Free A Steak in Murder by Claudia Bishop

the assembly. Leonid repeated loudly, "We are no longer communis. Communis is not good for us now. What we like is capitalism. And this, we have our name. Russians in Capitalist Enterprise. This good capitalist here . . ." Harvey smoothed his hair again. Quill began to hope he'd smooth it right off and be as bald as Vasily. ". . . has been work ing with your capitalist government in Albany to find us host city for our enterprise."
    "And what kinda enterprise are you in?" Harland asked.
    "We are in capitalist enterprises," Leonid said confidently.
    "No, no," Harvey said. "I mean, yes, you are. But they're farmers, Harland. Leonid here was the head of a wheat commune."
    "Commune," Colonel Calhoun muttered. "What the hell?"
    "And Vasily and Alexi raised dairy cattle. Just like you, Harland."
    "Yeah?" Harland rubbed his hand reflectively across his chin. His hands were thick, red, and heavily muscled. "What kind of cows?"
    "It is Holshteiners we are trying for," Leonid said. "Vasily and Alexi have not much luck with Angus."
    Harland's thick gray eyebrows rose in astonishment. "Angus, now. Black Angus?"
    "No. No. Red, of course. But we are to buy some Holshteiners to take with us when we go from this coun try."
    "You don't want Angus for dairy," Harland said. "What are you, nuts? Russians," he said to the ceiling. "You got cash? None of them, what'd you call 'em, rubles?"
    "Cash? You mean," Leonid rubbed his forefingers briskly against his thumb, "like in dinero? Moo-la? We haf some, yes."
    Harland grunted. Then he grinned to himself. "You want to see some good dairy cows, then, I might be able to take you out to see a couple of mine. Holsteins, now. None of this Holshteiners horseshit. A good Holstein cow is a good Holstein cow."
    "Excuse me." Colonel Calhoun hunched forward in his chair. "Y'all said cash, right? Then you may want to look at some real American capitalist beef, like the Texas longhorn cow."
     
    "And that," Quill said to Meg several hours later on the phone, "was that. By the time I left they were all chatting each other up, and Marge was making Betty run around and serve vodka, and for all I know, they're still up there, singing, 'Moscow Nights,' and getting along like a house afire."
    "There isn't much good about Russian cuisine," Meg said. "Borscht, maybe. They can do some great stuff with cabbage. And they have a reasonable way with a potato blini. But you take beets, cabbage, and black bread away from a Russian and you've got bupkis."
    "Meg!"
    "It's true. So what's this International Night Harvey's cooked up?"
    "It's not a bad idea, actually."
    Meg gave a two-hundred-mile-away snort. "When has Harvey ever had an idea that worked out?"
    "Hemlock History Days wasn't bad."
    "Except we ended up with two corpses—no, three. And as a matter of fact, he was the dolt who first brought that damn gourmet week for Verger Taylor to us and insisted we do it for the prestige of Hemlock Falls, and that was how many bodies? Two, there, even if it was in southern Florida where the homicide rate rivals that of Beirut and murders aren't front-page news. The more I think about it, Quill, the more I think Harvey's a menace. Forget International Night."
    "Just listen, okay?" Quill was unusually patient. But she'd picked up the phone to call Meg with a lot of trepidation. They had always squabbled, from the time Meg could talk. They almost never quarreled. She hadn't known if she had crossed the line into the territory of the unforgiven or not until she heard Meg's hello. "Harvey says that with the economy so healthy, a lot of businesses are looking at partnership with Russia. Setting up the relationship is supposed to be simple, uncomplicated by a lot of government interference."
    "Right." Meg's voice was skeptical. "What about the Russian Mafia?"
    "What Russian Mafia?"
    "Any Russian Mafia. I've read a lot of bad things about them. They're supposed to be more homicidal than the yakuza."
    "Than the who? I mean whom?"
    "The Japanese