"I'm glad you stood by your guns, Mildred. You always do! Was Fran ever a student of yours?"
"Ten years ago, yes. And now that she's an interior designer, she likes to challenge her old teacher. She's talented - I'll admit that - but she was always a brat in school and she's still a brat."
The entrees were served, and Qwilleran asked, "Did you attend the Exbridge and Cobb reception this afternoon?"
"It was fabulous!" she said. "You should have been there. They served excellent champagne and hors d'oeuvres. All the important people were there. Everyone dressed up for the occasion. Susan was looking smashing in a designer original, but then she always does; I wish I had that woman's figure. I met Iris's son; he's very personable. And the antiques - you wouldn't believe! They had a $10,000 Chippendale chair! A side chair! It didn't even have arms! And a $90,000 highboy!"
"Who's going to pay those prices in Moose County?"
"Don't kid yourself, Qwill. There's plenty of old money up here. They don't flaunt it, but they've got it - people like Doctor Zoller, Euphonia Gage, Doctor Halifax, the Lanspeaks, and how about you?"
"I've explained that before, Mildred. I'm not the acquisitive type. If I can't eat it or wear it, I don't buy it. Iris and Susan must have invested a fortune in that shop."
"They did," Mildred said, "and now Susan has it all. She really lucked out." Lowering her voice she added, "Don't repeat it, but - from what I noticed this afternoon - she's got her sights on Iris's son, too. I happen to know that he checked out of the hotel Thursday night but isn't leaving town until tomorrow. The hotel auditor is married to our school counselor, and I saw them both in Lanspeak's store today."
"I would have gone to the reception," Qwilleran said, "but I was interviewing an interesting young woman - Kristi Fugtree."
"I remember her," said Mildred. "I had her in art class - a very good weaver. She had intriguing eyes, like some movie star I've seen, but I can't remember who. She married and moved away. Is she back again?"
"She's back again and living on the family farm, raising goats and selling goat's milk."
"Well, that's different, isn't it? Kristi was always different. When my other students were weaving acrylic and chenille, Kristi was weaving cornhusks and milkweed."
"Do you know the fellow she married? His last name was Waffle."
"I knew him only by sight and reputation, and I thought Kristi made a bad choice. He was a good-looking kid and popular with the girls. Kristi was the only one who didn't run after him, so naturally he pursued her. Probably thought she had Fugtree money. If he had had any brains he would have known that the family fortune was thrown away by Captain Fugtree, who was very well-liked, but he was a snob and a loafer with a large ego. If Kristi's raising goats, at least she has more ambition than her illustrious forebear."
Qwilleran said, "The house has been neglected for years, but it's an architectural gem."
"Especially the tower! In my nubile days, when we used to hang out in the Willoway, we could see the tower above the trees, and we thought it looked haunted."
"What's the Willoway?"
"Haven't you discovered the Willoway? You're slipping, Qwill," she said with a mischievous smile. "It's a lover's lane under the willow trees that grow on the banks of the Black Creek. The trail starts at the bridge near the museum and then angles across the back of the Goodwinter and Fugtree property. It's notoriously romantic! You should explore it, Qwill - with a suitable companion!"
On Sunday morning Qwilleran explored the Willoway, alone - although not so alone as he expected.
The expedition was not premeditated. He had been strolling about the grounds of the museum with his hands in his pockets, inhaling deeply, enjoying the riotous autumn color, when he received the distinct impression that he was being watched. He looked in all directions in a casual way, as if admiring the view.
Had he looked toward the farmhouse he would have discovered two pairs of intensely blue eyes fastened on him, but that did not occur to him. He glanced toward the east and saw farmland; to the north was the barn, minus Boswell's van; to the west one could see the tower of the Fugtree mansion rising above the treetops. Perhaps, he thought with pleasure, Kristi was watching him through the binoculars. It was amazing, he thought, how one could sense the fact from such a distance. He groomed his moustache and straightened his shoulders and decided to explore the Willoway.
The crisp, bright October day was so clear that one could hear the faint sound of church bells in West Middle Hummock three miles away. First he walked up Black Creek Lane, then east on Fugtree Road to the bridge, where he slid down an embankment to the stream. Although narrow and shallow, the creek rippled and gurgled briskly over the stones under the drooping branches of willows, while the trail-soft with decades of humus and now gaudily patterned with fallen leaves - was shaded by maples and oaks.
He found it an engagingly private place and he wondered if Iris had discovered this tranquil spot. Probably not; she was a confirmed indoorswoman. Ambling along the trail that meandered to follow the stream, he occasionally caught a glimpse of the Fugtree tower, which loomed larger as he drew closer. Here in the Willoway Emmaline and Samson had kept their ill-fated trysts.
Except for the bubbling water it was hauntingly quiet, as an October day can be, the dew-drenched trail muffling his footsteps. Once he paused to marvel at the picturesque scene, wishing he had brought his camera, and as he stood there he heard the crackling of underbrush. It was followed by indistinct voices. The inflections suggested the ritual of greeting, but not a joyous meeting. There were fragments of dialogue that he could not catch.
Qwilleran moved cautiously toward the source. Rounding a bend in the trail he ducked quickly behind a tree and listened. A woman was speaking angrily.
"I don't have any money!"
"Then get some!" a man said threateningly. "I need a car, too. They're after me."
"Why don't you steal one? You seem to know how." This was followed by a small cry of pain. "Don't you touch me, Brent!"
Qwilleran threw a rock into the stream, and the splash halted the hostile interchange for a few seconds.
"What's that?" the man asked in alarm.
"A fish... And you can't stay at the house, Brent, so get that out of your head."
There was incoherent whimpering about "no place to go."
"Go back where you came from, or I'll tell the police you're here!"
The man made a retort that sounded vicious, and Qwilleran threw another rock into the stream.
"Somebody's around," the man said.
"Nobody's here, stupid! And now I'm leaving, and I never want to see you again or hear from you! And I'm warning you, Brent: Don't try anything funny. I have a gun at the house!"
"Kristi, I'm hungry." The voice was pleading. "And it's cold at night."
There was a moment of silence. "I'll leave some bread and cheese on the big stump, but that's the end! Go back to Lockmaster and give yourself up."
Her final words faded away as she turned her back. Qwilleran, ventured a stealthy peek around the trunk of an oak tree and saw her running along the trail with noiseless steps. He also saw a man in a dark green jacket with stenciling on the back. Then, hearing the sounds of a zipper and urinating in the stream, Qwilleran turned and made his own retreat, climbing the bank to a dirt access road that led to the rear of the Goodwinter property.
His first action was to move his car to the steel barn and lock the door. Then he phoned Kristi's number. Her voice was shaking when she answered.