"Next stop, drinks and bridge with Cressida Houghton," Meg said. She tossed her tote in the comer of the leather couch in the condo's living room and the Bloomingdale's shopping bag after that. She sat down with a sigh. "What a day. I tell you, Quill. Everything seemed to be going well this morning. Do you know who was; in my class?" She grinned. "Not only Cressida - she asked me to call her Cressida, by the way - but that; actress, Ellen Kale? It was hard to recognize her without all her makeup and stuff. She says she hates being recognized on the street. Those two, plus a couple of women whose net worth could buy a small African country. You know who else came in, after you left? Ernst Kolsacker and Franklin Carmichael. No kidding. Turns out they're avid amateurs. And Ernst was a hoot."
"Until the lights went out."
"Yep. It's going to last a couple of days - so its phhhtt to the cooking classes. But the banquet's still on. This is a great vacation, Quill. Can you believe we had time to go shopping?" She poked at the Bloomingdale's bag with her toe. "What a place Florida is, Quill. I mean, the weather's fantastic. Just fantastic. But did you see those bumper stickers in the parking lot at the mall?"
"The one that said, 'When I get old and sick I'm going to move up north and drive real slow'? Yeah."
"Or how's about my favorite: 'Florida. We love it You leave it.' "
Quill went to the French doors and opened them to the sea breezes. "There's a lot of hostility here."
"I'll say. I wanted to disguise myself as a native. Lie and tell people in a cracker accent that I was born in Okeechobee. And they shoot tourists in Miami."
"I didn't mean that sort of hostility. I meant all the hostility toward Verger Taylor."
"That's nothing new. I think the guy thrives on it."
"Do you know how many people want to get rid of him?"
"Well, Tiffany, for one."
"And Dr. Bittern. And poor Chef Jean Paul. And I overheard Linda Longstreet threatening his life."
"Linda Longstreet? She couldn't threaten a moth with a flyswatter."
"I'm not so sure." Quill curled up in the chair across from her sister. She pulled reflectively at her lip.
Meg lowered her head, raised her eyebrows, and said, "No."
"No, what?"
"I recognize that lip-pulling. It's your investigative detective mode. No corpses. We left all the corpses behind in HeinIock Falls. This stuff is just nice nasty group dynamics."
"I'm not so sure, Meg. If anyone's ever ripe for murder, it's Verger Taylor."
"You said Myles and Doreen are coming in Thursday morning, right?"
"Yes. And I'm sorry Andy's not going to make it. But why did you bring that up now? We've got a nice little murder shaping up here, Meg. I can feel it."
"When Myles and Doreen show up, you'll be too busy to think up reasons why someone is going to murder Verger Taylor."
Quill regarded her curiously. "You aren't sorry that Andy's not coming with Doreen and Myles?"
"Well, I miss him, of course. But I'm worried about the marinade. And you know what happens just before 1 have to cook big. I get a bit worked up."
"And you have to cook really, really big this time." Quill smiled. "How's the marinade going?"
"I'll know tomorrow."
"Did you bring the stuff back here with you?"
"Of course not! I'll just have to take a flashlight into the Institute. It's a good thing they have all those windows. The hares are hanging in the bread closet, because that's the airiest, driest place, and the marinade's in there, too. To tell the truth, I'm a little worried. The climate's different here, Quill. The air pressure and everything. That affects cooking. You can't tell me it doesn't. I'm afraid it's going to throw the timing off. What do you think?"
"I think that odd clock in the kitchen says a quarter past five and that we should get ready to visit Cressida Houghton."
"How long does it take to get there?"
"An hour. And I'm going to wear that new lime-green cotton dress I bought this afternoon."
"Does it take an hour by cab?" Meg asked suspiciously.
"No, Meg. By borrowed Mercedes. I looked it up on the map."
"The last time you looked a destination up on a map you turned a ten-minute drive into a marathon. I think we ought to talk to Luis and his handy-dandy computer. Either that or leave at least an hour early. It'd be horrible to be late to Cressida Houghton's house."
"Look. I'll show you. We take PGA Boulevard to highway One-A, highway One-A for ten miles to Hobe Sound, and then a right over the bridge. Verger Taylor lives east of the bridge, Cressida lives west. So we take a right. How simple can you get?"
"Don't you tell me about simple. You'll drive us into a canal. There's a directory of the residents of this condo around here somewhere, isn't there?"
"Yeah. By the phone. Why?"
"I vote we ride in with Evan and Corrigan. They live here. Let's call them and go with them."
"No," said Quill firmly. "N. O. No. I'm not getting any more involved with the Taylor family than we are already."
"Okay," said Meg. "You've got one more chance. Hobe Sound in an hour, or I never ride with you again. And just in case, we leave at six."
"We'll be really, really early."
"Then we'll drive around and look at the view."
"This isn't Hobe Sound," said Meg some time later. "That sign says Jupiter Beach."
"Jupiter Beach is near Hobe Sound," Quill said with a confidence she was far from feeling.
Meg picked up the map and eyed it. "It's at least six miles in the wrong direction. Turn here."
Quill peered through the Mercedes windshield. "That road says 'private.' "
"They aren't going to arrest you if you turn around. Which is what you need to do if we aren't going to be later than late at Cressida's."
"We still have plenty of time. It's just past six-thirty."
"Thanks to me."
"And stop calling her Cressida," Quill said irritably.
"She asked me to call her Cressida! Quill, dammit, look out."
The left bumper of the Mercedes struck a solidly built mailbox. Quill craned her neck over the side of the convertible and pursed her lips.
"Well?" Meg demanded. "How is it?"
"It's a mailbox. Not a very nice one, I'm afraid. The pedestal is one of those jockeys in a red-and-white outfit that used to be black and are now painted white. It's dented slightly. Thank goodness I didn't hit those gold lions. That would have been a real mess."
"I don't mean the mailbox, Quill. I meant this super- duper expensive car lent to us by the charming and charitably inclined Tiffany Taylor. How much does this thing retail for?"
Quill thought a moment. "Sixty or seventy thousand."
"Fine. Just fine. So if you figure that left front bumper is what-one twentieth the value of this thing-we're looking at a thousand dollars worth of damage. Easy."