Italian parsley? And mint. Excellent.' He swallowed, and waved his fork at the chair opposite. 'Dining room closes at ten-thirty, doesn't it? It's past that now. Have a seat.'
'The owners don't care for the help fraternizing with guests.' He looked up, his eyes shrewd. She smiled. 'What? Do I have a sign that says 'Owner-Manager'?'
'No. But there's a bronze plaque in the front that reads 'Your hosts, Sarah and Margaret Quilliam.' And your name tag says 'Quill'.'
'I might be their impoverished cousin from Des Moines, living on the bounty of relatives, pinch-hitting as manager and eking out a bare existence as a waitress.'
'The uniform doesn't fit,' he continued unperturbed, 'and a woman wearing a three-hundred-dollar pair of shoes wouldn't voluntarily wear a dress that was too big across the hips - and too tight across - ' He stopped, as Quill frowned indignantly. 'Sorry. You had enough of that this afternoon.' He nodded towards Baumer, happily swigging down a final Manhattan. 'Besides, I saw your show in New York a few years ago. Your picture was on the poster.'
'Oh. That.'
'Yes. You aren't painting anymore?'
'Some,' she said, deliberately vague. 'I don't have much time during the season. Are you staying with us long?'
'Depends on the food.' He smiled, and Quill's heart gave an excited thump. He was asking enough questions to qualify as a food critic. Although he was awfully thin. Quill worried about the skinny part. But Meg was skinny, and she was the greatest chef in the state.
'Then you're not here for History Days?' He raised an interrogative eyebrow. 'Hemlock Falls' biggest tourist attraction. Featuring Central New York's only three-star gourmet restaurant. Among other attractions.'
He laughed a little. 'Other attractions?'
'Craft booths and everybody in town dressed up like the Empress Josephine and Napoleonic soldiers. It's the wrong century of course, but the Ladies Auxiliary decided a long time ago that Empire costumes are prettier than Colonial.' She cleared her throat a little self-consciously. 'I may be prejudiced, but I think the reputation of the Inn has a lot to do with History Days' success. We're booked a year in advance for the whole week. We were even written up in the Times last year in the Sunday travel section. Maybe you saw it?' She leaned forward anxiously. 'How's the sausage; stuffing in the game hen?'
'Fine.'
'Just fine?' she said worriedly. 'It's my sister's recipe, you know. Margaret Quilliam. L 'Aperitif wrote an article about her when we opened up two years ago. Maybe you saw that, too. 'Engorged at the Gorge'? Meg received Central New York's only three-star rating. Some people think it's time she was given a four. She's terrific, don't you think?'
'I'm not much of a gourmet,' he said apologetically, 'tastes great to me.'
Quill calmed down. She'd pushed him too far. 'Anything you need, just ask us.'
'Coffee would be nice.'
'Coffee. I'll have it here in a minute. Freshly brewed, of course.'
Quill signaled to Kathleen Kiddermeister, who was clearing the Hallenbeck table, to take the Peterson order, and swept back into the kitchen. Meg sat nervously in the rocker, her feet up, smoking a forbidden cigarette. She jumped up and demanded, 'Well?'
'It's L 'Aperitif.'
Meg turned pale.
'He registered as Edward Lancashire. I've never seen an Edward Lancashire byline in L'Aperitif Probably a pseudonym.'
'Now? Now!? The week of History Days. Oh, God.'
'Meg! I'm not positively sure it's L 'Aperitif...'
'Oh, God.'
'... but we are overdue for a review.'
'Oh, God.'
'And he's asking very gourmet-type questions. He wants coffee. I'll make sure the whipped cream is fresh... and the cinnamon sticks... fill the bowl of cinnamon sticks.'
'Why not the week after next? Oh, God.'
'I'll tell Kathleen to make sure the orange juice is fresh- squeezed tomorrow morning. What's the room service breakfast?'
'Blueberry muffins. It's July, remember? Oh, God.'
'Take a deep breath.'
Meg took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh.
Quill patted her back. 'We've survived Health Department notices, cranky widows, horny businessmen, drunks, even that kitchen fire last year - and the quality of your cooking's never dropped! Right?'
'Right.'
'So!' Quill smiled affectionately at her. 'What could happen that the two of us can't handle? You, the cooking genius. Me, the business genius.'
