A Carol for a Corpse Read Free Page A

decision to offer this lease to us.”
    “And she’s the one who’s going to be up my nose,” Meg interrupted. “Every flippin’ second!”
    “Of course I know who she is, now that you mention it,” Mark said with an air of surprise. “Clarice has a subscription to L’Aperitif . I looked at the current issue before I met with you two today. She writes that ‘From My Desk to Yours’ feature, right? She seems a very pleasant person, in print.”
    Meg made a rude noise.
    “We know her, actually,” Quill said. “I mean, not because of the magazine. Kingsfield bought the whole thing a few months ago, and a lot of the editorial staff left to work other places. Before the buyout, all our contacts with L’Aperitif were with the old editor, Lally Preston. Lally’s reviewers gave Meg her three-star rating a few years back. But Lally retired when the magazine was sold, or at least, that’s what the news releases said. And Lydia took over as editor. She’s made some interesting design changes in the magazine. Anyway, that’s not why we know Lydia. We know Lydia from school.”
    Mark raised the other eyebrow.
    “High school,” Meg grumbled. “In Connecticut. She was a stuck-up pill back then and I’ll bet she’s a stuck-up pill now. You know how she made head cheerleader?”
    “Meg!” Quill said.
    “Bribed the head coach. It’s true. Lydia’s father made a ton of money as an arba-whatsis on Wall Street. Bought her everything she ever wanted, including being head cheerleader.”
    “Hm,” Mark said.
    “And do you know what Lydia got as a sixteenth birthday present? A brand-new BMW. I suppose that doesn’t mean much to you guys now, but back then, that car was hot.” Meg folded her arms. “Not to mention an unlimited charge card at Saks Fifth Avenue.”
    “Is that a fact,” Mark said. Then, for good measure, “Mm-hm.”
    “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Meg,” Quill said in exasperation. “Lydia’s changed a lot, since then. We’ve all changed a lot since then. We’ve had some terrific talks on the phone.”
    “Phooey,” Meg exploded. “It’s a question of character.
    She’s married to Zeke Kingsfield, the biggest business shark in the United States of America. Did you see that 60 Minutes piece of the two of them? They’re joined at the hip. Devoted to each other and power mad, to boot. Like Anthony and Cleopatra before the Romans showed up to sink the ships at Actium. This is a woman who thinks people can be bought. And she’s married to a man who’s happy to write the checks. Up until now, there’s been no stopping the two of them.” She pursed her lips and gazed thoughtfully at Mark. “You know about Kingsfield, don’t you, Mark? They call him the Hammer of Wall Street. Mean as a pit bull and just as likely to let me loose to do my own thing. Now, you just think about how happy you’d be if good ol’ Zeke made an offer to buy your bank and you had him looking over your shoulder every five minutes.”
    Mark seemed somewhat discomposed at the thought.
    “Now, Meg,” Quill said.
    “ And nosing around your safe-deposit boxes, or whatever . . .”
    “Meg!”
    “. . . and bossing your tellers!” Meg sat back with an air of satisfaction. “You think you’d like that, Mark? Huh?”
    Mark coughed into his hand.
    “All I can say is, you wouldn’t like it any more than I’d like Zeke’s evil twin buzzing around my kitchen. Lydia is a woman,” Meg said darkly, “who ought to be purely ashamed of herself. And please don’t laugh at me,” she added crossly.
    Mark folded his hands on his desk. “Laughing at you is the farthest thing from my mind. I want you to take a realistic look at the problem. What we have here is a default situation.”
    “You mean we haven’t paid the mortgage for three months,” Meg accused him. “Default situation, my foot. We’re welshers. And you’re going to call our loan and sell us out to the Demon Couple of Wall Street. Just like Snidely Whiplash.