Meg gathered the plates up in a careless heap and stamped into the kitchen. Quill pulled thoughtfully at her lower lip. ''They tried to kill me?' That's what he said?'
'Yes. We heard the tape ourselves, didn't we, Bea?'
'That part of it, anyway. Mr. Hawthorne gave a press conference very early this morning and they broadcasted live from his home.'
'Still in his bathrobe,' Birdie said. 'He didn't play the whole thing, of course. Said that the whereabouts of this next drop were going to remain secret until Verger was home safe and sound.'
Quill couldn't stand it anymore. She leaned forward and touched Bea's hand. 'That's what he said at the little speech he made to the board, Bea. Remember? 'They're trying to kill me' or words to that effect.'
'Why, so he did,' Birdie said.
'I don't remember that, Birdie.'
Meg walked the short space from the kitchen to the dining room table and asked, 'You think somebody taped it, Quill?'
'I sure do.'
Birdie looked at her watch, a Baume-Mercier glittering with chip sapphires. 'We've that aerobics class in twenty minutes, Bea. And then the therapy session with Dr. Bittern at noon. Let the girls know why we're here.'
'Of course. Well, girls, Verger's disappearance has made a mare's nest of his affairs, as you might imagine.'
'Who inherits?' Quill asked.
'That's not the right question,' Meg said flatly. 'The right question is, who is in control of Taylor Incorporated now?'
'Ernst has full authority,' Birdie said, 'and he's assured us that everything is going to be handled exactly the way Verger wants it until he gets back.'
Meg sat down at the table. 'Can Ernst buy and sell any of Taylor's assets?'
'Oh, I don't believe so.' Bea looked alarmed at this. 'Ernst is a wonderful man, but no one has the talent Verger has. The man's a genius. If Verger's truly gone, then it's time for us to pull our investments out.'
'You're selling off your investments in Taylor Incorporated, then?' Meg asked.
'The new ventures, absolutely,' said Bea firmly. 'That was the very first thing we did last night, after we heard, wasn't it, Birdie? But the existing ones are quite sound, or so Ernst informs me. So we're making no changes there.'
Birdie raised her plucked eyebrows. 'At any rate, poor Ernst has his hands full, what with trying to do things the way that Verger would want and keeping the empire - that's what Verger always called it, the empire - intact. And he wondered if you two would stay on for a bit. Keep the institute up and running. It's absolute chaos over there-as a matter of fact, that's where Ernst is right now. The place needs a manager, Quill, just for a couple of months. And Chef Jean Paul, Meg, absolutely will not come out of the bread closet.'
'What about the chicken people?' Quill asked.
'Oh, that deal wasn't signed. And if it wasn't signed, Ernst said, there's nothing he can do about it. The chicken people are all upset, of course, and as I understand it, Bea, am I right? There was talk of court...'
'Court,' Bea echoed. Her mouth was full of brioche.
'... if Ernst doesn't let them occupy the building by a certain date. But that's not going anywhere, Ernst says.'
'Let me see if I understand this,' Meg said. 'As long as Verger is alive, the institute remains in the same state it was in yesterday. That is, no chicken people.'
'That's right. And you know who had the idea that you two might help us out for a month or two?' Birdie's eyes were bright. 'No, wait. Let me show you what you'll be paid if you accept.' She drew a gold Mont Blanc pen from her purse and a pocket notepad. She wrote a number down, then showed it to Meg. 'That's each,' she said impressively.
Meg tossed the pad to Quill, who took it, read the figure, and managed to keep her face devoid (she hoped) of expression. It was a lot of money.
'Now, guess who made this offer?' Bea said.
'Cressida Houghton,' Meg said.
'That's right!' Bea smiled with hope. 'So you'll do it? You'll take over pro tern, as it were, until Verger is back at the helm?'
'No other message?' asked Meg sweetly. 'From Ms. Houghton, I mean? About not testifying against her poor dear boys? Or dropping the charges of assault and attempted murder? Nothing like that?'
'Of course not.' Indignation shook Bea from the top of her dyed brown hair to her Bruno Magli shoes.
'Well, we decline,' said Meg. She sprang up and walked rapidly back to the center island. Her lips were a thin line in her rigid face. 'Thanks all the same.'
'No, we don't,' Quill said. 'You tell Ms. Houghton that we're seriously considering her offer.' She ignored Meg's yelp.
Bea patted Quill's bare ann. Her hand was soft and trembled slightly. Quill, looking at her closely, thought that she and Birdie must be well over seventy. Plastic surgery, laser therapy, vitamins-all those things could disguise the outer envelope. But nothing medicine had come up with yet could change a person's eyes. And Bea's eyes were old.
