Murder Well-Done by Claudia Bishop Page B

to pay all my parking tickets. Be diplomatic to all the guests." She groaned suddenly. "Nuts. What am I supposed to do about this stupid bachelor party for Santini? Tell me you really don't want me to kick S. O. A. P. out and cancel H. O. W. and get everyone mad at me."

"Why don't we put the Santini bachelor party in the dining room, H. O. W. in the conference room, and S. O. A. P. on the terrace?"

"In winter?"

"Sure. We'll get some smut pots from Richardson's apple farm and line the terrace with nice primitive light and a modicum of warmth. They'll love it."

"A modicum," muttered Quill. "The warmth will certainly be less than a modicum. What's less than a modicum?"

John shrugged. "I don't think they'll complain. From what I can gather, the rites of passage involve exposure to extremes. They're spending all day in the woods barbecuing a steer the day of the meeting, and Elmer said they'll be bringing it with them. They don't want service or food - just the space. I'll get Mike to bring up the barbecue spit from the shed. And we'll put the bridal shower in the lounge. So all you have to do is let everyone know the schedule."

Quill sighed and looked at her watch. "I could catch Elmer in the park if I hurry. They're meeting there today. Meg roasted them a pig. And I'll tell Doreen about H. O. W. And I'm meeting with Senator Santini and Claire at five o'clock to get the particulars about the bachelor party and the shower and the rehearsal dinner. I wonder if he has any idea of the number of men that are going to show up."

"You'll meet the Santini party after Syracuse?"

She nodded, feeling that internal shift that meant her hesitation was over. She said goodbye, left the office, and went into the foyer to get her coat and boots. She'd been meaning to replace the coat, which was a tattered red down, and her hat, which was ugly but warm, but had been too depressed to do it.

"You're seeing sheriff McHale?" Dina asked as she crossed the foyer to the coat closet.

"Just lunch," Quill said with an airy wave of her hand.

Dina's large brown eyes were moist. Quill, to her alarm, detected sympathy. Nothing, absolutely nothing was private in this place. "Well, be careful. And, Quill?"

Quill paused, her coat slung over one arm. "What!"

Dina quailed. Twenty-four-year-old graduate students spent a lot of time waiting for opportunities to quail and made the best of it when the least little chance happened by. "Nothing. Just. Ah. Watch for icy spots."

Quill carried her boots through the dining room. Kathleen had gone, so Quill couldn't ask her why her crazy brother thought he'd given her a speeding ticket when he hadn't. A faint sound of singing came form the back of the kitchen. Meg, with a particularly tuneless version of "The Boar's Head Carol." The sound was too muffled to be coming from the kitchen itself. If Meg were in the storeroom, Quill could sneak out without a lot of last-minute questions.

Quill edged the swinging doors open a few inches. She could see part of the birch shelving, a few bundles of dried red peppers hanging from the beams, and a copper saucepan bubbling on the Aga. Quill pushed the doors open. Meg was nowhere in sight.

" `The bo-o-a-ar's head in hand bear I/ Bedecked with bay and rosemareee... ` "

Quill winced. Meg's music suffered more in minor keys for some reason. But it tended to deafen her awareness of the outside world. Quill made it to the back door and stopped to pull on her boots.

Meg popped her head out of the storeroom. "Off to Syracuse?"

Quill jumped.

"You're wearing that ratty down coat? And that fur hat?'

"What's wrong with this coat?" Quill asked defensively.

"It's ugly," Meg said frankly. "It's so ugly you can tell it a mile off. And that fur hat with the flaps? And to think some poor rabbit died for that hat. Yuck."

"It's warm," Quill said stubbornly.

"Leaving without saying anything?"

"Um," Quill said. "You were right. John is right. The weather looks a little stormy and I