saut‚ to stock pots. And the knives were superb.
Quill filled the kettle with spring water and set it on the gas stove. Coffee would be too stimulating; they had a full day scheduled for tomorrow and both of them should get a good night's sleep. Tea would be better. She bent down and opened one cabinet door after another: pasta machine, still in the box; cappuccino/espresso machine - the three-hundred-dollar kind - which looked unused; a Cuisinart. The cabinet under the microwave held tins of ground coffee, boxes of flavored teas..
.... and a videotape, labeled SARAH AND MARGARET QUILLIAM: PLEASE VIEW.
Quill set the videotape on the counter. They'd already received multiple faxes, print packages of the week's agenda, and too many phone calls about Meg's classes and Quill's lecture from Tiffany's underemployed secretary in New York. Whatever was on the tape - Tiffany at her Louis Quinze desk giving them wardrobe advice - Tiffany suggesting variations on Meg's potted rabbit recipe - Tiffany introducing Quill to the latest hairstyles - Quill didn't want to see it just yet. She sighed and set the tape on the countertop, then rummaged through the teas for something decaffeinated. She'd make the tea and then stick the tape in the VCR. She hoped the tape wasn't too long. And she really hoped that she hadn't made a mistake about this trip. 'It's the charity,' she said aloud. 'I'm not so sure about this charity.'
Meg, who'd wandered in from the patio, perched on one of the wrought iron chairs around the kitchen island. 'It's for women with phobias, right?' She burped. She was looking a little green. She'd drunk two glasses of her own punch.
Quill took the kettle off the boiler and selected a packet of tea. Chamomile should settle them both; neither of them were used to rum. 'I think so. Tiffany sort of slid over the specifics.'
Meg picked up the videotape. 'What's this?'
'Who knows? Tiffany's Travel Tips. But we'd better look at it before she gets here. There's a video player with that huge TV in the library.'
Meg pointed to a small shelf near the corner window. 'In the kitchen, too?' Quill walked to the small television set and peered at it. 'By gum, you're right.' Meg stretched across the counter, handed over the tape, and Quill slid it into place. She tapped the PLAY button and the screen sprang into life.
'It's that news show, Hot Tip,' said Meg. 'Yuck. That's one of the sleaziest...'
'Hush, Meg.'
'And that guy's the creepy interviewer Bernie Waters... and that's... '
'Verger Taylor,' said Quill. 'Uh-oh.'
'... exclusive interview with the most successful real estate entrepreneur of this or any other decade.' Bernie Waters grinned whitely into the camera. 'Verge - can I call you Verge? Tell us about this so-called charity that Tiffany's cooked up.'
The camera zoomed in on Verger Taylor's heavy- featured face. Quill instantly mistrusted the sincere blue glow of his eyes.
'It's unfortunate, Bernie, the lengths to which my ex- wife has gone to embarrass me and destroy the good things I've worked for on behalf of the good people of Chicago.'
'What good things?' Meg demanded. 'If he's talking about the Taylor Towers, he can forget it. Architectural monstrosity is NOT the word! All that pink marble overlooking Lake Michigan? It's a womb with a view.'
'Hush, Meg.'
'My lawyers inform me that anyone, anyone participating in this fiasco may be liable for damages. And you know me, Bernie, I've been up and everybody was my best friend. When I was down... I was down so far I couldn't get arrested. I have taken it, and I suppose I'll have to take it in the future. But I'm not taking it now, not from this broad. Anyone dealing with the ex-Mrs. Taylor and that charity down in Palm Beach is going to have to answer to me and my lawyers.'
The tape ended abruptly.
'Good grief,' said Meg. 'What the heck was that all about? And who do you suppose put the tape there?'
Quill drummed her fingers on the countertop. 'Verger Taylor, of course.'
Meg scowled. 'It wasn't Verger Taylor. It was one of the other chefs cooking for the banquet Saturday night. Trying to scare me off.'
'Don't be silly, Meg. Of course it was Verger Taylor. Who else would know that we'd be staying here at Tiffany's place? She didn't even want the people at the condo to know, since it's illegal to rent or something. Which reminds me. About your singing...'
'Maybe you're right.' Meg ran both hands through her short, dark hair. 'On the other hand, maybe I'm right. You know how competitive the cooking business is. I know chefs who'd poison their rivals if they thought they could get away with it. Planting that videotape is small potatoes. Cooking is war, Quill.' 'Then let's go home. Right now. God forbid you should get shot with a turkey baster or clubbed with a rolling pin or...'
'We can't go home! Quill, I've got to get that third star back. And stop that drumming. It's driving me nuts.'
Quill placed her hand flat on the marble. It was her left hand. Myles's engagement ring winked at her. For a brief moment, she felt a cowardly desire to give up and go home to Hemlock Falls. 'I think that from all accounts, Verger Taylor can be a pretty vindictive guy. He put the tape there to intimidate us. It's not going to work, right?'
'If it's Verger Taylor who did it. I think...'
'I know what you think. That everyone in a toque is out to get you. Nuts. I think we should reserve an opinion until we talk to Tiffany.'
Meg grabbed at her hair. 'If it is Verger Taylor, that's a different problem to worry about. What if he sabotages the banquet? Or my cooking classes? You know what he's like. The Meanest Man in Chicago. Who wants to get mixed up in that? Maybe we should go home!'
