"Yes. I mean, no, Jean Paul's fine. I just checked. He and your sister" - she glanced nervously at Quill - "are getting along like a house afire. They're hanging the rabbit."
"The rabbit?" Quill frowned. "Oh. For the potted rabbit."
"Yes."
"Did she cry? Meg always cries when she has to hang the rabbit."
"They both cried," said Linda, "and Chef Jean Paul said a little prayer."
"Well, it's dead, isn't it?" asked Bea. "I mean, it's not as though she has to...." she made a sharp twisting motion with both hands.
"Humanely killed," said Linda absently. "And we are very careful where we buy our stock from. They're in nice, airy cages... "
"I," said Bea firmly, "am having vegetarian today. What about you, Birdie?"
"Absolutely."
Bruce , smooth and quiet, in the best tradition of headwaiters all over the world, appeared silently at Linda's elbow. She jerked her head up at him. "Oh. There you are. Would you take the orders, Greg?"
"Bruce," eh corrected.
She rose to her feet, dropping her napkin. "I just... Quill, would you mind very much if Mrs. Gollinge and Mrs. McIntyre showed you around? I've just gotten some... I mean, I have quite q bit of work to do. And I've got to find Mrs. Taylor."
"You returned Mr. Taylor's call, didn't you?" said Quill. `Linda, I think I should tell you... "
"Dear Verger," Bea said. "How is he? I'm doing so nicely since we added the Taylor Towers to my portfolio."
Quill bit her lip. Whatever threats Verger Taylor had delivered to Linda over the phone, it was unlikely that she'd unburden herself in front of two members of the board of directors.
"You go right ahead, dear." Birdie patted her hand.
Linda , after further apologies interspersed with nervous flutters, almost ran out of the restaurant.
"Excitable," said Bea. "Of course, if she's talked with Verger today..." she shook her head.
"Terrible man." Birdie opened the menu. "I have simply got to lose another three pounds before the banquet, Bea. I'll never get into that gold lame if I don't."
"Nobody can lose three pounds in four days," Bea said. "And I was thinking that you might want to go back to Saks and take a look at the lavender velvet, anyway."
"You're right, of course. But I wouldn't' feel right gorging. Bruce, I'll have the salad Nicoise. And the crŠme br–l‚e for dessert." She frowned at Quill. "It's pudding, isn't it? And those little cups are so small. How many calories could there be in that little tiny cup?'
"Golly," said Quill, "I... "
"If you know, don't tell me."
"Mademoiselle?" Bruce asked, in a southwestern Texas accent.
"I'll have the mushrooms, please. And some iced tea."
He turned to Bea, who asked for a bowl of the seafood bisque, then gathered up the menus and bowed himself off. Quill waited until he was safely out of earshot and ventured, "terrible man, Mrs. McIntyre? You mean M. Taylor?"
"Call me Birdie, dear. Everyone does. Everyone I like, I mean. Which does not include Verger Taylor. Does it, Bea?"
"Goodness, no. Dreadful man. Dreadful. I believe he'd sell his mother for a front-page headline. Good at making money, though."
"Very good." Birdie drained her wineglass. "You haven't touched your wine, dear."
Quill obediently took a sip. "The divorce seems to have been hard on Tiffany."
Birdie shrugged. "Young people today. That's all it is. Divorce, divorce, divorce. We didn't change husbands like that in our day, did we, Bea?"
"We did not."
"If we lost `em, it was because they died."
"So neither of you are interested in her charity?"
"Excelsior?" Bea said. "Goodness me, no. That Dr. Bittern's a charmer though."
"Little too click for my taste." Birdie sat up a little straighter. "here's lunch."
Quill was quiet through Birdie's anchovies, the hard-cooked eggs, and the calamata olives. Her mushrooms were excellent, with just enough sherry in the sauce to pick up the flavor of the chanterelles. She sliced a Portobello in half and turned over several approaches in her mind. Bea? Birdie? Are you two ladies rich enough to take on Verger Taylor? Nope - too blunt. Birdie - Bea. We had kind of an unpleasant scene at the Taylor condominium last night. That was too tentative. It would be very easy for the widows to blink politely and move on to more pleasant topics. There was always the straight-forward approach: My sister and I are being blackmailed by a bleached-blonde shrew and a bully. And we want to go home.
"My dear!" said Birdie, covering Quill's hand with hers. "Who is what?"
Quill, who hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud, looked up from her salad in some dismay and, with relief, summarized her predicament.
"Well!" said Birdie. "Isn't that just like Verger."
"Can you blame him, though?" asked Bea. "Not the burn-down-house part, Quill - there's no excuse for those kinds of threats - but Tiffany is doing her absolute best to embarrass him in front of his friends."
"All four hundred of his nearest and dearest," said Birdie dryly. "Remember when he opened that club on Beach Road?"
"And said that Henry Kissinger was going to be a charter member?" Bea thumped her fist on the table. "Ha!"
"An opportunist. No question about it."
Quill decided to have some wine after all. She swallowed the remainder of the wine in her glass and said, "We had no idea. None. About what we were getting into. We wouldn't have come if we'd realized."
"The problem is that a man like that is vulnerable, very vulnerable, to his ego. He sets himself up, then wails like a banshee when things don't go his way. He reminds me a great deal of my six-year-old grandson. Bratty. Very bratty."
"But he's a lot more dangerous than that six-year- old, Bea." Birdie's shrewd brown eyes flicked over Quill. "Tell me, dear. How is this inn of yours doing? Would it be a good investment for two old biddies like us?"
Quill blinked. She knew she shouldn't drink in the middle of the day. As a matter of fact, she shouldn't drink at all. "I beg your pardon?"
"Why don't Bea and I buyout your mortgage ahead of Verger? That'll teach him a lesson."
"No. Thank you, but no. I didn't... I mean, I didn't burden you with this in order to ask you for money."
"That'd be a first, " Bea muttered. "Get that message to my so-called friends, will you?"
Quill, conscience-stricken, had a brief glimpse of what it must be like to be elderly, widowed, and wealthy. She wished she'd insisted on seeing the pictures of Bea's family. It wouldn't have taken much time, and the old lady was obviously proud of them. "Meg talked to our family lawyer in Hemlock Falls this morning. He's a very good one, and he's taking steps with the bank to keep Mr. Taylor from pulling whatever strings he thinks he can pull. So thank you, both of you, for offering to help in a financial way. But we don't need that kind of help. At least, not yet."