Free Murder Well-Done by Claudia Bishop

should be appropriate."

"Got that one socked. Okay. So, Quill, dolly. I got more time for you than I thought. The bachelor party Thursday night's for twelve. You got that?"

"One of these gentlemen..."

"Ed," said Ed, giving her a toothy smile.

"Yes, Ed, gave us the count several months ago. But no guest list."

"In the interests of security," Marlon, or maybe Frank, said smoothly, "we'd prefer to be circumspect."

Santini snorted. "With that Cahill bitch sniffing around, you can bet we have to be careful. The thing is, Quill, dolly, we need to get her out of the way for the evening."

"Out of the way?" Quill repeated.

"Couple of these guys, they can't make it for the wedding. Christmas Eve and all. But they can make it Thursday. They want maybe to make a little contribution to the cause. You know what I mean?"

Quill, uncertain, nodded in lieu of doing anything else.

"You don't get it, do you?" He leaned forward and mentioned a Supreme Court Justice noted for his aggressive - and mean-spirited - decisions on Affirmative Action, a congressman who'd been indicted - but not convicted - twice for money laundering scams, and two names even Quill recognized as having been involved with illegal gambling activities.

"Senator," warned Ed.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. So. We're giving these guys the best, right? Sirloin. Baked potato with all the trimmings, lotta good whisky, the works. But we don't want this Cahill broadie to give them the works, you catch my meaning?"

"Yes," said Quill. "But I'm not sure what I can do about it."

"She wouldn't do a thing about Tutti, either, AI," Claire complained.

"Your gramma's still coming? Shit!" Santini sat back with a shake of his head. "That's not till tomorrow, right? So we worry about it tomorrow. Hey!" He snapped his fingers. "That's from some book, right? Now, Quill. What are you going to do about Cahill? I figure it's your problem, see what I mean? She's a guest here, got that? And you're in charge of the guests."

"Could Claire take her to the shower at the Marriott Thursday night?"

"A - al!" said Claire. "It's my very closest friends at this shower!"

"It could work," said Ed. "Yes, Senator, it could work. You could give her an exclusive, Claire, couldn't you? Your father's notor - I mean well-known for avoiding interviews with the press. You could give her some safe inside dope, like where you and the senator will make your home, the place you're going to buy in Georgetown. Those sorts of things."

"Part of the political life, baby," Santini offered.

"All right. But I'm going to want something very, very nice to make up for this, AI. I'm warning you."

"S'all right. You get your nice little butt in gear, dear. Catch Cahill before she starts sniffing around about the party and nail her down. Quill, dolly, good work. You ever think about getting into the game, you let me know."

"Game?" asked Quill.

"Politics, baby. Politics. It's the only game there is."

"And that was it?" Meg exclaimed, much later, when they were sitting in Quill's room discussing her shortened lunch. "Myles didn't say, 'Let's keep in touch,' or better yet, 'You'll always have a special place in my heart'? 'It's awkward'? 'You're beautiful'? And 'She has presence'? That was it?! And you went straight from that to loathsome AI?"

"Well, sure there was the keep-in-touch speech, and the never-forget-you speech. But I think, Meg, he was relieved. I think I'm too complicated, or too independent. Or too - I don't know."

"You poor thing," Meg said with deep affection. "How do you feel?"

"Chagrined."

"Because of all the rehearsing," Meg said shrewdly. "You should know by now, Quillie, never rehearse. Other than chagrined, how do you feel?"

Quill swirled the last of her wine in her glass. "I think my heart's broken."

Meg shook her head, jumped off the sofa, and marched to the small kitchenette where they sometimes prepared meals. She didn't have a kitchen in her rooms, which were one floor down from Quill's. The last