Free Death Dines Out by Claudia Bishop Page B

chance for a meal at Taboo? It was on my list of things to do this week anyway. If the food's lousy, I can complain and feel superior. If it's great, I can learn something."

"You're looking too disingenuous for my taste, Meg. There are limits to what I'm willing to do to save this week for you. Striking a bargain with Verge the Scourge and his offspring is not among them."

"Just don't worry about it, okay? What are you going to wear?"

"Something matronly. I think that kid's got ideas."

"You're out of your tiny mind. He's ten years younger than you are and six years younger than I am - " Meg stopped in midsentence. "Which isn't all that much younger, come to think of it. Come on, Quill. Seduction as the price of getting my food in front of that judge from L 'Aperitif? Phooey."

"I," Meg said, firmly removing Corrigan Taylor's hand from her knee, "am engaged to be married. So cut it out." She cocked her head and observed him through half-closed eyes. "How old are you, anyway, kid?"

There was a brief silence - awkward on Corrigan's part, deliberate on Meg's. "So," said Meg, after a sufficiently embarrassing period of time. "What is it that your father wants us to do?"

"It's nothing much," Evan said. "Just two small favors. One for me and one for him. Let's talk about it after dinner, okay? We should enjoy the atmosphere here. Relax."

Meg snorted, sipped her Chardonnay, and said with a grimace, "Australian. Too young."

Quill took a sip of wine. She was ill at ease and wasn't sure why. It wasn't Taboo, which was pleasantly reminiscent of some of her favorite restaurants in New York. It was long and narrow, broken into a series of rooms by artfully placed dividers. Smoky mirrors lined the walls to give the illusion of greater space. The prevailing feel was one of chintz, masses of flowers, and carefully courteous service. Nor was it Meg's rudeness to Corrigan Taylor, who was wearing a striped blue shirt, blue blazer, white chinos, Gucci loafers without socks, and a blush. She was used to Meg. She was willing to bet that a lot of people who got involved with Verger Taylor and his crazy machinations felt ill at ease most of the time.

"Is your wine all right?" Evan Taylor slouched comfortably in the chair directly across from her. The maitress d' had greeted him with democratic familiarity when they'd come in. They'd been seated immediately, passing a long line of waiting customers.

"It's delicious." Quill set the glass on the table. It was the house red, a cabernet, and it was very good. Meg had been clear about wanting to sample Taboo's commercial menu, and not any private stock. "I'm a little uncomfortable because I'm not sure why Meg and I are here. And I dislike being put into a position where we may be pressured to do something contrary to the way we work. Your stepmother hired us, you know. We're here in Florida because she's paid for it. And it's pretty obvious that the family doesn't get along all that well with her."

"So your loyalties are divided." Quill hadn't actually heard a sneer for a long time. She heard it now. "Quite the little Girl Scout."

Quill felt foolish. Her temper rose. "Loyalty isn't an issue. We have a professional obligation to fulfill and it's to your stepmother, not to you or your father. What is it exactly that you wanted to discuss?"

"I really would like to wait until after dinner. Just because it'll give you a chance to cool down. But I can tell you this now. You know that Dad's bought the Institute building."

Quill nodded. "Well, he didn't buy the Institute itself."

"You mean the training program, the staff, the Institute name?"

"That's right."

"What does he want the building for, then? It's not much use to him if it isn't a cooking school. All those kitchens."

"We'll get to that." Smiling, disingenuous, Evan kept his eyes on hers.

The waiter, hovering, distributed menus. Quill opened hers with a slight frown and asked for the first entree she saw: the Taboo steak salad. Meg, after