Read Online Death Dines Out by Claudia Bishop - Free Book Online Page B

she sported a large black hat slanted over one elegant cheekbone. She wore a short black skirt and a black-and-white suit coat that flared at the hips and nipped at the waist.

"She looks like a pissed-off penguin," Bea muttered.

Verger gave Tiffany a mock salute, with two fingers to his forehead, then stuck a cigar between his teeth. A camera flash flared; both Verger and Tiffany swung toward it.

Tiffany began to breathe through her mouth. She yelled, "On the count of three, Verger. On the count of three. If you're not out of here, I'm calling the cops. This is harassment, you following me around like this. You hear that? Harassment. So out. Out. Out! Get out of my goddamned restaurant!"

His tone was mild. "This isn't your restaurant, Tiffany. This is my restaurant. I own the goddamn building, don't I?"

Tiffany's mouth dropped open. For a moment, Quill would have sworn that she was so shocked, she forgot she was in front of an audience. Her breath came back with a sound like a medicine ball hitting concrete. "You bought this place!"

"Yeah, I bought this place. About an hour ago. You think I'm going to let you make a horse's ass of me with this goddamn charity? In front of all my goddamn friends? You bet I bought this place."

"You don't have any goddamn friends."

Bea grabbed Quill's arm. "Oh, no! The sculpture! I donated that piece myself!"

The crystal narwhale flew past Verger's head. The dolphin followed the narwhale, glanced off Verger's shoulder, and crashed to the floor. He yelled "goddammit" - with what Quill felt was a remarkable lack of originality - and leaped for the safety of the half-wall in front of the cash register. The diners scattered like pigeons. Tiffany's shriek escalated to a yowl. Coffee cups, saucers, and wineglasses followed the crystal, shattering against the half-wall protecting the cash register in a fusillade of noise. It was like being trapped in a bowling alley. There was a muffled crash and clatter and another siren shriek from Tiffany, followed by a high-pitched marital squabble of Force 5 proportions.

"Good arm," said a blue-haired lady at the table adjacent to Quill's. "I've seen Tiffany on Oprah. She works out."

Her lunch companion frowned. "Too much muscle. I just don't like a woman with too much muscle. Now, that Debbie Reynolds? She's got a tape that tones without you bulking up so much."

Quill sighed and looked out the window. The sun shone yellow-gold in a deep blue sky. Waves broke amiably along the curving cheek of the beach. A group of black-beaked terns scuttled along the shore. Striated white clouds streaked the far horizon. She'd caught enough of the weather report that morning to know that there'd been six inches of snow at home last night with another five predicted for the afternoon.

The shouts in the restaurant died away.

"They're going," said Bea. Quill glanced at her. She smiled maternally. "See? Ernst's taken care of everything. I told you he was marvelous."

Quill turned her gaze unwillingly to the front of the dining room. The short man in the golf cap held both of Tiffany's hands in his. He spoke to her in a low, soothing murmur. Verger Taylor was gone. Everyone seated at the tables had resumed eating, drinking, or gossiping - most of them all at once.

Ernst Kolsacker released Tiffany's hands, gave her shoulder a comforting pat, and held the front door for her as she left.

"Quick, Bea," Birdie said, "He's going to leave, too. Whoo-eee! Ernst! Ernst! Over here." She waved energetically. All the people who'd been staring at the Taylors turned like grouper fish in an aquarium to stare at their table. Quill refolded the maroon napkin with an air of unconcern. cleared her throat, and scratched the back of her neck. If she were at home, she'd be sitting in that nice rocking chair in front of the fireplace in Meg's kitchen. The air would be filled with the scent of roast game hen. Myles would be rumbling cheerfully over the newspaper in the corner. She would not