your paintings. Quill, in her art class at school."

Quill blushed and looked at her plate.

Selena finished introducing the others, commanded
that no business should be talked at the table, and asked
Dookie to extend God's grace over the table.

Quill found herself eating an excellent lunch, finishing
with a creamy cheese she had never tasted before.

"My family sends it to us each year for Christmas," Selena said. "And the Pinot Noir? What do you think? We have not retailed it, as yet. You are the first to try it."

The wine had been drunk to general approbation. But,
as the Reverend Shuttleworth freely admitted, none of them except Quill and Meg knew anything at all about wine, except that the Lord approved, thank heaven, and
for that he was grateful. Quill knew a fair amount—Meg
a great deal. She glanced at her sister, who shook her head slightly.

"Delicious," Quill said. "We'd love to buy a few cases for our own use."

"We were hoping, perhaps, that you would agree to
stock your cellar at the Inn with this," Selena said somewhat ingenuously. "It is not selling as well as we hoped.
The brokers who buy in bulk, they tell us there is a prejudice against New York reds."

"This mean we can talk bizness?" Marge demanded. "Is the lunch over? It was good, by the way."

"For business?" Selena said. "We defer to my Hugh."

"Good." Marge smacked her hand on the table.
"What I say is this, Hugh. We make a run at that money,
and we get it."

"That's an …" Hugh paused, searching for the most tactful word, "an admirable, if somewhat belligerently
stated, sentiment, Marge. But to think of it, it's the truth,
so why try to dress it up in tact? I agree, I think those of us here at this table should make a run at that money and get it. We have here all of the movers and shakers in Hemlock Falls. And I think we can be counted upon to use the money for the good of the town."

"So that's why we're here? To make decisions for the village?" Meg's voice was calm and reasonable, but her left foot was jiggling up and down. It was. Quill knew, a bad sign.

"What Meg means is that this isn't really a public forum," Quill intervened. "And we haven't been elected to make decisions, have we?"

"Some of us have," Adela Henry said majestically.

"There will be no decisions made here. None," Mr. Pfieffer said crossly. "I was told this was to be an informational meeting only."

Meg bit her thumb and stared past Adela Henry's left ear. "I'd just like to point out that none of the other growers are here. And Howie Murchison, the town attorney, isn't here. Nor are Ben Croh from the Croh Bar, or Tilly Angstrum from the village Bed and Breakfast. These are all movers and shakers in Hemlock Falls, too."

"Quite minor ones," Hugh said mildly. "With no influence whatsoever."

Meg's gaze dropped directly to Adela's. "And voters, of course. They're all voters."

Adela shot a glance at her husband and looked thoughtful.

Harvey Bozzel smoothed his hair with a careful hand.
"The Reverend Shuttleworth's here at our specific request."

"Our,
Harvey?" Meg's tone was dangerously sweet. "And it's just like you to drag the minister into this."

"And the world knows how honest the Reverend is."

The world also knew how frequently the input vanished from Dookie's hard drive. Even with the best will
in the world (and by far the most Christian spirit of any
other Hemlockian) Dookie had a difficult time navigating the harsh realities of life. Most eyes at the lunch table were on him now. Dookie smiled benignly and said, "The wine was quite good, Selena."

"And what, Harvey?" Meg drummed her thumb on the table. It sounded far more ominous than it should. "Because you've talked the Reverend Mr. Shuttleworth here into coming for lunch, you think the rest of the town is going to be happy about all of the money going just to us?"

Paul Pfieffer threw his napkin on the table. "I knew this was a bad idea. You'll have to excuse me. Ladies?" He nodded to Quill and Meg. "You have clarified a situation that required clarity. Señora Summerhill?
Thank you for the lunch. Good day to you all. My office
may be reached through the regular channels. We will be delighted to review any written application for the disbursement of these funds." He burped. "Excuse me. The official review, of course, shall be conducted at the R.O.T. offices in Albany. And not at lunch. I may as well inform you now that I have taken rooms in the village and you will see me on the streets of Hemlock Falls. Do not speak to me unless I speak to you."

He left silence behind him.

"We don't need Mr. Pfieffer's direct input to formulate a plan," Harvey said at his most mellifluous. "We can review it all here, together. Now, if you'll just let me duck out and get my briefcase …"

Meg twisted her face into a ferocious scowl. "Harvey!
No dice, Harvey. We do this in a public forum, or we don't do it. Get it?"

"Now, Meg, far be it from me—"

"Oh, pooh on far be it from you." Her eyes slid sideways and rested for a moment on Marge Schmidt. "I just want to know one thing, Harve, and then Quill and I are leaving. When did you know about this money?"

Harvey giggled. "I don't know why you're asking me, Meg. I'm sure I heard it when the rest of you did. Yesterday, when the governor's office announced it to the press."

"And I'm just as sure that you and a few others knew
about it long before this."

"It's not important, Meg, really," Quill said. "Why don't we go?"

"Marge?" Meg faced her directly. "You've always been straight with us. When did you know about the
amount of money that had been allocated to Hemlock
Falls?"

"Coupla weeks ago. A month, maybe. I got a friend on the Ways and Means Committee."

"Why do you need to know this, Meg?" Quill asked in an undertone.

"Because if we'd known a month ago, John would have stayed, that's why. A month ago, with this in our
future, we wouldn't have had to be thinking about filing for Chapter Eleven. That's the problem with secret meetings. If we'd known about the availability of these funds when you all did, our reputation would have been intact; I wouldn't be cooking hash browns for ladies who make
money belts out of Kleenex boxes!" Furious, she turned to the mayor. "You knew, too, dammit. If you'd shared
the information with us, a lot of things would have been
different. Don't you think you owed us that much?"

"I do not think," Dookie said gently, "that raised voices will solve the problem here. Meg, it appears to me that apologies should be freely given and freely accepted. Shall we have a moment of reflection?"

"No, sir, we will not. We will have a moment of leave-taking, which my sister and I will take right this minute." Meg slapped her napkin onto the table, then stood up. In the middle of this tension, the phone rang.

"No, no!" Selena cried in distress. "Please, Meg, you mistake the matter." She ignored the insistent ring from the kitchen. "All of us know how public-spirited you and Quill are. We would not have invited you here if we had intended any—what is the expression, Hugh, more than one dealing?"

"Double-dealing, my darling. And please answer the
phone."

She fluttered up from the table and grabbed Quill by the arm. "Do not let this end in bad feelings. Quill. I will be right back."

Quill spoke diffidently into the stiff silence. "Um. I don't know just how public-spirited we are at the Inn, but there's no doubt that we have an obligation to do the best for the village we live in. Laws," Quill said, "are for all of us. This notion that only the privileged
few should benefit from monies gathered from the citi
zens of this state is a bad notion."

Meg rolled her eyes and drew her finger across her throat.
Cut!

Quill ignored her. She was on a roll. "I support my
government," she said earnestly, "and I support the freedoms of our country, but I also support the laws … yes, Selena?"

"It is that dog," Selena said apologetically. "There
is no license, but it is yours, yes? I am afraid I must go
catch it, Quill. It is chasing the chickens of Mr. Peterson's farm."

"Oh," said Quill. "I'll be happy to go—"

"Oh, I don't think that would be appropriate, do you. Quill?" Hugh smiled at her, his teeth white and perfect in the middle of his grin. "Selena's just upholding the law. Selena's the dog warden, and you'll have to follow the rules and pick it up at the pound."

"Hugh, darling. That would be cruel! I will bring the
dog back to you. Quill. But it must have the license and
soon. It is the la—" She stopped and clapped her hand over her mouth.

Meg threw her hands in the air. "That's it. Come on, Quill." She turned for a parting shot as they left the dining room. "Anybody wants us, come by the Inn. We're the two bag ladies on the driveway with the tin
cups and the unlicensed dog. Thanks again for the open
discussion, guys."

"Wow," Quill said, when they were in her battered
Oldsmobile on their way back to the Inn. "You blew."

"Just call me Krakatoa." Meg stared out the open window. "You, on the other hand, started tap-dancing
with all the righteous aplomb of Newt Gingrich. Did you
lose your mind?!"

"I was just trying to salvage the situation for us. You
were a little hard on them, Meggie."

"I was not. I wasn't hard enough!"

Quill drove quietly for a moment. Summerhill was only a few miles off Route 15, no more than twenty
minutes from the Inn. The day was fine. Quill loved the
light that came in spring: she always thought of it as
slender, yet voluptuous, like the statue of Niobe in Paris.
Perhaps she should start a series of Water Studies, and paint the pool beneath the Falls in each season. "You know," she said, after the angry red left Meg's cheeks, "there's a terrific imbalance in this family. You have
too much of the in-your-face spirit, and I appear to have
too little."