“Umm . . .” she began diffidently. “If you don’t mind my asking . . .”
“Anson!” Muriel flung open the French doors from the terrace with a crash and covered the distance to the table in three huge leaps. She caught sight of Quill, shrieked in a polite way, and covered her mouth with her palm. “Swine flu!” she shouted through her palm. “This place is infested with swine flu!”
“Don’t be absurd,” Mrs. Barbarossa snapped. “What in the world are you talking about?”
Muriel’s washed-out blue eyes fixed on Quill with surprise. “You don’t look sick.”
“I’m not sick,” Quill said tartly. “I’m perfectly fine.”
Muriel pinched her nose shut, but she sat down (at some distance from Quill). “We went to Bonne Goutè this morning for a perfectly lovely breakfast and M. LeVasque was kind enough to let me know that there was . . . some kind of illness here.”
“He did, did he?” Quill said grimly.
“He was a perfect gentleman about it, I must say. But it worked on me, you know? And when the driver was bringing us back here, I was thinking about it and thinking about it, so I called M. LeVasque back.”
“And he told you we had swine flu?” Quill realized she was on her feet with her fists clenched. Muriel scooted her chair back a few feet.
“Not exactly. I called the cooking academy on my cell and left a message. I begged him, begged him to tell me what he knew, and I just now got the call back.”
“What did he say?” Quill’s voice was deceptively mild. Her eyes rolled dramatically in her husband’s direction. “We have to all check out of here right now!”
“Which is what M. LeVasque wants,” Quill said calmly. “Everyone in this inn is perfectly well, perfectly healthy, and absolutely fine. M. LeVasque is annoyed with me because one of his best chefs has decided to work in our kitchens instead of for that . . . that . . .” Quill bit her lip, aware that she was about to growl. “Anyway. This is a dirty business tactic, and I’m not going to stand for it.” She nodded to them. “Do you mind if we have our talk at another time? Perhaps this afternoon? We can give you a wonderful cream tea here in the lounge about four o’clock.”
“Why, thank you!” Mrs. Barbarossa said. “May I ask where you’re going now?”
“I’m going to find LeVasque and knock his block off.”
8
In the best kitchens, a calm temperament is all to the good.
—From Brilliance in the Kitchen , B. LeVasque
Quill was so mad she swept through the dining room without checking to see how the diners were getting on. She straight-armed the swinging doors and stamped into the kitchen, only vaguely aware that Dina was trotting along behind her, trying to get her attention.
“Not now, Dina.” She nodded briefly to Clare, who was staring past her with a bemused expression, and raised her hand in greeting at Elizabeth Chou, whose mouth was open in alarm.
Elizabeth was an exceptionally taciturn person. Quill came to a halt and demanded, “What!?”
Clare pointed. Quill turned around. Dina was hanging on to a guy in a brown uniform who was courteously trying to shake her off. He had a pleasant face, thinning brown hair, and was probably in his early forties. Quill had never seen him before in her life. She didn’t recognize the uniform, either.
Dina let go of his arm, and he raised his hand in a sort of salute. “Officer Dooley Banks, ma’am. Department of Environmental Conservation. Are you Sarah Q. McHale?”
Officer Banks delivered this inquiry in the same tone of voice that state troopers ask for a driver’s license. For one cowardly moment, Quill thought about denying that she was, in fact, Sarah Q. McHale, but she said, “Yes, sir.”
“I’m investigating a report of an illegal beach.”
“An illegal beach,” Quill said, as if repeating the phrase would make it more comprehensible. “Yes. I see.”
“I’ve been down to inspect the area in question,
“Anson!” Muriel flung open the French doors from the terrace with a crash and covered the distance to the table in three huge leaps. She caught sight of Quill, shrieked in a polite way, and covered her mouth with her palm. “Swine flu!” she shouted through her palm. “This place is infested with swine flu!”
“Don’t be absurd,” Mrs. Barbarossa snapped. “What in the world are you talking about?”
Muriel’s washed-out blue eyes fixed on Quill with surprise. “You don’t look sick.”
“I’m not sick,” Quill said tartly. “I’m perfectly fine.”
Muriel pinched her nose shut, but she sat down (at some distance from Quill). “We went to Bonne Goutè this morning for a perfectly lovely breakfast and M. LeVasque was kind enough to let me know that there was . . . some kind of illness here.”
“He did, did he?” Quill said grimly.
“He was a perfect gentleman about it, I must say. But it worked on me, you know? And when the driver was bringing us back here, I was thinking about it and thinking about it, so I called M. LeVasque back.”
“And he told you we had swine flu?” Quill realized she was on her feet with her fists clenched. Muriel scooted her chair back a few feet.
“Not exactly. I called the cooking academy on my cell and left a message. I begged him, begged him to tell me what he knew, and I just now got the call back.”
“What did he say?” Quill’s voice was deceptively mild. Her eyes rolled dramatically in her husband’s direction. “We have to all check out of here right now!”
“Which is what M. LeVasque wants,” Quill said calmly. “Everyone in this inn is perfectly well, perfectly healthy, and absolutely fine. M. LeVasque is annoyed with me because one of his best chefs has decided to work in our kitchens instead of for that . . . that . . .” Quill bit her lip, aware that she was about to growl. “Anyway. This is a dirty business tactic, and I’m not going to stand for it.” She nodded to them. “Do you mind if we have our talk at another time? Perhaps this afternoon? We can give you a wonderful cream tea here in the lounge about four o’clock.”
“Why, thank you!” Mrs. Barbarossa said. “May I ask where you’re going now?”
“I’m going to find LeVasque and knock his block off.”
8
In the best kitchens, a calm temperament is all to the good.
—From Brilliance in the Kitchen , B. LeVasque
Quill was so mad she swept through the dining room without checking to see how the diners were getting on. She straight-armed the swinging doors and stamped into the kitchen, only vaguely aware that Dina was trotting along behind her, trying to get her attention.
“Not now, Dina.” She nodded briefly to Clare, who was staring past her with a bemused expression, and raised her hand in greeting at Elizabeth Chou, whose mouth was open in alarm.
Elizabeth was an exceptionally taciturn person. Quill came to a halt and demanded, “What!?”
Clare pointed. Quill turned around. Dina was hanging on to a guy in a brown uniform who was courteously trying to shake her off. He had a pleasant face, thinning brown hair, and was probably in his early forties. Quill had never seen him before in her life. She didn’t recognize the uniform, either.
Dina let go of his arm, and he raised his hand in a sort of salute. “Officer Dooley Banks, ma’am. Department of Environmental Conservation. Are you Sarah Q. McHale?”
Officer Banks delivered this inquiry in the same tone of voice that state troopers ask for a driver’s license. For one cowardly moment, Quill thought about denying that she was, in fact, Sarah Q. McHale, but she said, “Yes, sir.”
“I’m investigating a report of an illegal beach.”
“An illegal beach,” Quill said, as if repeating the phrase would make it more comprehensible. “Yes. I see.”
“I’ve been down to inspect the area in question,
Similar Books
