Toast Mortem Read Online Free

on Marge’s part, disconcerted, silence—he waved the official gavel, and finding nowhere convenient to whack it, shifted grumpily in his chair. “How come we’re squashed in here like this, Quill?”
    Quill’s office was located just past the front door to the Inn, behind the reception desk. When it was occupied by three comfortably sized citizens of Hemlock Falls, it seemed to have too much furniture. Marge and Harland sat together on the three-cushioned couch, which was patterned in heavy chintz printed with bronze chrysanthemums. Quill sat behind her desk, which was made of cherry and in the Queen Anne style. Elmer sat at the small Queen Anne table, which was totally covered by the coffee service and a plate of Meg’s sour cream scones.
    “I’m sorry it’s a little crowded,” Quill said. “The group we have here booked the conference room every day this week.”
    “They got a meeting at five o’clock in the afternoon?” Elmer said. “I saw most of ’em in the Tavern Lounge knocking back booze when I came in. If they’re not meeting in there right this minute why are we stuck in this place?”
    “They don’t want anyone in there,” Quill said. “Not even the cleaning staff. They lock it when they aren’t inside.”
    Marge pursed her lips. “What kind of group would that be?”
    Quill hesitated. Marge generally put people in mind of one of those short, aggressive tanks that had been so successful in Iraq (although marriage to Harland had mellowed her a bit), which made ducking her interrogations somewhat hazardous. “It’s called WARP.”
    “WARP?”
    “Like Star Trek ,” Quill said, somewhat obscurely.
    “It’s some kind of rehab program,” Elmer said. “One of those twelve-step jobbers.”
    Quill blinked. She thought about asking Elmer why in the world he thought that, but didn’t. Everybody had what they thought was an informed opinion in a town the size of Hemlock Falls.
    “Drunks,” Elmer said comprehensively. “And you let ’em in the Tavern bar?”
    “They aren’t drunks,” Marge said. “They don’t look like drunks or act like drunks. And even if they were drunks, it’s none of your business, Elmer.”
    Quill, who thought that drinkers came in all shapes and sizes and couldn’t be pigeonholed, had to agree that it wasn’t anyone’s business whether the WARP people drank all the gin in Tompkins County. Although if WARP’s bar bill was anything to go by, it had to be the most unsuccessful twelve-step program ever.
    Marge pinned Quill with a steely gaze. “Looks like they got quite a bit of money to throw around. Why don’t you bring them on down to the Croh Bar for Happy Hour sometime this week?”
    “Insurance business is a bit slow,” Harland said, by way of explanation. “Margie’s not one to pass up a good prospect.”
    “Oh. Well.” Quill cleared her throat. Marge was perfectly capable of marching down the hallway to the Tavern Lounge and shaking Big Buck Vanderhausen by the scruff of the neck until he coughed up a premium on his dually. “When the organizers booked the rooms, they stressed the confidential nature of their group,” she said apologetically. “And they especially asked about how private we were here at the Inn.” Then, because she wasn’t certain what she had to apologize for, she added firmly, “I’m not sure that it’s a recovery program. They seem to be interested in small business. They asked me to give them a talk on how to run a bed-and-breakfast, for example.”
    “This isn’t a bed-and-breakfast,” Marge said with a dangerous look in her eye. “And if they want to know anything about running a small business, why didn’t you tell them about me?”
    “You don’t want to talk about business with a bunch of drunks,” Elmer said patiently.
    “They aren’t drunks,” Quill said.
    “Kayla Morrison found the Serenity Prayer in a wastebasket in that room two-twenty-five of yours,” Elmer said. “Told me so herself.”
    Kayla