rift with Meg had to be affecting her, too. Suddenly, she felt very much like a girl’s night out. Maybe the three of them could settle this stupid rivalry and things could get back to normal. “That sounds great. Tell Meg when you come through the kitchen. Our last order’s at ten, so she should be free by the time you get here.”
Bismarck gave her ankle a determined nudge and gave her a loud “I’m starved” mew. Quill folded and opened a can of tuna fish she’d been saving for Jack’s lunch.
She left him to it and wandered out onto her balcony. That Clare was willing to take the first step in mending fences with Meg was great. She knew Meg almost as well as she knew herself; her sister had a generous heart, even when it came to her cherished career. This could all be smoothed over. They’d bonded over Rose Ellen’s nit-picking at the menu meeting.
She leaned against the balcony and took a deep breath of the fragrant air. The moon floated on a wispy ocean of clouds. The distinctive scent of autumn was a poignant herald of the winter to come. Her rooms were over the kitchen door two floors below, and she could hear the faint clatter of pans, a murmur of voices, the sounds of the Inn winding down for the night. The kitchen door banged open and a tall, slim figure walked down the short brick path to the parking lot. Bjarne, headed home to his wife in nearby Covert. Then Elizabeth Chou left, always in a hurry, even at the end of a long day.
And then a scrape of heel on iron, quite near.
Startled, Quill bent over the iron balustrade and peered to her left. There were fire escapes on each side of the main building. It sounded very much as if someone had come out the third-floor fire door. The fire door locked automatically on the outside; she hoped whoever it was had figured that out. There was a pause, the rattle of a doorknob, and then the soft thud, thud, thud of feet coming down the iron steps.
“Hello?” Quill said. “If you’re locked out, I’ll be happy to let you in.”
The footsteps paused, and then kept on going down, in a rush.
“Hello?”
No answer. The stairs ended in rosebushes—a flourishing bed of Apricot Nectar, which was exceptionally thorny. There was a solid thump as whoever it was stumbled off the last step, then a muffled, hissed expletive. The footsteps scraped against the gravel and faded away.
In the parking lot, a car door slammed. She heard the low rumble of the motor and whoever it was—she shivered in the chilling air—whatever it was, had gone.
Troubled, she went inside, cracked Jack’s bedroom door to assure herself he was still asleep, and then went into the hallway, Bismarck at her heels. She and Meg had re-carpeted all the hallways just last year, in a thick navy blue patterned with pale pink stripes. It suited the old building (to everyone’s surprise except her own) and it was excellent soundproofing. Leaving her own door opened, she went to the end of the hallway and to the fire door, which opened directly onto the fire escape. There were carriage lights at each of the three landings and to her surprise, they were out.
Bismarck threaded around her ankles and went out onto the wrought-iron landing. She made a lunge for him and missed. “Darn it, Biz. Come back here.”
“Is he being a pain in the neck again?”
Quill jumped.
“Sorry,” Clare said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” Her hair was a tangle, there was a smudge on her cheek, and she smelled of food. She’d exchanged her chef’s whites for jeans and a sweatshirt, but she’d obviously had a long night in the kitchen.
Quill gave her a quick hug. “It’s good to see you. I didn’t mean to jump. I didn’t hear the elevator.”
“I walked up the stairs. The elevator didn’t come down and didn’t come down and I finally gave up waiting.”
Bismarck crouched on the iron grill and batted at something. Quill lunged after him.
Clare nudged her gently aside. “Here, let me. It’s my lousy
Bismarck gave her ankle a determined nudge and gave her a loud “I’m starved” mew. Quill folded and opened a can of tuna fish she’d been saving for Jack’s lunch.
She left him to it and wandered out onto her balcony. That Clare was willing to take the first step in mending fences with Meg was great. She knew Meg almost as well as she knew herself; her sister had a generous heart, even when it came to her cherished career. This could all be smoothed over. They’d bonded over Rose Ellen’s nit-picking at the menu meeting.
She leaned against the balcony and took a deep breath of the fragrant air. The moon floated on a wispy ocean of clouds. The distinctive scent of autumn was a poignant herald of the winter to come. Her rooms were over the kitchen door two floors below, and she could hear the faint clatter of pans, a murmur of voices, the sounds of the Inn winding down for the night. The kitchen door banged open and a tall, slim figure walked down the short brick path to the parking lot. Bjarne, headed home to his wife in nearby Covert. Then Elizabeth Chou left, always in a hurry, even at the end of a long day.
And then a scrape of heel on iron, quite near.
Startled, Quill bent over the iron balustrade and peered to her left. There were fire escapes on each side of the main building. It sounded very much as if someone had come out the third-floor fire door. The fire door locked automatically on the outside; she hoped whoever it was had figured that out. There was a pause, the rattle of a doorknob, and then the soft thud, thud, thud of feet coming down the iron steps.
“Hello?” Quill said. “If you’re locked out, I’ll be happy to let you in.”
The footsteps paused, and then kept on going down, in a rush.
“Hello?”
No answer. The stairs ended in rosebushes—a flourishing bed of Apricot Nectar, which was exceptionally thorny. There was a solid thump as whoever it was stumbled off the last step, then a muffled, hissed expletive. The footsteps scraped against the gravel and faded away.
In the parking lot, a car door slammed. She heard the low rumble of the motor and whoever it was—she shivered in the chilling air—whatever it was, had gone.
Troubled, she went inside, cracked Jack’s bedroom door to assure herself he was still asleep, and then went into the hallway, Bismarck at her heels. She and Meg had re-carpeted all the hallways just last year, in a thick navy blue patterned with pale pink stripes. It suited the old building (to everyone’s surprise except her own) and it was excellent soundproofing. Leaving her own door opened, she went to the end of the hallway and to the fire door, which opened directly onto the fire escape. There were carriage lights at each of the three landings and to her surprise, they were out.
Bismarck threaded around her ankles and went out onto the wrought-iron landing. She made a lunge for him and missed. “Darn it, Biz. Come back here.”
“Is he being a pain in the neck again?”
Quill jumped.
“Sorry,” Clare said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” Her hair was a tangle, there was a smudge on her cheek, and she smelled of food. She’d exchanged her chef’s whites for jeans and a sweatshirt, but she’d obviously had a long night in the kitchen.
Quill gave her a quick hug. “It’s good to see you. I didn’t mean to jump. I didn’t hear the elevator.”
“I walked up the stairs. The elevator didn’t come down and didn’t come down and I finally gave up waiting.”
Bismarck crouched on the iron grill and batted at something. Quill lunged after him.
Clare nudged her gently aside. “Here, let me. It’s my lousy
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