A Carol for a Corpse Read Free Page B

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    Mark let this roll over him without a flinch. “Let me lay out a couple of options.”
    Meg brightened. “Options? You mean we don’t have to sell the Inn to Loathsome Lydia?”
    “Meg!” Quill’d had enough. “We are not selling the Inn to Loath . . . I mean Kingsfield Publishing. We are leasing certain rights to them. In return for a pile of money that will keep us”—despite her best efforts, Quill felt her voice rising to a shriek—“out of foreclosure!”
    “I don’t want that woman in my kitchen.”
    “Does she actually have to be in your kitchen?” Mark asked a little desperately. “Surely she’s not moving in with you.”
    “Not year-round, no,” Quill said. “As you can see from the contract”—she gestured at the two-inch-thick folder in front of the banker—“they are purchasing the right to use the Inn at Hemlock Falls name on a line of chutneys, jams, and jellies. Meg agrees to provide the original recipes, and this agreement stipulates that she comes up with at least two new products a year for the duration of the lease. Somebody from Kingsfield Publishing needs to be around when Meg is testing stuff in the kitchen, that’s all. And it doesn’t have to be Lydia. Necessarily.
    “The other part of the lease is the right to use the Inn as the set of this new TV show Good Taste four times a year.”
    “I did mention that to Clarice,” Mark said. “She was thrilled about the show being shot here.”
    “Four shows out of the season’s twenty-seven,” Quill said. “But Lydia’s the host and at that point, yes, she does have to be in Meg’s kitchen. For a week or so at a time.”
    “Hah,” Meg said. “And what about the fact that the Provençal Suite will be turned over to them for their permanent use?”
    “They’re paying for the room, all year, Meg, that’s true, but this is a couple that has a town house in London, a huge apartment on Central Park West, and a whole darn island in Bermuda. They just want to keep their personal stuff here so they don’t need to haul a huge amount of luggage around.”
    “They’ll like it here better than all those places,” Meg said tragically. “And we’ll never be rid of them.”
    Quill got up and walked restlessly around the room. Mark’s credenza held a stack of Inc. magazines, three golf trophies, and a ceramic Christmas tree that lit up from within. She picked up the Christmas tree and set it down again. “Meg, when I talked with you about the jams and jellies thing, you thought it was a great idea.”
    “True.”
    “And when I talked with you about L’Aperitif shooting the Good Taste show here, you thought that was a good idea, too.”
    “You didn’t say we’d have to sign our life away to do it. You didn’t tell me it was a ten-year lease!”
    “No.” Quill went back to her chair and sat. “No, I skipped over that part. But I’m telling you now. And I’m telling you why. And I really need you to make up your mind, Meg, because if you refuse to sign, I’ve got to call New York and cancel everything. Lydia and the crew are planning on getting in here tomorrow afternoon to set up for their Christmas show, so just please get a grip, Meg, and give me some help here. I mean, how bad can it be?”
    Meg folded her lips together. She closed her eyes. She sat back in her chair and took several deep breaths. “Okay,” she said to Mark. “What are the other options?”
    Mark said with admirable calm, “They are less appealing, to my mind at least. You haven’t been able to make a mortgage payment for three months. Technically, that allows us to begin foreclosure.”
    The word dropped into the room and sank like a stone in a pond.
    “You padlock the door shut in a foreclosure,” Meg said. “That’s what happened to Peterson’s Automotive and Water Softeners when George went bust. I remember. Padlocks.”
    “I hardly think padlocks will be necessary,” Mark said in a kindly way. “No bank is ever anxious to