A Touch of the Grape: A Hemlock Falls Mystery (Hemlock Falls Mystery series) by Claudia Bishop Page A

wholesaler wanted his money up front. "Damn," Quill said. The answering machine light blipped red; she punched the Play button:
    Myles, his voice hollow and tinny on the line from Frankfurt. Love and he'd call in two days.
    Selena Summerhill, offering dates for a wine tour.
    Two calls from the obnoxiously cheerful, nastily firm credit card people.
    Marge Schmidt, inviting her to the Hemlock Home Diner (Fine Food and Fast!). No rush. Anytime. Just to talk. Thought she might be interested in doing a little business.
    Marge's number at the diner was easy to remember: all the village telephone prefixes were the same, 597. The diner was 597-FOOD. Quill dialed before she lost her nerve.
    "Diner, 'lo."
    "Hello, Marge. It's Sarah Quilliam. Up at the Inn."
    "How's it going, up there at the Inn, Ms. Quilliam?"
    "Fine!"
    Marge didn't say anything to this, although the quality of the silence was of the "what am I, stupid?" variety. Then, "You got some bonehead insurance guy named Burke stayin' up there with you. Quill?"
    "Rocky Burke? Yes. Why?"
    "I hope he chokes to death on one a Meg's chicken bones, that's why. Creep comes in here at lunchtime with his round little stummick stickin' out, tries to hit up the whole damn town for new policies. Threw the bugger out."
    "Good grief," Quill said.
    "Thing is, Quill. I'm kinda startin' in that line myself."
    "Insurance?"
    "Good hedge against bad times."
    Quill made an attempt to sort this out before Marge said anything more. Was she trying to sell Quill a policy? Did she leave the call just so she could rub it in that half the village was eating lunch at her diner, rather than at the Inn? Was there a hidden message (Marge could be subtle) in the phrase, "bad times"?
    "Quill?"
    "Yes?"
    "Wondered if you might want to talk about selling the Inn."
    So much for subtlety. "No," Quill said, and hung up. "Hell."
    "Speak of the devil and he appears!" Rocky Burke bounced ebulliently down the stairway. "My guys down yet?"
    "Not yet. And if you'll give me a moment, I'll give Signer Bellasario a call. What time would you like to start?"
    "Where's the piano?"
    "In the Tavern. We can serve your dinner in there, if you like." At least, she thought, there were a couple of customers still there. The empty dining room would seem oppressive.
    Burke peered shrewdly at her. "Kinda quiet for a Sat urday night, isn't it?"
    "It's usual this time of year," Quill fibbed. "Why don't you come and sit down in my office while I call Signor Bellasario?"
    "Fine, fine. I've got the binder right here." He drew a sheaf of papers from his breast pocket, and followed her into the office. "Your business manager still around or has he left already?"
    "He's in Syracuse tonight. It's his night off."
    "I see. He said that nonpayment of premium was a mistake; drew the check from the wrong checking account or something."
    "It was my fault," Quill said, because it was. "I forget to list the checks I write sometimes, and I didn't tell John about a couple of them, and then I forgot to make a deposit."
    "Good thing you had him running the financial end for you."
    "It certainly is."
    "Too bad he's leaving."
    Quill didn't answer him.
    Her desk was piled high with the paperwork John in sisted she had to review. She sat down at her desk and glanced at the paper at the top of the pile: it was the spreadsheet for the year's revenues. The numbers at the bottom of the income column were in the dreaded parentheses. The parentheses, John had explained more than once, did NOT mean profit. It meant, in the mem orable phrase of Hudson Zabriskie, the former manager of the Hemlock Falls Paramount Paint Company, nega tive profit. A deficit. A loss.
    A failure.
    For the benefit of the clearly suspicious Mr. Burke, Quill smiled at the spreadsheet with delight, then took the whole pile of papers and stuffed them in the top drawer. "There," she said brightly. "I'll have time to go over those later. You should have a seat, Mr. Burke, and I'll make that