Dread on Arrival by Claudia Bishop Read Free Book Online Page B

suite. For a week. Beginning today. I want my room. Right now.”
    Quill, mindful of the early diners coming in the front door, smiled pleasantly. “Why don’t we talk about this in my office, Mr. Barcini? It’s right back here.” She stepped behind the reception desk, opened her office door, and waited while he preceded her.
    He flung himself back on the couch, legs spraddled, and looked around.
    The office was small, but Quill had taken a great deal of care when she’d furnished it. The small overstuffed couch was covered in a chintz woven with bronze chrysanthemums. A small Queen Anne–style table served as an informal conference area. Her desk was cherrywood, with an arrangement of cloisonné bowls next to the landline. She’d restored the tin ceiling overhead.
    “Nice,” he said. “You know that Queen Anne table’s a fake, though.”
    “It’s a reproduction,” Quill said. “Not a fake. A fake is when you think you’ve got the real thing and you don’t. Like your reservation.”
    Barcini grinned and shrugged. “Hey,” he said. “Had to give it a try, didn’t I? C’mon, Miss …”
    “McHale,” Quill said. “And it’s ‘missus.’”
    “Mrs. McHale. You got a mother, right?”
    “I did,” Quill said, her smile still pleasant. “She passed away quite some time ago.”
    “So you understand my problem here.”
    “I’m afraid …”
    “Thing is, my mamma and my sister are in the car outside …”
    The door to Quill’s office banged open and a short, round, belligerent lady stumped into the room, an aluminum cane in her right hand and a large black leather purse in her left. Her resemblance to Belter Barcini was marked, except that her hair was dyed an aggressive black.
    “… Or she was,” Belter concluded. “Hey, Mamma.”
    “Don’t you say hey to me, you stupid boy. Why are we not checked in? Josephine is waiting in the bus. She has to pee.” She tossed a throw pillow from the couch onto the floor and sat down. She set the cane between her feet and leaned on it. She wore crop pants, and a glittery T-shirt that barely contained her considerable bosom. She jerked her chin at Quill. “I am Josepha Barcini, the producer of the famous TV show Pawn-o-Rama , which is shot live in New Jersey. This is my son, the famous Joseph Barcini. He is called Belter because of his mighty arm. You are in charge here? Why are we not checked in?”
    “Yes, I am Mrs. Barcini. And I’m very sorry indeed, but the Inn is fully booked, or rather, it will be, for the period that you’ve requested.”
    “We have a reservation,” Mrs. Barcini said. “This stupid boy here, he made it. I hear him myself.”
    “Let me have our receptionist call the resort across the river. The managers are friends of ours, and we may be able to get you a room there.”
    “I will tell Josephine to get out of the bus and bring the suitcases in. You hand over the room key and I will settle myself and this stupid boy and his sister. You make sure it is a suite. Joseph will require your best roll-away bed.”
    “I’m afraid you don’t understand, signora. You do not have a reservation. We do not have a room available for an entire week. There is undoubtedly a suite available at the resort across the river.” Quill’s landline had an intercom system, which she rarely used, since it was easier to call Dina through the open office door, but she decided it would be impressive if she used it now. She punched the intercom button and Dina’s startled voice said, “Who’s this?”
    “Dina, please arrange a suite at the resort for the Barcinis. If they’re booked up, try the Marriott on Route Fifteen. And please send for Mike to help with their luggage.” Mike Santini, the groundskeeper, was short, phlegmatic, and muscular. His stolid attitude was a lot of help with fractious guests. Quill hoped she wouldn’t need his muscles, too.
    “I’m on it, Boss.”
    Quill got up and opened the office door. “I am truly sorry for the