Edward Lee - The Chosen

This remark was very difficult not to respond to. Vera could almost feel her face pinken.

“I’m sorry,” he noticed. “I’ve offended you. You take things too personally, Ms. Abbot. Room service’s business is purely and simply more important to The Inn than the restaurant’s. As an experienced businesswoman, you should have no qualms with that.”

“I don’t,” she said, leaning back behind her desk. “It’s just frustrating sometimes. I know I could make The Carriage House tick.”

“But what you must understand, Ms. Abbot, is this. You are making it tick. You’ve turned The Carriage House into exactly what we need, and if you are able to maintain that, the rewards will be considerable. I’ve told you in the past, if you can maintain the highest standards of quality at the restaurant, your future with Magwyth Enterprises is virtually limitless.”

It’s not hard to maintain the highest standards of quality when you’ve got a one million dollar business account and your boss doesn’t care how you spend it. Vera wanted to laugh.

“And, as I’ve also told you, when your contract here expires you’ll be free to transfer to any of our other exclusive inns, abroad.”

So you’ve told me, she thought. Over and over.

“Well, I best be off now. A rather lofty New York brokerage is planning to have their anniversary banquet here next month. I’m expecting a call.” Feldspar got up and set down his snifter. Quite abruptly, then, but just as calmly, he asked, “Would you like to go to dinner with me tonight, Ms. Abbot?”

Vera was taken aback. “I—well, yes, of course. But I have to work.”

“A mere formality, since we’ll be dining at your restaurant.” He smiled at her. “Nine o’clock?”

“That would be fine. Dinner’ll be winding down.”

“Until then…” He limped out of her office, presumably back to his own. Vera’s astonishment watched after him; it took a while to kick in. My boss just asked me out, and I said yes. But why shouldn’t she? She sat with chin in hand, reflecting. How weird, she thought. With Kyle, for instance, her feelings—as well as her attractions—were constantly at odds. One minute she’d be condemning him as a cad, the next she’d be hoping he’d make a pass, and the next she’d be disappointed when he didn’t. Feldspar was different. She could not, and never had, deny her attraction to him. It was not physical. It was purely an adult and sophisticated attraction. All along she’d wished that he’d show some interest in her, and now that he had, she felt in a heady quandary. Don’t go overboard here, Vera, she smirked to herself. She’d be getting her hopes up, perhaps, for nothing. What do you want? Do you want to go to bed with him? She couldn’t picture anything less conceivable. He wasn’t even really taking her out; he’d simply be having dinner with her at The Carriage House. It’s business, she suddenly felt convinced. He wanted to appraise the restaurant’s cuisine for himself in Vera’s presence. That’s all, she thought.

Still, her mind wandered, over other, less rational possibilities.

“Excuse me, miss. Can you help me?”

Vera glanced to her open office door. She was about to speak but any response quickly turned to mush.

A cop? she questioned.

Yes, a big hick cop, fiftyish, with a broad shiny face and a VFW haircut. He smiled rather sheepishly, a cowboy-type hat with a badge on it under his arm. He looked huge in the brown, down-filled jacket, and spoke with a slight drawl. “I’m sorry to interrupt. The name’s Lawrence Mulligan, Chief Lawrence Mulligan. Waynesville Police Department.”

“Please come in,” Vera invited, but all she could think was: What the hell is the chief of police doing here?

“Thanks kindly.” He waddled in and set his hat down. A big pistol hung on his hip through a slit in the jacket. It reminded her of the gun she’d seen in Feldspar’s desk, only because of its size. “Actually, I’m looking for a Mr. Feldspar. It’s my understandin’ that he runs the place,” Mulligan said.

“Oh, well let me call him. I think he’s right over—”

“He’s out, Vera.”

Another surprise. Suddenly Kyle was standing in the doorway, looking at her over Mulligan’s giant shoulder. “He just left for the airport.”

“The airport?” Vera said.

“Yeah, you remember. He had to go to that Historic Inns of America Convention in New York.” And after Kyle said that, he quite deliberately winked.

Vera got the message at once, and this was too spontaneous a situation to question it, though that didn’t mean a flurry of questions did not sweep through her mind. Why’s he lying?

Kyle was gone as quickly as he’d appeared. Vera re-faced the big police chief, a hand diddling at her collar. “Well, so much for that. My name’s Vera, I’m the restaurant manager. Is there a problem?’’

“Well, yes, er, no. Er, I should say kind of,” Mulligan quite elaborately stated. “Actually, I feel sort of silly, but what ya got to understand is that in these parts, chief of police is an elected post.” He paused, exhaled as if winded, and went on. “I’m a tad thirsty, miss. Might I—”

“Would you like me to order you some coffee from room service?”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want you to go to all that trouble on my account. Just anything you might happen to have on hand would be much appreciated.”

Vera smiled at the stereotype. Mulligan cast a glance to the small walnut bar behind the desk. Country bump kin cop, figures a little nip on duty cain’t do no harm. Vera poured him a snifter of the new Remy. “You were saying something about an elected post.”

Mulligan’s brow rose at the first sip. “Ooo-eee, that’s shore got a kick… Er, uh, yes, Miss Vera, and what I mean is that sometimes we gotta check things out that’re surely nothin’, on account of that’s what the folks who vote want, ya see?”

“Not really,” Vera said.

Mulligan seemed at once uncomfortable, or maybe it was just that he hadn’t taken off the winter jacket. “’sa free country and all, sure, but it don’t make a lot of common sense to build a place like this up here, in Waynesville.”

Now Vera found herself reciting Feldspar’s own business sentiments, almost reflexively. “Actually, it makes quite a bit of sense if you examine our marketing designs. The Inn caters to a very select clientele. There are a lot of very rich business people in this country who enjoy coming to a remote, exclusive facility such as ours, a place where they can enjoy total privacy and serene surroundings, a place where they can get away from it all for a little while.”

Did Mulligan smirk? He didn’t seem to buy this explanation. “Very rich business people, yes,” he said. “And what sort of businesses might these very rich people be involved in?”

Vera didn’t quite know how to answer the question, nor did she know how to interpret it. “Well, I’m not actually sure. Our clients’ business interests are a matter of confidentiality. I don’t see what difference it makes, though.”

“Let’s just say it makes a whole lotta difference if your clients’ business interests aren’t exactly legal.”

What did that mean? Vera peered at him.

“And did you know that Magwyth Enterprises is a holding company?” Mulligan added before she could even reply to his first implication.

Vera hesitated, thinking, then said, “So?”

“Well, I, uh, saw fit ta run a little tad of a check on this holding company of yours, and there don’t seem ta be a whole lot of info on ’em. Shore, they got theirselfs a little listing in the U.S. Department of Small Enterprises Directory, but that’s about all. Cain’t check I.R.S. without a subpoena.”