Marinade for Murder

by Claudia Bishop

  The screen flickered into life. The music came up. The intro was the overture from Finlandia. Quill guessed it was Finlandia; it was hard to tell since somebody had set it to hip-hop time.

  MUSIC UP: (theme from Finlandia, rewritten for rappers.)

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  Scene 1, ext: Snow with blue sky above. SNEEZER, in a horned helmet and carrying a spear, is bobbing along the snow. His buddy the reindeer RALPH is trying to keep up. Periodically, they tumble over and over, falling into snowbanks, each other, etc.

  VO: (chorus of goofy voices) Way up north in the ice and snow... Where only morons ever go!

  SNEEZER and RALPH stop their dancing progress and inhale.

  SNEEZER (bringing his head back! He's ready to sneeze, but not quite!!!): Ah-ah-ah ...

  CHORUS (they're rappin'!)

  It's a duck! It's a duck!

  (He hasn't sneezed yet!! RALPH and SNEEZER romp on!)

  CHORUS: (they're rappin'.')

  He ain't too quick But he ain 't too slow!

  SNEEZER: (he brings his head back to sneeze once again! This is going to be a good one!!)

  AH-AH-AH-AH... CHORUS:

  He's a outta-luck duck With the brains of a—

  SFX: CHOO!

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  Scene 2: (CU) SNEEZER'S finally sneezed! Snot covers the screen, and music UP to cover the four-letter word the censors won't let us use anyway!)

  CHORUS: SNEEZER!!!

  Eddie brought the lights up. Quill realized her mouth was open and shut it. She didn't have the strength of character to look at Horvath, but Marge, who had titanium nerves, could and did.

  Horvath wheezed. He marched to the television and removed the tape from the VCR. He opened the door to the conference room and walked out. Quill got up and followed him. She went into the hall and caught a glimpse of him turning the corner to the bar. She followed slowly.

  The bar was empty, except for Nate putting back the polished and shining wineglasses. He placed each one in a neat row on the shelf above the mahogany bartop. It looked like a calm peaceful sort of job. The kind that didn't involve soothing agitated investors. She waved to Nate. Horvath was nowhere in sight.

  "And so this is part of America," Horvath said into her ear.

  Quill whirled, tripped, and tumbled sideways. The little Finn grabbed her elbow just in time. "Hi, Horvath!" she said rather breathlessly. "I suppose you're a little upset."

  "No." He shook his head decidedly. "I am not upset. I am angry. Insults. Insults are part of America."

  Quill took him by the arm. "Would you like a nice drink? Let's sit down."

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  "You have seen this travesty of Finland before!" he demanded.

  "No, I haven't. But Hagar—" She clapped her hand over her mouth. "Sorry. Sorry. I mean Horvath."

  "So!" he roared. "Yet more mock is made of my country!" Horvath made a sound like "p-too!" "This is disgusting!"

  "It's terrible," Quill agreed. "Horvath, I'm so sorry."

  "You must throw these people from the Inn. My government will not allow such stuff."

  "I don't blame you one bit for being angry."

  "So you will throw them out?"

  "I don't know if I can," she said honestly. "The police are still investigating this, um, accident to Mr. Strickland, and they may not..." She sighed hopelessly. "I'm so sorry!"

  "Sorry is not enough. You are to throw them out Immediately." He got up in a dignified way. "If you do not? Then I must say I have very many doubts about this deal."

  "You know, I don't believe that Strickland would have let them air this show anyway," Quill said. "This is just a pilot, Horvath. Didn't they say that?"

  "Yes. I have heard from other sources that the producer did not like this. But this producer is dead. And another Finn-hating producer may find this very funny. I do not. I shall call my embassy."

  "You know," Quill said slowly, "I think that's what they mean for you to do."

  "They would like an international incident over this? They will have an international incident over this. We Finns do not have the bomb, but we can get one. We are quite good friends with the Russians. Sometimes."

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  "Now hold on a minute, Horvath." Quill tugged him gently back into his chair. "I think we should have a vodka and talk about this."

  "Vodka will not help."

  "Stolyi?"

  He grinned, albeit reluctantly. "You think I am— there is an American expression—"

  "Overreacting?" She lifted her ringer at Nate, who nodded comprehension. "No, I don't think you're overreacting."

  Nate set a chilled bottle of Stolyi in front of them, with two shot glasses. Horvath poured. "Prosit!" He knocked it back. Quill knocked hers back and gasped. Horvath poured again. "To friendship!"

  The third shot was to the business partnership between Finns and America. The fourth was in honor of the Finnish Revolution. Quill closed her eyes and sent a fierce mental message to Nate the bartender. She opened them. Nate kept on polishing wineglasses. Clearly he was concentrating too hard to receive them. "Nate!" she yelled as Horvath prepared a fifth shot of vodka.

  Nate jumped. A wineglass crashed to the floor. "Ah, Quill?"

  "Will you check on my ... my ..." Woozily she checked her watch. The hands danced. Had she found her Mickey Mouse watch after all these years? Tears came to her eyes. "Mickey!" she said.

  "You okay, Quill?"

  She blinked. Nate seemed to waver in and out of frame. She hoped that wasn't a homed helmet on his

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  head; he moved and she realized he'd been in front of the moose head on the north wall.

  "You wanted me to check on something?"

  She thought hard. "My four o'clock appointment!" she said triumphantly. "Will you see if my four o'clock appointment is here? Wait... wait... I'll do it myself. In my office."

  "Sherri Kern's in your office, Quill." Dina said. The receptionist was here! Good old Dina! Quill started to laugh. "You two! You two look swimmy!"

  "... drunk!" Dina said.

  "... Stolyi." Nate's voice.

  "Appointment," Quill said desperately. "My office." Somebody helped her up. 'Too fast," Quill said clearly. "See you later, Hagar. After my a-point-ment"

  "... bed." That was Nate's slightly weary "bartender who'd seen it all" voice.

  "She'll be madder if she doesn't keep her appointment," Dina said. "Quill, you're not that drunk, are you?"

  "Absolutely not."

  Dina helped her through the hallway, men an open door, and Quill recognized the peony-printed cushions of her couch. She sat down with a sigh and put her head between her knees. "Oh, my goodness."

  "Is she okay? I stopped by to see if she's okay."

  Quill twitched. That was Sherri Kent Had Dina made a mistake and taken her back to the gym? She didn't want to go back to the gym. She wailed, "I fell off the treadmill. And I'm not going back to the gym!" There were vague movements over her head. Someone was shaking hands with someone else.

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  "I'm Dina Muir. You must be Sherri. It is, like, so cool that you've opened a gym. And yeah, I think she's okay. Nate said she was drinking vodka with Horvath Kierkegaard, which is a mistake, because the guy has the constitution of a goat. I'm, like, not slamming the guy, or anything."

  "Fourth rule," Quill moaned. "Don't call the guests names... excuse me, guys." She leaped from the couch and just made it to the small bathroom off her office.

  She was very sick for what seemed like a very long time. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and looked at herself in the mirror. The bruise over her left eye was from the treadmill. The pasty-white complexion ... she thought of the green gunk and swallowed hard. A knock at the door roused her from mournful contemplation.

  "Hey."

  "Hey, Dina. Come in. No, wait, I'm coming out."

  "You sure?"

  "I'm sure." S
he pulled the door open. Sherri and Dina looked back at her. "I'm not drunk," Quill said clearly. "Just a little fuzzy. And I have to sit down."

  The two of them leaped back. Quill wobbled to the couch and sank thankfully into it.

  "You look awful," Dina said helpfully. "Can I get you anything?"

  "She's got just the thing," Sherri said briskly. "I sold it to her yesterday." She raised her voice, "Do you remember where you put your supplements?"

  Quill clapped her hands over her ear. "All I need is some tea. Really."

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  Til get it" Dina bit her lip. "You want some lemon?"

  "Yes. And if you laugh at me, you're fired."

  "Not in a million years."

  Quill, eyes closed, heard Dina leave, and the quiet sounds of someone still in her office. "Sherri?"

  "Right here! You going to be sick again?"

  "No. But I have words of wisdom to offer. Never drink with a Finn." She opened her eyes. Sherri stared at her with disapproval. "I don't do this, you know. Get drunk at four in the afternoon."

  Sherri made an "of course not" noise.

  "It was because ... Oh, never mind." She pushed herself upright with a groan.

  "It's a good thing to vomit," Sherri said seriously. "Gets all the toxins out of your system."

  "I feel better." She looked at the ceiling. It was pierced tin and she'd always liked it. "Actually I don't feel better. I just don't feel drunk." She rolled her head slightly. "I meant to tell you I was sorry about barging in on you last night."

  "No problem."

  "Is he nice?" Quill said a little wistfully. "Sony, I don't mean to pry. I'm a little envious of people who have their love lives straightened out."

  "Sometimes you don't choose it," Sherri said distantly. "It just chooses you."

  "That helps with the decision," Quill said wryly. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

  '1 dropped by to see if you were okay after falling off the treadmill. And I didn't have any more clients scheduled, so I thought I'd take a look at the Inn. I

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  haven't been here yet, and everyone talks about it. It's great. Kind of old, but great."

  "I'm glad you did." Quill tried to inject some warmth into her voice, which was hard, since Sherri was so bouncingly there. Health, high energy, and tan combined to give her a golden nimbus. She strode around the small space like a V-8 engine strapped to a lawn mower. She poked at the little ivory unicorn on Quill's desk, picked up a cloisonne bowl Quill had owned for years, and examined her photographs. "This your folks?"

  "Yes. It was taken a year before they died."

  "Your father's really handsome. Looks like one of those old-time Shakespearean actors. Olivier, maybe. Or Barrymore."

  "My sister takes after him. I take after my mother."

  Sherri dropped the photo with a clunk and craned her neck at the walls. She cracked her knuckles; her arms rippled with healthy muscle. Quill wondered if she'd have such a hangover if she were buff. Probably not. "What about your pictures?" Sherri asked. "I don't see any in here. You paint, don't you?"

  Quill replied as she always did when people asked her this question. "A little."

  "My father says you're pretty good. I thought maybe I'd see if you wanted to have me display some of your smaller ones at the gym. Kind of a quid pro quo for keeping the flyers at the desk."

  Quill felt another stab of empathy for Horvath. "Does your father paint?"

  "You mean why would he know who you are when I don't? Dad's one of those up-to-the-minute guys.

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  He's in business, too. Although," she said candidly, "he's rich and I'm not. Is your dad rich?"

  "My parents died when I was sixteen. How did we get off on this?" Quill said pleasantly.

  Sherri chuckled. "I don't know. I was worried that you really smacked yourself on the treadmill, and that I'd been too pushy about having you join the gym, and I don't know you well enough to apologize, so I guess I was babbling."

  Dina tapped on the door and pushed it open with her knee. She carried a loaded tea tray. Quill was extremely thirsty. Dina set the tray down and poured three cups. She gave the first to Quill, served Sherri and herself, and perched on the edge of the desk.

  Sherri sat on the opposite end of the couch and said, "There's one more reason I dropped by. How much do you want for the Inn?"

  CHAPTER 8

  "Is there some sort of weird genetic experiment going on we don't know about?" Quill asked John the next morning at breakfast. "The kind that makes people totally nuts?"

  John laughed. He had a nice laugh, low and easy.

  They sat at the manager's table in the dining room. Early-morning sun poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Quill was exhausted; the echo of the vodka was still in her system.

  She yawned. "Sorry. Anyway, I told Sherri Kerri thank you very much, but we were pretty sure that the deal with Horvath is going to go through." She folded and refolded the linen napkin. "It is going to go through, isn't it? I mean, even if Strickland's lawyer sues us?"

  Everett Bland sat near them, eating a plate of salmon

  L

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  scrambled eggs. John turned a little so he could see him. "I don't know. But I really doubt Sherri Kerri has the wherewithal to make a better offer."

  "Oh, she wasn't going to offer cash, John. Just shares in her business. She said she's already picked up a partner. Mort Carmody, if you can believe it. He came by the gym, liked what he saw, and asked to sign on. She says she's planning on a huge expansion. I don't know where she's going to get enough customers in Hemlock Falls, but some business people just seem to know how to make money. The scriptwriters certainly seemed to have faith in her."

  "Is the gym on Main Street the only one she owns?"

  "You're not serious!"

  "Being good at business is a talent, Quill. If we can raise enough money on her shares, we ought to look at all options."

  "I'd sooner have Bland as a partner," Quill spluttered.

  Bland had copped the best table, number seven, which overlooked the Gorge and the waterfall. He was dressed in a three-piece linen suit, a dark blue shirt, and a club tie. Horvath walked into the dining room and joined him.

  "You don't like her?"

  "She's fine. She's just so—I don't know. Wound up. All those supplements and the workouts. I know what it is," she said darkly. She sipped her tomato juice. "She makes me feel guilty. The super-fit always make me feel guilty. And she's ..."

  "What?"

  Got her love life straightened out, Quill thought I'm

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  such a jerk! "Nothing. She's one of those super-successful people who knows what she wants and is cheerful about deserving it. One of those people for whom life is easy. I'm just jealous."

  "I'll keep that in mind. Any word from the sheriff's department on the cause of Strickland's death?"

  "I thought I'd give Davey Kiddermeister a call this morning. It hasn't occurred to him yet that he shouldn't be giving me information. John, did you know that Bland knows Horvath? From way back, he said."

  John took a sip of juice. "How far back?"

  "I don't know. Horvath seems to make lifelong friends after six minutes, so it could be as recently as last week. But he knows Bland as a real-estate lawyer. What's going on here? I thought Bland was here to represent Strickland's estate."

  "Let me make a few phone calls this morning. I'll try and find out more about him. But if he is interested in buying the Inn, it doesn't preclude any case he might have on Strickland's behalf." He paused. "Or maybe it does. Do you know much about him?"

  "I don't even know how old he is," Quill said frankly. "Not that that matters a hill of beans. I've stopped trying to peg how old people from L.A. are." She continued darkly. "Some plastic surgeons have a lot to answer for. People from L.A. all want to look the best age for maki
ng money. Look at Mr. Bland. You'd say he was a healthy fifty. But who knows?"

  "He's sixty-five," Meg said as she bounced in from the kitchen. She set a bowl of blueberries and cream in front of John, then sat down opposite Quill. She was

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  dressed in light chinos and a thin silk blouse. "Doreen f

  saw him on Sally Jesse."

  Quill rubbed her eyes. "Celebrity lawyers. Dead producer. If this gets any worse, we'll have about three seconds until the media arrive. This kind of mess is just too good for them to pass up. And I look like a k

  toad." [

  "You look beautiful," John said. "I'll run into Syracuse this morning, Quill. I'll check in with a couple | of friends at the newspaper office. They may have a ! file on Strickland and Everett Bland."

  "What if Bland does want to buy into the Inn? Doesn't that help our position with the Finns? I mean, if there's another possible investor, that can only help us, can't it?"

  John turned his head slightly and gave Bland a measuring look. Horvath had joined him. The two men talked earnestly. "Depends a great deal on what Bland is really after. And we won't know that for a while."

  Quill ran her hands despairingly through her hair. "I don't know if I can deal with all of this right now. Even if Strickland died from a fall, Bland is going to sue us and my dog. And that translates into very bad publicity, which is going to affect the Finns, who are already mightily annoyed over die Sneezer debacle. Is there any way we can keep the news anchors and die radio types and the journalists from descending on us like a cloud of locusts? Especially when I look like a locust."

  Meg said kindly, "You need a haircut. And a little makeup wouldn't hurt."

  "It melts in the heat," Quill said mournfully. She put

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  her forefingers at her temples and pulled up. "And my face is falling off."

  "Your face doesn't fall off at thirty-six," Meg said. "Now, when you hit forty, major slump."

  John smiled. "I see you two have things straightened out."

  "Just in time, too," Doreen said.