Free Dread on Arrival by Claudia Bishop

up?” Meg’s rooms were directly across from Quill’s.
    “No problem.”
    “Maybe it’s a little late,” Clare said uncomfortably. “This was probably a bad idea. I should get back to the academy, anyhow. I’ve got a full day tomorrow.”
    “No problem,” Meg said distantly. She paused with her hand on the doorknob, and then said, “I’m a little tired, though, so let’s not prolong things, okay?”
    Quill suppressed a sigh. Sometimes her little sister drove her nuts. “You still mad at me about this afternoon?”
    Clare raised her eyebrows. “What happened this afternoon?”
    “A small sisterly spat,” Quill said. “Which shouldn’t have happened, right, Meg?”
    “No. Yes. Maybe.” She grinned, suddenly, looking so much like their Welsh father with her gray eyes and dark hair that Quill’s heart jumped a little. “Of course I forgive you.”
    Quill put her hands on her hips. “Who’s forgiving who here?”
    “I am forgiving you. Who yelled at me. And I’m sure you are now very, very sorry.”
    “I’m sorry I lost my temper, sure. But I’m definitely not sorry as to why.”
    “Whatever. Come on in. Forgive the mess.”
    Quill followed the two women into Meg’s room. She’d lived here ever since they had opened the Inn twelve years before. The one thing made conspicuous by its absence was a kitchen. Meg had a coffeepot, a microwave, and a small kitchen sink. Her comfortable couch was covered in a nondescript khaki. There was a round pine table with four chairs and a shabby recliner sheltered by a reading lamp. The rest of the room was filled with stacks, piles, and baskets of cookbooks, brightly colored throw pillows, and pots of healthy plants. Meg’s balcony overlooked the front of the Inn, and there was a ghostly view of the waterfall under moonlight through her French doors.
    “Have a seat, you guys.”
    Quill took a corner of the couch, which was where she usually sat. Clare sat down at the pine table and dropped Bismarck on the floor. Meg rummaged under the sink and emerged with a dusty bottle of wine. “A modest little Mouton Cadet I’ve been saving for a special occasion.”
    Clare laughed. “Sounds good to me.”
    “I take it that’s not a wine for a special occasion?” Quill said.
    Meg took three wineglasses out of the cupboard over the sink, and opened the bottle. “You would be right. But it’s drinkable. Highly drinkable.” She gave Clare a quick look. “So how was business tonight?”
    “Good. And you?”
    “Good. Very good.”
    “I guess you could say our business was very good, too.”
    There was a short, uncomfortable silence. Meg poured the wine, handed the glasses around, and sank into her recliner. “Very, very good.”
    Quill, who had restarted her practice of taking management courses at the nearby Cornell School of Hotel Administration, had completed the July session in Advanced Employee Relations: Conflict Resolution. She cleared her throat, pleased to put the hot hours in the classroom to some use. Rule One, she recalled, was to begin with positive feedback. “I thought we had a very effective meeting with Rose Ellen Whitman this morning. I wanted to take this opportunity to tell you both how impressed I was with how well you two got along.”
    “Rule One,” Meg said. “Begin with positive reinforcement.” She scowled. “I took that class with you, remember? The one on Conflict Resolution.”
    “Oh.”
    “You told me it would help keep things smooth in the kitchen.”
    “Conflict resolution is a very valuable tool to have on hand. As a matter of fact …”
    “Phooey. Things are always peaceful in my kitchen,” Meg said mendaciously. “In yours, too, Clare, I expect.”
    “Well, actually …”
    Meg gulped her wine. “That class, Quill, was a total waste of time. I don’t have any conflicts in the kitchen.”
    “How in the world do you manage that?” Clare said.
    “She only hires people who agree with her,” Quill said. “They have