'Birdie and Bea,' Quill said.
'The Merry Widows,' Linda said with a smile. 'Plus Selma, of course, although she won't be here today. We're very lucky in our board.'
'Eleven,' said Quill. 'That's eleven people. Who's the twelfth?'
'I assumed that Maitre Quilliam would be with you.'
'Meg? I don't think so. She's in the middle of a class with the student chefs.'
'That's right. I should have known that, because Chef Bruce, the man…ge … gare, was quite put out that he would miss seeing Meg teach. The others, I'm afraid, took the high road - you know how chefs can be - what could a rival teach you - and a woman! They're all frantic, of course, over the competition. Now, I wonder.' She frowned. 'Mr. Taylor said two guests would be here, I'm sure of it.'
The door to the classroom swung open and Bea and Birdie marched in. Bea's track suit this morning was white and gold, with silver metal stars scattered across the breast of the jacket. Birdie wore a Chanel suit in a vibrant pink tweed with black velvet collar and cuffs. She had a long strand of pearls draped around her neck, and her eyeglasses hung from a lapis lazuli chain that reached the last button on the jacket. Quill began to get an inkling about the high level of the air conditioning allover southern Florida: How else could you wear expensive outfits in the heat?
'It's Quill!' Birdie said with warm pleasure. 'How are you, dear?'
'I'm fine, thanks.'
'Mrs. Gollinge, Mrs. McIntyre. Please sit down.' Linda fluttered around them like a distressed bobwhite. 'I was sorry to hear that Mrs. Goldwyn is indisposed. Is she feeling better?'
'Eyelashes,' said Birdie. 'She's getting them dyed this morning. And of course, with that face peel she had yesterday, she won't be fit to be seen for at least ten days, so as far as I'm concerned, she should have waited.'
'Which means she'll miss the cooking courses,' Bea sighed. 'Poor Selma! But we're ready to roll. We've signed up for Meg's classes, did we tell you?'
'Yes, you did,' Quill said. 'There are twelve chairs here, Birdie,' Bea said. 'Are you and your sister going to join us, Quill?'
'I don't think that Meg is. I don't know who the twelfth is for.'
'My two favorite widows!' Verger Taylor boomed. He walked into the classroom with an air both expectant and threatening. Ernst Kolsacker and a large man in a pin-striped suit were with him. The unknown man was well barbered, with a clean-shaven pink face, and a full head of recently clipped white hair. The suit must have been miserably hot in any temperature higher than sixty-five degrees. He was chewing gum.
Ernst was in his golf shirt and chinos. He gave Quill an impish smile. Both he and the suited man ranged themselves against the side of the wall.
'Verger?' Bea put her gold-trimmed glasses to her eyes, then let them fall again. 'And Franklin. Quill? You've already met Ernst. This is Franklin Carmichael, Verger's lawyer.' Her face closed in displeasure. 'Frank? Are you chewing gum?'
He blushed. 'Sorry. It's that nicotine gum. I'm trying to quit smoking.' Both Verger and Franklin Carmichael seemed taken aback by this attack, which may, Quill thought to herself, have been Bea' s intention. Ernst gave her a large wink. Quill bit back a snort of laughter and sat down.
'Spit it out at once, please.' Franklin took the gum from his mouth and wrapped it in his handkerchief. Bea rounded on Taylor. 'I didn't expect to see you here, Verger. What's going on? Is it true? I heard that you've bought the buildings here. You're a damn fool if you have. The electrical system's all screwed up. Why didn't you let Linda know you were coming? You should have been on the agenda.'
Verger's bluster returned in full force. 'I always like a little surprise. Keeps the troops on their toes.' He winked at Quill. She blushed furiously. She held onto her temper; if he wanted to sit and watch how she handled this mess, fine. Just fine. He shook hands vigorously with Bea and gave Birdie a hug. 'Linda? Where the hell are the kitchen chefs? And where the hell's the coffee?'
Linda gave a squeak, knocked over one of the chairs, and rushed out.
'I've got exactly ten minutes for this meeting, and then I'm outta here. Have to meet the Concorde. I'd tell you who's coming in on it, but I'm sworn to keep the I old lips closed. Linda?' He looked around, instantly angry. 'Where the hell did she get to?'
'I think she went to find the chefs, Verger,' Birdie said dryly. 'None of us expected to find you here this morning, or Miss Quilliam either, for that matter. What's going on?'
'You're goddamn late,' Verger snarled as Linda ushered a group of white-hatted men into the classroom. 'When I call a goddamn meeting, it's to start on time.'
'Verger?' Birdie demanded. 'You didn't call this meeting. It's the monthly meeting of the board of directors. Technically, you're our guest. Franklin, can't you teach him some better manners?'
Carmichael smiled genially. But Quill noticed he wasn't as cool as he appeared; he reached into his pocket, took out a silver foil packet, put another piece of nicotine gum in his mouth, and chewed it nervously.
'You chefs all here?' Verger demanded. 'Vegetables, desserts, manage a whatever the hell it is? Yeah? Okay. Sit down, all of you. This is only gonna take a minute, and then Miss Fancy Pants Quilliam here is going to answer any questions you got Linda, I thought I told you to get coffee. And some goddamn something to eat. 'All right? Now. I want everyone to sit the hell down. You.' He jerked his thumb at Chef Jean Paul, who had seated himself at the head of the table. 'That's my chair. Beat it.' He swung his head toward Linda Longstreet, who was looking pale, frightened, and determined. 'Hel-Io? Hello? I thought I asked for coffee.'
'I'd like to be here, Mr. Taylor, for whatever it is that you're going to say to us.'
'I'll get the coffee,' Quill volunteered. Once she was out of this room, she decided, she was going to get into the Mercedes and drive straight back to the condo. I-95 was infinitely preferable to this.
