Fete Worse Than Death (9781101595138) by Claudia Bishop Read Free Book Online Page A

goodness. I couldn’t just sit there.”
    “Stop,” Quill said. “Let’s go into the Tavern Lounge. It’ll be quieter there. Then maybe you guys can tell me how this all started.”
    Quill led the way across the lawn to the other side of the cobblestone building. The Inn was set so that the entrance looked out over the village; the east side, which faced the falls, had sixteen of the twenty-seven rooms. The Tavern Lounge was on the south end. The flagstone patio was almost filled with diners; Quill knew that on a pleasant day like this, very few guests would opt to eat inside. When they walked in, the only guest was a small old gentleman sipping a cup of coffee at the bar; JeeterSwenson, the elderly man who had taken the Provencal Suite on a Long-Term Let. He turned and waved spiritedly at Quill, who waved spiritedly back.
    A table for six was set up apart from the others, to the right of the large hearth. Quill led her party there and signaled Nate the bartender for menus.
    Marge took the corner chair, so that she faced the rest of the room. Dina settled next to her. Marge narrowed her eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the reception desk?”
    Dina held up her cell phone. “I route the calls through here.”
    “I’m sure Quill knows how to run her own business, and if she wants Dina to go back to work, she’ll say so,” Miriam said pleasantly. “Lay off, why don’t you?”
    Nate laid menus in front of them. Marge picked hers up with a grunt, and then set it down again. “Now what the hell are we going to do? Adela’s quit. The fete’s in two weeks. There’s no director. You know how many folks in town have money invested in this thing?”
    “I was a little late to the meeting,” Quill began. “Could you tell me how all this happened?”
    “You’re always late,” Marge snapped. She glared up at Nate. “I’ll have a hamburger with fries. Can’t screw up a hamburger. You got Stroh’s on draft? Then I’ll have one of them.”
    Nate nodded. He was tall and bearlike and fiercely protective of Meg’s reputation as the best gourmet chef in the northeastern United States. His teeth glinted in his dark beard. “Meg made chicken salad today. With avocado, grapes, and pecans. She didn’t screw that up, either.”
    “I’ll have the chicken,” Miriam said hastily. “And a glass of white wine, Nate. Whatever you have that isn’t too sweet.”
    Quill and Dina both ordered the chicken salad, and as soon as Nate ambled away, Miriam blinked at them all. “What
is
it with you, Marge? You’re rude, but not usually this rude. You want to tell us about it?”
    Marge’s irritation left her like air leaving a balloon.
    Quill was lost in admiration of Miriam’s technique. Whether it was the tone of her voice or her body language, Miriam somehow managed to pull the thorn from Marge’s paw. Marge even had the grace to look abashed. “Sorry,” she grunted. “Got a funny feeling about this, is all. None of it makes sense. Makes me jumpy.”
    Quill raised her hand, partly as a calming gesture and partly to get their attention. “Why don’t we start with why Adela resigned in the first place?”
    “Carol Ann,” Miriam and Marge said in unison.
    Miriam got in first. “It was outrageous, Quill, it really was. We’d barely gotten through the Pledge of Allegiance when Carol Ann jumped to her feet and demanded that Adela make a…” She turned to Marge. “What did she say, exactly?”
    “Complete and full disclosure of how she was handling the funds for the fete.”
    “The funds?” Quill repeated. “You mean the money?”
    Marge snorted. “Of course she means the money. She practically came right out and accused…”
    Miriam pounded the table. “She
did
come right out and accuse Adela of appropriating moneys for her own use.”
    Nate put a draft beer in front of Marge. Marge took along swallow and banged the mug down. “Thief. She accused Adela of being a thief. Although it’s not theft. It’s