A Touch of the Grape: A Hemlock Falls Mystery (Hemlock Falls Mystery series) by Claudia Bishop
Authors: Claudia Bishop
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Nate. When we were successful, that is."
"Thank you very much. Now, who's going to take care of her?" He indicated the long sweep of the bar.
"I thought I'd ask Kathleen. Tips in the dining room are even worse than in here. Not that she'd be a tenth of the bartender you are, Nate."
"Thank you. Thank you very much. Who's going to take over for Kath in the dining room?"
"We'll figure it out. Me, probably."
"Yeah? Just like the old days."
"Just like the old days."
"I thought I'd work out the week. Maybe start at the Croh on Monday. Tell you what. Quill. You get a special party in, like that Swamp Engineers Group, I'd be glad to sub for you. Anytime. All you gotta do is ask."
"That's a good idea." Quill sat up a little straighter and took a healthy swallow of her wine. "That's a very good idea. I wonder if we could do it all with part-timers. I mean—we've always felt it was important to offer salaries and health benefits, but part-timers don't care about that, do they? And they work cheap."
Nate nodded.
"You don't think it's a good idea, Nate. I can tell you don't think it's a good idea."
"You've been a good boss, Quill. Hate to see you start the nickel-and-dime stuff, that's all."
"Well, maybe if I'd paid more attention to the nickel-and-dime stuff, you wouldn't be looking for a job at the Croh Bar."
"Could be."
Quill waited until the heat in her cheeks subsided. "Sorry."
"S'all right. Times are tough."
"Times aren't that tough. People like Marge Schmidt never seem to go through tough times." She thought a moment. "Nate?"
"Yeah, Quill. Still here."
"Marge Schmidt's run the Hemlock Home Diner for how long?"
"Long as I can remember. I think she bought that place with the money from her high school graduation party, I swear to God. And she's never looked back."
"I've heard she's the richest woman in Hemlock Falls."
"Richest citizen in Tompkins County," Nate said. "And that's saying something, with all the wineries."
"I wonder." Quill beckoned Nate closer, and leaned forward until her curls tickled his cheek. "You don't think … you don't think she'd like to buy out John's share in the Inn?"
"John's got shares in the Inn?" Nate frowned.
"Fifteen percent. Of course, at the moment, that fifteen percent isn't worth a bucket of warm spit, as they say in Fargo, but still. She's a successful woman, Nate. A woman who knows her way around a bank."
"When did you give ol' John fifteen percent of the Inn?"
"We didn't give it to him, he earned it. It's called sweat equity. He deferred part of his salary every year, or something. I'm not entirely sure. Howie Murchison handled it for me."
"How come I didn't get a chance at these shares?"
"You?"
"Me." He tapped his chest. "Nate. Guy that's standing right here in front of you. I mean being such a valuable employee and all."
"Oh." She thought a moment. "Well, everyone got a chance to participate in the boutique when it opened."
"Thanks a lot."
"I detect a little sarcasm here, Nate."
"Well, the dang thing went bust, didn't it? So much for all that profit sharing."
"Who knew Mr. Sakura was going to make it into a car wash and miniature golf course?"
"Anyway."
There was an awkward silence. Quill cleared her throat. "I'll be getting along then." She glanced at her watch. "Myles usually calls about now. He's in Europe, you know. That German thing And I've got to give Signer Bellasario a call. The brokers want some music."
"See you around. Quill."
"See you."
She walked briskly out of the Tavern Bar with, she hoped, an attitude of purpose and confidence. The foyer was empty, the front door closed. No noise at all came from the dining room, and when she looked, she saw it was empty. The Crafty Ladies had finished their dinners and gone—who knew where. The silence was deafening.
A note from Kathleen was taped to the room ledger: 214, 216, 218 checked in. So the other brokers must have arrived. A second note taped to the telephone was from Doreen: sorry. So the
"Thank you very much. Now, who's going to take care of her?" He indicated the long sweep of the bar.
"I thought I'd ask Kathleen. Tips in the dining room are even worse than in here. Not that she'd be a tenth of the bartender you are, Nate."
"Thank you. Thank you very much. Who's going to take over for Kath in the dining room?"
"We'll figure it out. Me, probably."
"Yeah? Just like the old days."
"Just like the old days."
"I thought I'd work out the week. Maybe start at the Croh on Monday. Tell you what. Quill. You get a special party in, like that Swamp Engineers Group, I'd be glad to sub for you. Anytime. All you gotta do is ask."
"That's a good idea." Quill sat up a little straighter and took a healthy swallow of her wine. "That's a very good idea. I wonder if we could do it all with part-timers. I mean—we've always felt it was important to offer salaries and health benefits, but part-timers don't care about that, do they? And they work cheap."
Nate nodded.
"You don't think it's a good idea, Nate. I can tell you don't think it's a good idea."
"You've been a good boss, Quill. Hate to see you start the nickel-and-dime stuff, that's all."
"Well, maybe if I'd paid more attention to the nickel-and-dime stuff, you wouldn't be looking for a job at the Croh Bar."
"Could be."
Quill waited until the heat in her cheeks subsided. "Sorry."
"S'all right. Times are tough."
"Times aren't that tough. People like Marge Schmidt never seem to go through tough times." She thought a moment. "Nate?"
"Yeah, Quill. Still here."
"Marge Schmidt's run the Hemlock Home Diner for how long?"
"Long as I can remember. I think she bought that place with the money from her high school graduation party, I swear to God. And she's never looked back."
"I've heard she's the richest woman in Hemlock Falls."
"Richest citizen in Tompkins County," Nate said. "And that's saying something, with all the wineries."
"I wonder." Quill beckoned Nate closer, and leaned forward until her curls tickled his cheek. "You don't think … you don't think she'd like to buy out John's share in the Inn?"
"John's got shares in the Inn?" Nate frowned.
"Fifteen percent. Of course, at the moment, that fifteen percent isn't worth a bucket of warm spit, as they say in Fargo, but still. She's a successful woman, Nate. A woman who knows her way around a bank."
"When did you give ol' John fifteen percent of the Inn?"
"We didn't give it to him, he earned it. It's called sweat equity. He deferred part of his salary every year, or something. I'm not entirely sure. Howie Murchison handled it for me."
"How come I didn't get a chance at these shares?"
"You?"
"Me." He tapped his chest. "Nate. Guy that's standing right here in front of you. I mean being such a valuable employee and all."
"Oh." She thought a moment. "Well, everyone got a chance to participate in the boutique when it opened."
"Thanks a lot."
"I detect a little sarcasm here, Nate."
"Well, the dang thing went bust, didn't it? So much for all that profit sharing."
"Who knew Mr. Sakura was going to make it into a car wash and miniature golf course?"
"Anyway."
There was an awkward silence. Quill cleared her throat. "I'll be getting along then." She glanced at her watch. "Myles usually calls about now. He's in Europe, you know. That German thing And I've got to give Signer Bellasario a call. The brokers want some music."
"See you around. Quill."
"See you."
She walked briskly out of the Tavern Bar with, she hoped, an attitude of purpose and confidence. The foyer was empty, the front door closed. No noise at all came from the dining room, and when she looked, she saw it was empty. The Crafty Ladies had finished their dinners and gone—who knew where. The silence was deafening.
A note from Kathleen was taped to the room ledger: 214, 216, 218 checked in. So the other brokers must have arrived. A second note taped to the telephone was from Doreen: sorry. So the
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