Bea deposited her tote bag under the table and sat down. 'Bea Gollinge,' she said, 'and this is my friend BirdieMcIntyre. We're two-thirds of the Lunch Bunch.'
'Two-thirds?'
'Selma Goldwyn isn't here.' Bea leaned forward. 'She had a little fix-me-up scheduled this morning.'
'Face peel,' Birdie said succinctly. 'Upper lip.'
'Absolutely refuses to touch the laser,' Bea added. 'Selma's always been a conservative.'
'Which is ridiculous,' said Birdie, 'because the laser's so much safer. And who are you?'
Somewhat taken aback, Quill introduced herself.
'I demand to know what your secret is,' Birdie said. 'Tell!'
Quill had few secrets and sometimes thought herself the more boring for it.
'You're looking puzzled. She's looking puzzled, Bea.'
'For staying so slim,' Bea explained. 'I mean - your sister. That marvelous, marvelous food. How can you eat it and not gain weight? Or do you turn it down?'
'I usually don't have time to sit and eat when Meg's in the kitchen. We have a small hotel in addition to our restaurant and that keeps me fairly busy.'
'I should think so.' Bea dived under the table, remerged with her tote bag, and took a compact from it. The compact was covered with diamonds. Quill wondered if they were real. My first husband was a restaurateur and it ate his life. He spent more time in the kitchen than with me. And had a lot more fun there, too. I don't' know where we found the time to have three kids.'
Quill murmured polite wonderment.
'And five grandchildren,' said Bea. Her hand dived into the tote once more and reemerged with a fistful of photographs.
'Not now, Bea.' Birdie took the picture from her friend's hand and shoved them firmly back into the tote. 'And your husband?'
'Oh, I'm not married.'
'But engaged to be.' Bea took her left hand. 'Quarter caret. Nice. What's he in?'
'In? You mean what does he do? He used to be chief of detectives with the Manhattan homicide squad. He's a private investigator now. For a short time, he ws the sheriff in Hemlock Falls. That's where Meg and I are from.'
'A detective!' said Birdie. 'How exciting. Does he look like Travis McGee?'
Quill smiled. 'I think he's better-looking than Travis McGee.'
'And he's with you now, dear?'
'He's coming Thursday, for a long weekend.'
'I see Mrs. McIntyre and Mrs. Gollinge have been entertaining you.' Linda Longstreet settled opposite Quill with a sigh. She was paler than ever, and she shivered in the chill of the air conditioning. 'You've been introduced? Mrs. Gollinge and Mrs. McIntyre are on our board of directors, Quill.'
'We've gotten most of her life history,' said Bea. 'And we'll get the rest if you give us half a chance. How are you, Linda? I see that Chef Quilliam must have arrived, since her sister's here in the restaurant.'
'Oh, were you among the audience waiting this morning?' asked Quill. 'I'm so sorry we missed the souffl‚s. I hadn't drive I-95 before, you see, and it was all my fault.'
'You drove the freeway?' Bea said. 'My dear, say nomore. Say no more. What an awful experience for you. Bruce! Bring Ms. Quilliam some wine.'
'I really think I should eat something first,' said Quill.
'Nonsense,' Bea said briskly. 'Birdie, slice her some of our bread, No, no, you just sit there, my dear.'
Birdie bounced up and over to her table, grabbed the bread, and bounced back again. Bruce came over with a chilled bottle wrapped in a napkin. Quill sat rather helplessly and watched. She nibbled at the bread, sipped at the wine, and decided to remain quiet.
Bea tapped her forefinger briskly on the tabletop. 'And how are things going, Linda? Everything straightened out after that little contretemps with the plumbing this morning?'
'Well, the plumbing's fixed, but the electrical system's on the fritz again.' She picked up the menu, set it down, tapped her fingers against the water glass, then signaled for the headwaiter.
'You don't look fine,' said Birdie. 'you look worried.'
'Harassed,' added Bea. 'But then, you always looked harassed, Linda dear. You need to slow down. Is Chef Jean Paul throwing hissy fits again? Is that what's got you all in a fidget?' She twinkled at Quill. 'Linda's the world's best customer for Maalox, aren't you, dear? I'm so glad I own stock in pharmaceuticals.'
'Yes. I mean, no, Jean Paul's fine. I just checked. He and your sister' - she glanced nervously at Quill - 'are getting along like a house afire. They're hanging the rabbit.'
'The rabbit?' Quill frowned. 'Oh. For the potted rabbit.'
'Yes.'
'Did she cry? Meg always cries when she has to hang the rabbit.'
'They both cried,' said Linda, 'and Chef Jean Paul said a little prayer.'
