Death Dines Out Read Online Free Page A

and shrieked, 'Sir! What do you think I I am?' And he said 'Madam. We've established what you are. We are just trying to establish the price.' I knew it. Quill? We're here under false pretenses."

"It wasn't Mrs. Siddons," said Quill, momentarily! diverted. "It was Mrs. Patrick Campbell. Mrs. Siddons lived a hundred years earlier."

"What are you talking about?" Tiffany said crossly. "We're not talking about hookers, here."

Meg grinned ominously. Quill was recalled to the task at hand, which was to keep the volatile Meg from annihilating Mrs. Taylor. She got up and fetched Meg a cup of strong tea. Meg took it, drank half in two swallows, and glowered.

"You wouldn't have, would you?" Tiffany persisted.

"Wouldn't have what?" asked Meg.

"Gone to Hawaii to cook for my fund-raiser."

"I wouldn't have crossed the street for the fund-raiser if I knew what it was for - wealthy women who are afraid to marry wealth again?"

Quill sent a hasty prayer to whatever gods were in charge of Meg's temper. "What Meg means, Tiffany, is that we're busy most of the year - "

"That's not what I meant," Meg said doggedly. "What I meant was that a bunch of rich women who've gotten their big bucks from - "

Quill raised her voice. "Early November's about the only time we could close the Inn and not lose a ton of money. And a week is the maximum time Meg can spend away from her kitchen without freaking out. So, no. We probably wouldn't have gone to Hawaii. Not if you wanted seven days of celebrity cooking lessons capped by a celebrity-cooked banquet. Between celebrities and jet lag Meg would have had to check into your hospital."

"It's not for stress. I've told you what it's for. Women who are afraid to take a chance on mar - "

"Phooey," Meg interrupted rudely.

"You have doubts about it. I can see that. Both of you. Well, if you don't believe in the charity now, you will after you've met Dr. Bob." Tiffany's perfectly taut brow didn't wrinkle with sincerity, which it should have, since her tone was passionate with it. Quill remembered reading that in a full face lift, the surgeon peeled the skin off the forehead, severed the frown muscles, and pulled the extra skin over the skull. Tiffany's brow I couldn't wrinkle if she wanted it to.

"It's not doubts, precisely," Quill began.

"It's doubts," said Meg flatly. "We've been seduced by the beaches and swimming in warm weather when everybody else at home is armpit-deep in snow. But we're getting unseduced fast. Of course we don't believe in a charity for wealthy women who have divorce phobias. Charities are for people in need."

"Exactly. Charities are for people in need. And need occurs at all levels of society. At all levels of income. Do you have any idea how neglected women such as myself and my friends are? Do you realize the kind of abuse we've taken from people like Verger?"

"Gee, no." Meg's own forehead wrinkled quite satisfactorily, which, Quill knew, frequently presaged an eruption quite as volcanic as Kiluea Iki's. "Unless your mother sold you to him at an early age, you had something to say about marrying him, didn't you? Plus, I can't say as I have a whole lot of sympathy for people who got the second-best Rolls in a settlement." She grabbed her head. "Aaagh! The bells!"

Tiffany glowed. "It's Dr. Bob." She uncrossed her legs and got up gracefully. "You're sure you don't want to do something about your hair, Quill?"

"Shall I get the door?" asked Quill politely.

"He'll use his key." She cocked her head, listening. Quill heard the door open, then the click of shoes on the wooden floor. Tiffany extended her hands. "And here he is. Darling!"

"My dear."

-2-

Quill had imagined Dr. Bittern as a slick, smooth Richard Gere look-alike. He wasn't. The doctor (psychologist? psychiatrist? osteopath?) was small and shaped like a fire hydrant. It was hard to tell how old he was. (Quill was discovering that in Palm Beach it was hard to decide how old anybody was. Florida seemed to be the