Death Dines Out by Claudia Bishop Page B

if you have. The electrical system's all screwed up. Why didn't you let Linda know you were coming? You should have been on the agenda."

Verger's bluster returned in full force. "I always like a little surprise. Keeps the troops on their toes." He winked at Quill. She blushed furiously. She held onto her temper; if he wanted to sit and watch how she handled this mess, fine. Just fine. He shook hands vigorously with Bea and gave Birdie a hug. "Linda? Where the hell are the kitchen chefs? And where the hell's the coffee?"

Linda gave a squeak, knocked over one of the chairs, and rushed out.

"I've got exactly ten minutes for this meeting, and then I'm outta here. Have to meet the Concorde. I'd tell you who's coming in on it, but I'm sworn to keep the I old lips closed. Linda?" He looked around, instantly angry. "Where the hell did she get to?"

"I think she went to find the chefs, Verger," Birdie said dryly. "None of us expected to find you here this morning, or Miss Quilliam either, for that matter. What's going on?"

"You're goddamn late," Verger snarled as Linda ushered a group of white-hatted men into the classroom. "When I call a goddamn meeting, it's to start on time."

"Verger?" Birdie demanded. "You didn't call this meeting. It's the monthly meeting of the board of directors. Technically, you're our guest. Franklin, can't you teach him some better manners?"

Carmichael smiled genially. But Quill noticed he wasn't as cool as he appeared; he reached into his pocket, took out a silver foil packet, put another piece of nicotine gum in his mouth, and chewed it nervously.

"You chefs all here?" Verger demanded. "Vegetables, desserts, manage a whatever the hell it is? Yeah? Okay. Sit down, all of you. This is only gonna take a minute, and then Miss Fancy Pants Quilliam here is going to answer any questions you got Linda, I thought I told you to get coffee. And some goddamn something to eat. 'All right? Now. I want everyone to sit the hell down. You." He jerked his thumb at Chef Jean Paul, who had seated himself at the head of the table. "That's my chair. Beat it." He swung his head toward Linda Longstreet, who was looking pale, frightened, and determined. "Hel-Io? Hello? I thought I asked for coffee."

"I'd like to be here, Mr. Taylor, for whatever it is that you're going to say to us."

"I'll get the coffee," Quill volunteered. Once she was out of this room, she decided, she was going to get into the Mercedes and drive straight back to the condo. I-95 was infinitely preferable to this.

"Linda will call for coffee," said Birdie. "She certainly doesn't have to fetch it herself. I'm sure that the students in the pastry kitchen can spare a few minutes to bring it over." Linda nodded timidly and went to the wall phone near the door. "We will all sit down now. Verger? What is it you have to tell us?"

Verger walked to the head of the table with impressive slowness. The five kitchen chefs sat stiffly in their chairs. Chef Jean Paul pulled mournfully on his mustache. Quill sank back into her seat, between Birdie and Bea. Verger thrust his chair aside and, standing, grasped the edge of the table with both hands. "The Wall Street Journal will announce today that Taylor Incorporated has acquired the property at one Sea View Drive in Palm Beach County, formerly known as the Florida Institute for Fine Food. As of next week, I want you all out of here." He glared at Linda. "Especially you, cookie. You I want out of here today. The way you maintain this place, I'm amazed it hasn't fallen around my ears."

The assembled group looked at him like frozen rabbits. Franklin snapped his gum, apparently in mild distress. The sound was profoundly irritating. There was a small, dismayed gasp - from Linda Longstreet, Quill thought - but no more reaction than that. Of course, it wouldn't have come as a surprise; the altercation between Tiffany and Verger at Le Nozze had hit the six o'clock news; since then, the town had been rife with rumor.

"I'm