Death Dines Out by Claudia Bishop Read Free Book Online

on the accelerator and shot backwards.

Meg twisted around and said briefly, "Missed it."

"Missed what?"

"Never mind. Just slow down, Quill. If the map is right, we've got plenty of time."

"The traffic," Luis called. "Be careful! Don't take 95!"

"Ten minutes," said Quill confidently. "Tops."

An hour and a half later, Quill pulled into the parking of the Florida Institute for Fine Food and came to a shaky halt.

"We're late," said Meg, her voice tight. "I know we're late."

"It wasn't your fault," Meg said carefully. "I understand that it wasn't your fault."

"Meg, I've never seen such traffic in my life. Not even in Times Square. At rush hour."

Meg leaned back in the seat. The top was still down, and ninety minutes in the hot Florida sun had turned her face pink. "Lunatics," she said, staring upwards. "Crazed kids going a hundred miles an hour. Stroke victims going twenty miles an hour. Vacationers pulling U-turns on a four-lane expressway. Truck drivers cussing in at least three different languages. Even LA was never like this. Now, Quill, if you don't mind, I have just a few suggestions about driving in this type of - "

"I mind." Crossly, Quill put the car into park and eased herself out of the front seat. She took a couple of deep breaths and said with a brightness even she found artificial, "Look how lovely this place is, Meg. It's all pink stucco. And it's right on the ocean."

"I don't give a hoot about the stucco. You either listen to me, or we spend the rest of the week in taxis. Which will totally destroy any profit we could have hoped to make out of this trip."

"We won't take the freeway next time."

"We'll take a cab next time. And the time after that. At least we can cower in the back seat together. I was afraid to close my eyes. I was afraid to keep my eyes open. I was petrified!"

"You couldn't be," said a hurried voice in Quill's ear, "the Quilliams?"

Quill jumped and turned. A pleasant woman with an anxious face took several steps backward. She was somewhere in her twenties. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She wore a cardigan sweater and a long cotton skirt. Quilt wondered about the cardigan. The temperature was in the upper eighties and climbing. "I'm sorry if you're not the Quilliams, but I've heard about the way you squabble." She flushed, embarrassed. "I mean..."

"It's okay," said Meg. "We're the Quilliams."

"I'm Linda Longstreet?" she said, as though she questioned the fact. "You aren't Sarah and Meg?"

"I'm Sarah. Please call me Quill. And this is my sister, Meg."

"Thank goodness. Thank goodness. I was so worried. So worried. I thought something happened to you."

"We took I-95," said Meg grimly.

"Oh. At this time of day it shouldn't be too bad."

"It gets worse?" said Meg. "It can't possibly get worse."

"Oh, sure it can get worse. But please, come in. We've all been waiting. And waiting." She bit nervously at a forefinger. "And of course the electrical power would decide to play tricks on us this morning... But now you're here and everything's going to be just fine. Just fine."

"I'm really sorry," Quill said as they walked across the parking lot. "But we were trapped by an accident, and there was no way to call."

"What's wrong with the electrical system?" Meg asked. "Are the ovens down? Are the refrigerators down?"

Linda stopped in the middle of the lot. "It's not as bad as last week," she said reassuringly. "We didn't lose a thing. The food's just fine. I think." She looked around, bewildered, seemed to recall where she was, and headed toward the building again.

"And this is just an introductory meeting, isn't it?" asked Meg. "I mean - you didn't have anyone waiting for us. Did you?"

Linda stopped again. Quill had never seen anyone as easily distracted. "Well, they all left after the first hour, I'm afraid. Except for Chef Jean Paul. And he can't leave, you know, since he works here. And lives here. He's got an apartment over the Food Gallery."

"All left?" said Meg. "All