"So what was she doing in West Middle Hummock today? She was seen driving into Floyd Trevelyan's property."
"What time was it?"
"Around noon."
Qwilleran had to think fast. "She was probably delivering a hot lunch to a shut-in. Mrs. Trevelyan is said to be - "
"So why didn't she come out until after five o'clock?"
"Andy, how many spies do the state police have stationed in Floyd's trees? And why haven't they found the guy yet? Maybe they're looking in the wrong place."
"Go home! You're wasting my time." Brodie jerked his thumb over his shoulder and headed back to his official vehicle.
"It was your idea to stop and chat," Qwilleran called after him.
"Go home and get that two-wheeled suicide contraption off the street."
"Okay, tell me how to get out of this traffic without breaking the law!"
"Follow me!" The police car led the way to the head of the circle with light flashing and stopped the flow of traffic in both directions while the richest man in the northeast central United States made his illegal U-turn.
Arriving at the barn he said to Yum Yum, "I had a touch-and-go session with your boyfriend a minute ago." She was in love with Brodie's badge.
Polly was dining with the Hasselriches that evening, an obligation she usually dreaded, so he thawed a frozen dinner for himself and opened a can of crabmeat for the Siamese. Then, at a suitable hour, he telephoned Celia and invited her to the barn "for a cold drink on this warm evening."
She arrived with a joyful, toothy smile and, while Qwilleran reconstituted limeade concentrate, wandered about the barn in search of the Siamese. They were nested together in the bowl-shaped seat of the twistletwig rocking chair.
"We used to have a rocker like yours at the farm," she said when they were seated with their cold drinks. "It was handed down in my husband's family. He burnt it when we got television."
"What was the connection?" Qwilleran asked with genuine curiosity.
"Well, for TV he had to have a recliner, and we didn't have room for both. You've got lots of room here. Where are your TV sets?"
"We have only one. It's in the cats' loft apartment. They enjoy nature programs or commercials without the audio."
Celia laughed with delight. "I wish my husband was alive, so I could tell him that! We had barn cats, and they weren't allowed in the house. They certainly didn't have TV in the hayloft!"
After a few minutes of polite small talk, Qwilleran broached the subject. "How did you fare at West Middle Hummock today?"
"Well! It was very interesting! It's a nice drive out there, and I didn't mind it at all. They have a cute mailbox like an old railroad engine, and they call the house The Roundhouse on the sign, but it isn't round at all!"
He explained that railroad yards used to have round buildings for servicing locomotives in the days of steam, and there was a turntable in the center to shunt the engines into different stalls.
"Learn something every day!" she said with an airy wave of the hand.
"How well were you received?"
"Well, first I met the nurse, who was in a hurry to go off duty. She impressed me as being kind of a cool cucumber. I'll bet she lives in Brrr." Celia stopped to enjoy a laugh at her own humor. "She showed me the medicines and told me not to get off schedule or the patient might wind up in the hospital. Then she left, and I met the patient's daughter. She could be quite pretty if she was happy, but I'm afraid she's a very bitter young lady-in her early twenties."
"What's her name?"
"When I asked, she didn't answer right away, but then she said it was Tish. Later, though, her mother called her Lettie. She hates Lettie. I know how she feels. I always hated Celia."
As his informer rambled on, Qwilleran was doing some quick arithmetic: Lettie plus Tish equals the young woman he met in the bank; she claimed her last name was Penn, although the teller called her Trevelyan. He said, "Her name is probably Letitia - a bad choice, any way you look at it. Letitia Trevelyan sounds like 'thank you' in a foreign language."
Celia giggled. "I must remember to tell that one to my grandson." She dug in her large handbag for her notebook and wrote it down, then went on: "Tish was polite but not what you'd call friendly. That's all right; I didn't expect an afternoon social. She said she was going out and would be back at five o'clock-my quitting time-but first she took me into her mother's room. Oh, my! That poor woman! She can't be more than fifty, but her body is so frail, and her face is so white! The way her eyes looked, they were searching for something. I don't think she gets enough attention, although she's never left alone."
"That could be true," Qwilleran said. "Attendance is not attention."
"She told me to call her Florrie. I fixed her a nice little lunch but had to coax her to eat. She wanted to talk. Her voice is thin and whiney."
"What did she talk about?"
"Well, she skipped around a lot. She doesn't like vegetables. Someone killed their dog. The nurse is mean to her. No one comes to see her. She hates what's on TV. Lettie goes out and never says where she's going." Celia stopped for. breath. "I listened and sympathized with her until she got tired and wanted to lie down. I asked if she'd like me to sing to her."
"Don't tell me you sang Mrs. Robinson!" Qwilleran said teasingly.
"Oh, you remembered!" That was cause for more laughter. "No, I sang hymns, and she fell asleep and had a peaceful nap. That gave me time to poke around the house. It's big and has an elevator, but it doesn't look as if anybody loves it, if you know what I mean. And those electric trains in the basement! Never saw anything like it! Do you suppose they let school kids come and see them at Christmas-time?"
"Probably not."
"There was a family album in Florrie's sitting room, and when she woke up I asked if we could look at it together. I took her down on the elevator and wheeled her out on the stone patio, and we had a good time looking at snap-shots."
"Did you learn anything?"
"Oh, I learned a lot! She grew up in a railroad family. Her father was a famous engineer. They lived in Sawdust City near the tracks. Railroad people liked to live near the tracks, Florrie said. Watching the trains was big entertainment, I guess. They knew everybody. Everybody waved."
Qwilleran said, "You have a good ear for detail and apparently an excellent memory."
Celia waved her small notebook. "I wrote everything down. Her grandfather, uncles, and brothers all worked on the railroad. They were firemen, brakemen, engineers, flagmen, crossing guards, and hostlers, whatever they are."
"Did Florrie wonder why you were writing things down?" he asked with a note of concern.
"I know what you're thinking, Chief, but I was careful to explain that I wrote long letters to my grandson twice a week and jotted down things to tell him."
"Smart thinking! Perhaps we should put Clayton on the payroll."
She laughed, of course, before continuing. "Let me tell you about Florrie's wedding pictures! She married a carpenter who was crazy about trains, and he married her because her father was an engineer. That's what she said! And here's where it gets good: The marriage ceremony was in the cab of a steam locomotive, with everyone wearing coveralls and railroad caps - even the bride and the preacher! Her flowers were tied on a shiny brass oilcan, and when the couple was pronounced man and wife, the preacher pulled the handle that blows the whistle. That meant the best man had to fire the boiler, too, and it got very hot in the cab, and there was coal dust on her flowers." In recounting it, Celia rocked back and forth with mirth.
"Did Florrie think this was funny?"
"No, she didn't laugh or smile or anything. It was just something she thought Clayton would be interested to hear about. They had the reception in the depot. Her mother-in-law made the wedding cake like a train of cars coming around a curve. It was all done with loaf cakes and chocolate icing. For music they had a man with a guitar singing songs about train wrecks."