Fete Worse Than Death (9781101595138) (16 page)

Nobody said anything. Carol Ann was a study in suppressed rage. After a long moment, the two ladies who’d been making signs headed for the door. A couple of people slumped down into their seats and looked furtive. Brady slipped into his office and shut the door. Finally, the room emptied in twos and threes except for Carol Ann herself.

Linda’s hard gaze swept the room again, with a detached, calculated air. “Good,” she said. She grasped Quill’s elbow and pulled her out of the chair. “You ready? Why don’t I follow you to Bonne Goute? You’ve got the
Furry Friends meeting there, or whatever the hell these people are calling it and I’ve got to drop off a couple hundred pounds of cat food for the pet booths. There’s a restaurant there, right? We’ll get some lunch.” She put her hand on the small of Quill’s back and propelled her out the door.

“What do you mean, strong-arm tactics?” Linda Connelly asked Quill.

Her tone was more curious than upset. They sat in Viandes, the second-floor restaurant at Bonne Goute. It was an attractive space, with maple floors, and huge glass doors that overlooked the gorge and the waterfall. The doors were open to the soft afternoon, and the rush of the water was pleasing. It was late, for lunch, well after one o’clock, and Linda and Quill were the only diners in the room.

Clare’s menu was classic bistro, focusing on small plates and tapas. The academy was a teaching institution and not primarily designed for the retail restaurant trade, but Viandes’s food was excellent. Quill was especially fond of Clare’s summer soups. Today’s was chilled cucumber and shrimp with a graceful swirl of crème fraiche on top. She stirred the cream into her soup, and then put her spoon down.

Linda prodded her. “Did you hear me say anything threatening to those people?”

“No. No. Of course not. Not physically threatening.”
She reconsidered this. George had loomed over Brady Beale in an uncomfortably nasty way.

“I just threatened their wallets.” Linda took an efficient bite of her avocado chicken sandwich. “That usually gets people where they live. If not, there are other paths to follow. But everyone left, except Spinoza, and she can hardly wage war on her own.”

“Carol Ann’s pretty resourceful. Linda, I know Presentations has a lot of experience with this sort of thing, so I certainly don’t want to second-guess you, but…”

“Then don’t.” Linda finished her sandwich and flipped open her phone. She stared at the screen for a moment, tapped at it, then said, “I’ve got five minutes before I have to leave for Syracuse and talk to the media people about TV coverage. Clare was supposed to join us here. She’s fifteen minutes late. I don’t wait more than ten and I’m not going to chase her down. Will you give her a message for me? I’m redesigning the parking area—there were a lot of complaints about delays and jams last year.”

“There were,” Quill admitted. “But how did you know that?”

“All in Adela’s files. The woman wasn’t bad at running a function. If she turns out not to be an embezzler, I could use her in my business. Anyhow, I’m going to use that green space behind the academy apartments for parking. We’ll use school buses for shuttles. I’ve got bulldozers coming in to level a couple of the rises flat. Tell her that. I’m off. I’ll dump the kitty food by the back kitchen, okay? You get someone to haul it inside.” Linda swung her briefcase over her shoulder and left the room just as Clare came in.

“Was that the woman from Presentations?” Clare sat down across from her. “I thought we had a meeting scheduled.”

Quill looked at her watch. “She said she never waits more than ten minutes for a meeting.”

“Is that so,” Clare said indignantly. “There was a snafu for a food order I had to straighten out and then I couldn’t find Bismarck and I wanted to bring him to the exhibitor’s meeting downstairs. But you guys were having lunch here, so I didn’t think it’d matter if I wasn’t spot on time. I’m really sorry. I should have sent a message.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” Quill said absently. Through the open windows, she could hear a dull rumbling. She couldn’t identify it. “Did you find Bismarck?”

“That cat,” Clare said fondly. “He could be anywhere.” She bent forward to look at Quill more closely. “Anything the matter?”

Heavy machinery. That was the sound coming through the open windows. “Well, no. On the other hand, maybe yes. Does Linda seem a little high-handed to you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a little. I’m the wrong person to ask. Any chef would be. We’re all petty dictators in our kitchens. Which wrecks us for judging normal human behavior. Did Linda tell you why she called the meeting?”

“Yes. The fete is going to need the field beyond the apartments for parking.”

“Madame won’t do it. Says it ruins the grass. Apparently they tried that last year.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh? What’s that sup…” A shriek cut her off in midsentence. Clare jumped to her feet, knocking over her
chair. “That’s Madame!” A second shriek split the air, louder than the first. “It’s coming from outside, isn’t it?” Clare turned around in a complete circle, searching for the source of the noise.

Quill was already outside on the upper deck, looking down at the bulldozers cutting through Madame LeVasque’s nice neat lawn. Madame LeVasque herself stamped around the parking lot, waving the boning knife and shouting.

“Oh, my God,” Clare said slowly. “I suppose I better get down there.” She didn’t move. Madame LeVasque had her cell phone in one hand. She yelled into it. Quill couldn’t make out much of the conversation over the roar of the machinery, but she was pretty sure she heard the word “cops.”

Clare nudged her. “You’ll come with me? You’re good at defusing this kind of thing.”

“I would, Clare. Honestly. But I’ve got all the Furry Friends waiting for me downstairs.”

“Most of the Furry Friends are out in the parking lot watching the show.”

This was true. At least most of the pets were on leashes. Nadine Peterson’s poodle danced excitedly on its hind legs, barking furiously. As a matter of fact, all of the dogs were barking furiously including, Quill was dismayed to see, Max himself, who was out for his usual unsupervised afternoon constitutional.

“You’d better catch Max before he’s run over by a bulldozer,” Clare said.

“Tell you what. Why don’t you catch Max and I’ll go downstairs and get everybody back inside.” In the
distance, Quill heard the wail of a sheriff’s cruiser. “That’s Davy, headed this way, or one of his deputies. He’ll get things under control.”

“Maybe we can leave?” Clare said hopefully. “We could head out the back door and up to the Tavern Lounge. We could sit on the terrace and drink wine. We could pretend we were out-of-towners who wouldn’t dream of settling in a lunatic asylum like Hemlock Falls.”

“I’m not hearing that!” Quill stuck her fingers in her ears, said “la-la-la-la” very loudly, and walked downstairs to find Dolly Jean standing triumphantly in the middle of the kitchen.

“I told you Linda Connelly was trouble! And your hair’s falling all over your face.” Dolly Jean’s little pink mouth pursed disapprovingly. “Although if you ask me, this whole fete’s falling down, too. What a mess. That idiot consultant.” She caressed the little Yorkshire terrier in her lap. The glittery bow in the terrier’s topknot matched Dolly Jean’s glittery earrings. “Frieda agrees with me, don’t you, Frieda.” Frieda gave her mistress a disbelieving look and yawned. “It’s five minutes before two. I told everyone outside to get in here because I want this meeting to start on time.” She settled the dog on her lap.

Quill wound her hair up on the top of her head and refastened the clip. She spread her worksheets out on the marble pastry slab. The exhibitors in the Furry Friends competition trailed in from the outside and milled around the kitchen.

There wasn’t enough seating for everyone, which she figured was a small and significant mercy. People didn’t like to stand up too long, and they could whip through the
meeting and go home. Dolly Jean had copped one of the few folding chairs and had the look of somebody ready to stay awhile, but Quill was through being a pushover and a wimp. She’d throw Dolly Jean out with the rest of them when the time came.

Outside, the roar of the bulldozers flattening the field mostly drowned out the outraged shrieks of Madame LeVasque. Davy Kiddermeister’s black-and-white police cruiser, blue lights flashing, drew into the employee parking lot. Davy got out, hitched his uniform trousers a little higher on his hips, and went over to talk to Madame LeVasque. Mayor Henry stamped up and down the path circling the field with short, agitated strides. He looked confused.

Inside, most of the exhibitors in the Furry Friends competition, human and non, clustered at windows, looking out at the bulldozers.

The noise level in the kitchen was tolerable, which was pretty amazing. Quill had made a point of insisting the animals be brought to the meeting in crates. The only owners who had complied were the chickens and the birds. All the other animals were on laps or leashes, and she was pretty sure the amnesty currently in effect wasn’t going to last. All it would take would be one dog lunging at one cat for bedlam to break loose. The faster she could get through this meeting, the faster she could go home and hide under the bed with Jack. Clare had scooped up Max and then left to look for Bismarck, and as soon as she returned, the meeting could begin.

“Where is this Linda Connelly, anyway, Quill?”
Harvey Bozzel demanded. He watched one of the bulldozers make a second run at a particularly recalcitrant hummock. “She can’t just order destruction of this size and disappear.” He smoothed his Akita’s ears. Quill thought the little dog was quite handsome, with black-and-tan German shepherd markings and a compact little body. Dolly Jean’s Yorkie was handsome, too. She was very glad she didn’t have to judge this contest.

“I don’t know where Linda Connelly is. She’s not answering her cell phone. I think she’s gone to Syracuse.”

Harvey and Dolly Jean exchanged meaningful looks. “Derelict. Quite derelict,” Dolly Jean said. “I make a motion that Harvey Bozzel be named managing director of this fete and that we fire Linda Connelly.”

“Second,” Harvey said.

“You can’t second a motion to put yourself in charge, Harvey,” Quill said firmly. “And anyway, this meeting is an informational one, for the exhibitors. We don’t have the, um…jurisdiction or whatever to fire Linda or to make Harvey director. So if you guys don’t mind, we’ll just tackle any questions you might have about the rules for the pet show.”

Dolly Jean’s hand shot up.

Quill resisted the temptation to tug at her hair. She’d just have to bundle it up again. “Can we hang on a bit, Dolly Jean? The meeting doesn’t officially start until two, and it’s not quite that now. Besides, not everyone’s here yet.”

“Who’s missing?” Dolly Jean demanded. “There’s fifteen dogs entered in Man’s Best Friend and I count fifteen
dogs right here in this room. The chickens are over by the coolers and the parakeets and whatnot are, too. Wait.” Using her forefinger, she counted around the room. “Cat. We’re missing a cat.”

“It’s Bismarck,” Quill said. “Clare’s gone to look for him.”

Outside, the drone of the bulldozers stopped.

“Glory be,” Harvey said. He walked away from the window and settled himself on a stool at the prep table. “The noise was driving me mad.”

“What’s happening?” Dolly Jean asked without moving.

“Go look for yourself.”

Dolly Jean smirked. “You’ve got your eye on my chair, Harvey Bozzel. I’m not moving an inch. What’s going on out there?”

“Madame’s lying down in front of the bulldozer. The guy from the
Gazette
is taking pictures.”

Quill looked at her watch. “Okay, everybody. It’s two o’clock. I’m sorry Clare’s not here, but I can fill her in later. Let’s get started.”

Reluctantly, people began drifting back from the windows.

“First, you’ll all be delighted to know that the veterinarian from Summersville, Dr. Austin McKenzie, has graciously consented to judge the Furry Friends competition again this year.”

“That old fart,” Dolly Jean said. “He told me Frieda was too fat.”

“Frieda is too fat,” Nadine Peterson said. She had a handsome Scotch terrier on leash whose black coat shone with glossy health. “I told you before, Dolly Jean, you can’t raise a prizewinning dog on table scraps.” She eyed
Dolly Jean’s plump figure. “Especially your kind of table scraps.”

Dolly Jean jumped out of her chair in a fury. Harvey took two steps sideways and sat down in her chair.

“Stop,” Quill said. “Both of you, right now. And you, Harvey, give Dolly Jean her chair back.”

Harvey glowered, but he got up and moved away from the chair. Dolly Jean smirked more widely than ever and sat back down.

The silence in the room was respectful.

“My goodness, Quill,” Nadine Peterson said. “Having a child certainly has stiffened your backbone.”

“I guess I should say thank you. Okay. You should all have copies of the exhibitor’s code of conduct, the class standards, and…”

“I’m late! Again! I’m sorry!” Clare rushed into the kitchen. “But I can’t find Bismarck anywhere.”