Two children, Benjamin and Margaret, survived to carry on the family lineage, but only Benjamin could carry on the family name. Qwilleran traced his line first, and what he found had him pounding the table with the excitement of discovery. Benjamin Bosworth had three children. One of them, named Henry, died in 1945. "Navy-drowned at sea" was his grandmother's notation. Henry's widow moved to Pittsburgh in 1956, taking her son. The boy had suffered an accident in 1955, and the Picayune file elucidated in its usual terse style: "A farmhand employed by the Trevelyan Orchard fired a shotgun to deter youths from robbing the apple trees Wednesday night, resulting in three scared boys and one broken leg. Vincent Bosworth fell from a tree and sustained a compound fracture."
In obvious glee Qwilleran pounded the table and said, "Well, Koko, what do you deduce from that?"
The cat shuffled his feet self-consciously and made no comment.
"I'll tell you what I deduce! Vincent Bosworth, still suffering from a badly repaired fracture-not polio!-returns from Pittsburgh after many years with his name changed. Why did he come back? And why did he change his name? And why does he blame his limp on polio? Vince is the great-grandson of Luther and Lucy!"
Qwilleran was so elated that he had to get out of the house and walk. He took two turns around the grounds, taking care not to shuffle his feet through the fallen leaves. The damp earth exuded a heady aroma; the garden club's rust and gold mums were still blooming stubbornly; a barn-cat was sunning on the grassy ramp; there was no sign of Boswell and his van. Altogether it was a pleasant day.
Returning to his genealogical investigation he said to Koko, "This is more fun than panning for gold. Now let's see what happened to Luther's daughter Margaret."
According to the flyleaf, Margaret married one Roscoe DeFord. Lucy's proud comment was "Lawyer!" The Picayune mentioned a reception for two hundred guests at the Pickax Hotel and a honeymoon in Paris - not bad for a miner's daughter, Qwilleran thought, if that's what Luther was. The DeFord name was still evident in Pickax, although not in the practice of law.
Working faster, driven by suspense, he identified the progeny of Roscoe and Margaret DeFord: four children, ten grandchildren. One of the latter was name'd Susan, born 1949.
"Well, I'll be damned!" said Qwilleran. He remembered the gold lettering on the Exbridge & Cobb window. in one comer were the names of the proprietors: Iris Cobb and Susan DeFord Exbridge.
"So Susan Exbridge and Vince Boswell are second cousins!" he said to the faithful Koko. "Who would guess it? She's so suave, and he's such a boor! But blood is thicker than water, as they say, and that's why she's backing him for the museum job. Obviously she doesn't care to have it known that they're related."
This discovery called for a celebration. He prepared coffee and thawed a couple of chocolate brownies from the bountiful freezer, and he gave the Siamese a handful of something crunchy that was said to be nutritious and good for their teeth. He was eager to resume his search now. There was one more clue to pursue: the fate of Luther's widow.
"When we last heard from her," he said, "she was a twenty-three-year-old widow with four young children and an impressive bible. Was she deeply religious? Was she pretty? Too bad we don't have a picture of her."
His enthusiasm was contagious, and both cats were now in attendance, seated on the table in statuesque poses. Yum Yum's notorious paw occasionally disturbed the order of the clippings.
"Ple-e-ease! If you're going to participate, do something constructive... Listen to this! In the same year that Luther died, Lucy went into business - and she wasn't taking in washing!"
A business announcement in the Picayune stated: "Lucy Bosworth, widow of Luther Bosworth, announces that she has purchased the Pickax General Store from John Edwards, who is retiring because of ill health. Mrs. Bosworth will continue to handle the best quality edibles, apparel, hardware, sundries, notions and homemade root beer at reasonable prices. Open daily 7 A.M. to 10 P.M. Closed Sundays until noon."
"The party store of 1904!" Qwilleran exclaimed. "With checkers around the pot-bellied stove instead of video games... Wait a minute! What do we have here?"
A written comment in the margin of the clipping, in Lucy's recognizable hand, said, "Cash."
"Interesting," said Qwilleran. "If Luther was a miner, where did Lucy get the money to pay cash for a going business? Miners didn't carry insurance in those days - that I know! Did Ephraim make restitution to the victims' families? Not likely, unless forced to do so. Did Lucy sue? Victims weren't big on litigation in the good old days. Did she blackmail the old tightwad? And if so, on what grounds?"
"Yow!" said Koko with an emphasis that reinforced Qwilleran's conjecture.
He continued deciphering the entries on the flyleaf. In 1904 Lucy bought the store. In 1905 she remarried. Her new husband was Karl Lunspik, and her parenthetical remark in the bible was "Handsome!"
"Ah!" he said. "Handsome man marries widow with four small children! For love? Or because she owns a successful business and an expensive bible?" The next facts caused his moustache to bristle:
In 1906 Karl and Lucy Lunspik had a son, William.
In 1908 their name was legally changed to Lanspeak.
In 1911 the Pickax General Store was re-named Lanspeak's Dry Goods.
In 1926 their son, William, joined the business, and it became Lanspeak's Department Store.
William had five children and eleven grandchildren, one of the latter being Lawrence Karl Lanspeak, born 1946.
"Fantastic!" yelled Qwilleran, to the alarm of the Siamese, who scattered. "They're all second cousins - Larry and Susan with their country club connections and status cars... and Vince Boswell with his rusty van and irritating manners. Larry is the great-grandson of the unsinkable Lucy Bosworth!"
He picked up the phone and called the store. As soon as Larry heard Qwilleran's voice, he said, "Have you seen today's paper? They've identified the body. The guy that poisoned the goats!"
"I know," said Qwilleran. "The police have been around asking questions."
"I hope you didn't give your right name," Larry quipped. "Speaking of names, I've made a discovery at the museum. When do you plan on coming out here?"
"Tomorrow, but why don't you come into town tonight and have dinner with Carol and me? Meet us at Stephanie's."
"Sounds good," Qwilleran said, "but I'm tied up tonight. Thanks just the same. See you tomorrow." He refrained from mentioning that Polly was bringing Bootsie to spend the night.
Turning away from the phone he heard a faint knocking in the front of the apartment that startled him. The usual summons from that direction was the clanging of the brass door knocker. The Siamese froze with their ears forward, and when he left the kitchen to investigate, they hung back. Walking down the hall, he heard the knocking again. He glanced through the glass in the front door but saw no one standing there and no car parked in the yard. It was true, he told himself, that old houses make strange noises.
As he turned his back, the knocking was repeated. Even in broad daylight it was eerie, and to Mrs. Cobb's ears in the middle of the night it must have been terrifying. He strode back to the front door and yanked it open. There on the top step was Baby, carrying her green pail and raising her yellow spade, ready to strike again.
"Hi!" she said.
Qwilleran groaned with relief and annoyance. "What are you doing here? Does your mother know where you are?"
She offered him the green pail. "This is for you." There was a note in the pail, as well as a chunk of something wrapped in waxed paper. The note said, "Just thought you'd like some meatloaf for a sandwich. Made it yesterday. It's better the second day."
"Tell your mother thank-you," he said, handing back the pail.
Baby was peeking around his legs. "Can I see the kitties?"