It was a festive collage of important people arriving at the depot and milling about on the platform, with the camera lingering on certain subjects: woman with large hat, man with oversized moustache, woman in expensive-looking pantsuit, man in Scottish tartan. (Koko yowled at certain images for no apparent reason.) The car valets jumped around like red devils. The brass band tootled. Then the great No.9 came puffing around a curve, blowing its whistle. The elderly engineer leaned from his cab; two firemen posed in the gangway with their shovels. Then the conductor bawled the destinations, and feet mounted the yellow step-stool. When the diners drank a toast in ice water, Qwilleran thought, It was symbolic!
Although the camera occasionally panned picturesque stretches of countryside, the emphasis was on the passengers, who might be induced to buy the video to benefit the college. Qwilleran rewound the tape, thanked the Siamese for the use of their facilities, and went down the ramp to greet Celia Robinson.
Her face was lively with smiles, and her large handbag produced a box of chocolate chip cookies. "We can have a party. They're good with milk. Do you have any milk, Chief?"
"No, only a milk substitute called black coffee," he apologized, "but I'm a master at its preparation." With a grand flourish he pressed a button on the computerized coffeemaker, which started the grinding, gurgling, and dripping. The brew that resulted was good, Celia said, but awfully strong.
As they sat down with their coffee and cookies, Qwilleran said to her in an ominous tone of voice, "Celia, you're being tailed by the police."
"What!" she cried. "What have I done?"
"Only kidding; don't be alarmed. The police chief has seen your red car in the parking lot and knows you're living in the carriage house, and the detectives staking out the Trevelyan property know you've visited The Roundhouse.
Next, they'll see you driving through the Black Forest for these meetings."
"Should I get my car painted?"
"That won't be necessary, but it emphasizes the need to keep Operation Whistle under wraps. Here's what I suggest for your cover: You're planning to start a specialized catering service: hot meals for shut-ins... refreshments for kids' birthday parties... gourmet delicacies for cats and dogs. We might run an ad in the paper to that effect."
"Do you mean it?" she asked in astonishment.
"Only to fool the cops. You might take a casserole to Florrie, just in case you're stopped.... And now, what happened today? Did you take Wrigley?"
"Oh, he was a big hit! He sat on Florrie's lap, and she stroked him and looked so happy! Tish didn't want to miss the fun, so she fixed lunch for us and gave Wrigley a bit of tuna. After a while I asked the name of the bank that they own, so I could open an account. Tish said it was a credit union especially for railroad workers, and she began to get very fidgety. Pretty soon she said she had to go and buy groceries. Then I thought of a sneaky question to ask Florrie... It would be nice if I could tape these conversations, Chief."
"It would arouse suspicion," he said. "I mean, with a hidden tape recorder. My grandson had one that he used in Florida. I could phone him, and he'd send it by overnight mail."
"It's illegal, Celia, to tape someone's conversation without permission. Thousands of persons do it and get away with it, but if it came to light in this case, you'd be in trouble, and Operation Whistle would be involved. It's a bright idea, but please forget it. You're doing very well with your little notebook. Did you do your homework?"
"Yes, I read all the clippings about the scandal and figured out some ways to get the women to talk. After Tish left, I asked Florrie what time her husband usually came home to supper. She looked at me funny - all bright-eyed and excited - and said, 'If he comes home, they'll put him in jail, and they'll take all his trains away. He stole a lot of money.' She finished with a wild laugh that frightened Wrigley. I tried to calm her down, but she wanted to go down on the elevator and show me the trains. Have you ever seen them, Chief?"
"I have indeed-a fantastic display! I wrote a column about Floyd's model railroad a couple: of months ago, before he absconded."
"Well! Wait till you hear this! Florrie told me to press the button and start the trains running, but I was afraid of pressing the wrong one and wrecking the whole shebang. So Florrie I wheeled herself to the switchboard and started pushing buttons and turning knobs. All the trains started to move at the same time - faster and faster until they crashed into each other and into bridges and buildings! I screamed for her to turn it off, but she was enjoying it and laughing like crazy. Then a fuse blew, I guess, because all the lights went out, but it was too late. The whole thing was wrecked! I was a wreck myself, believe me! When Tish came back from the store, I was still as limp as a rag, and I couldn't find Wrigley."
"How did she react to the disaster?"
"Quite cool. She disconnected something and said it was all right - no danger. But after we tucked Florrie in for her afternoon nap, Tish put her face in her hands and started to bawl. She really sobbed and wailed! I said, 'I'm terribly sorry about the trains, but there was nothing.I could do.' She shook her head from side to side and said it wasn't the trains she cared about; it was other things. I put my arm around her and said, 'Have a good cry, dear. It'll do you good. Don't be afraid to tell me your troubles. I'm your friend.' That started another gush of tears."
Qwilleran said, "You tell this story very well, Celia."
"Do you think so? I used to tell stories to Clayton when he was little... So after a while Tish dabbed her eyes and sniffled and suddenly said in a bitter voice, 'I despise my... mother's husband!' I tried to get her to talk about it and unburden herself."
Qwilleran nodded, but his thoughts were elsewhere. If Tish despised her father - for whatever reason - could she have been the one who blew the whistle? Or could her show of hostility be camouflage for her own involvement in the fraud?
"Yow!" came a warning from Koko, who was looking out the kitchen window.
"Someone's coming!" Qwilleran jumped to his feet. "He heard a car coming through the woods!"
"Police? Where shall I go?" Celia asked in alarm, grabbing her handbag.
"Stay where you are."
It was only Mr. O'Dell, the maintenance man, wanting to pick up his check for services rendered.
"So... go on, Celia. Did Tish talk?"
"Yes, she told me about F.T. That's what she calls her father. He terrorized her and her brother Eddie when they were growing up. Today she resents the fact that he made her take business courses in high school and go to work in his office instead of going to college. But mostly she hates the way. he ruined Florrie's life - with his neglect, and his stingy way with money, and his girlfriends."
Qwilleran checked the notes he had been taking. "It's not true, you know, that the Lumbertown Credit Union is only for railroad employees. Tish was trying to steer you away from the subject."
"I believe it. She's very cagey about certain things. Just before I left, I said to her, 'Florrie told me something I didn't understand. She said her husband stole some money and might go to jail. Was she out of her head?' When I said that, Tish got terribly flustered, saying there are some complications at his office, and no one knows for sure what it's all about. Then she froze up, so I didn't ask any more questions. We searched for Wrigley and found him crouched in his sandbox, as if it was the only safe place in the house. They want me to take him again on Monday, but... Oh! Look at the parade!" she squealed, pointing to the top of the fireplace cube.
Soberly Qwilleran said, "Left to right, their names are Quack, Whistle, Squawk, Yum Yum, and Koko."
The two cats were in perfect alignment with the decoys, folded into compact bundles that made them look like sitting ducks.