Now Qwilleran tried to comfort her by mumbling words of encouragement: She had caught it in time; Bootsie was in good hands; the vet was highly skilled; Bootsie was still a young cat and would bounce back; would she like to talk about it over dinner at the Old Stone Mill?
No, she said. Unfortunately the library was open until nine o'clock, and it was her turn to work.
It was raining slightly when Celia arrived for her briefing - not really raining, just misting. "Good for the complexion," they liked to say in Moose County.
She was wearing a plastic hat tied under her chin. "Did anyone expect this rain?" she asked.
"In Moose County we always expect the unexpected. Come in and tell me about the day's excitement at The Roundhouse. Did Wrigley steal the show? Did Tish break down and tell all? Did Florrie plant a bomb in the elevator? This is better than a soap opera."
"I decided not to take him," she said. "That train wreck really scared him! So I told them his little tummy was upset from eating a rubber band. I'm getting good at inventing stories, Chief."
"I'm proud of you, Celia."
"Well, wait till you hear! When I arrived, they both hugged me - Tish and Florrie - and said they'd been lonely over the weekend, and they wanted to know if I'd come and live with them! I and Wrigley! I almost fell over! I had to think quick, and I said my grandson was coming up from Illinois to live with me so he could go to school in Pickax, starting in September. They said Clayton could move in, too! I told them I was really touched by the kind invitation and would have to think about it. Whew!"
"Nice going," Qwilleran commented.
"So we had lunch and talked about this and tha't. Tish reads your column, Chief, and she raved about the one on sweet corn. I was dying to tell her I know you, but I didn't. They asked about Clayton, and I asked if they had many relatives. Tish has one brother - no sisters - grandmother dead, aunts and uncles moved away, grandfather a retired railroad engineer in Sawdust City. And here's the sad part: He lives twenty miles away and has never been to visit them! Her grandmother never even sent a birthday card! Tish hasn't met either of them. This family is very strange, Chief."
"Was anything more said about the dog?"
"I asked if they were going to get another watchdog. I said my son had a German shepherd. Tish got all teary-eyed and talked about Zak and how sweet and cuddly he was. She said he might have been killed by her brother's best friend; they'd been having some violent arguments. Isn't that terrible!"
Qwilleran agreed but was not surprised. The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fit together. "Could you get her to talk about the credit union?"
"Not yet, but I'm getting there! After Florrie went to have her nap, I told Tish she was a wonderful person to give up college and stay home to take care of her mother. I said office work must be boring for someone with her talent. Then she showed me a clipping of a book review she wrote for your paper, and they paid her for it! She was so thrilled to see her name in print! She signed it Letitia Penn. That's Florrie's maiden name.... I asked what kind of work she did at the office, and she said a little bit or everything. She seems afraid to talk about it."
"You're doing very well, Celia. Now I think it's time for that strange family to have a reunion. The grandfather has reached an age when many persons look back on their lives with remorse and a desire to make amends for past mistakes. I mentioned it to Mr. Penn when I interviewed him, and you might sound out the women tomorrow."
"I know they'll love it!"
"Do you mind picking up the old gentleman in Sawdust City?"
"Be glad to."
"When the family is together, you can show a video of the Party Train, with Mr. Penn in the engineer's cab," he said, and then thought, Unfortunately, it includes shots of F. T. in the engineer's cab and F. T. with his secretary.
"Oh, we'll have a ball!" Celia squealed. "I'll make some cookies." She stood up. "I should drive home now. When the sky's overcast, it gets dark early, and the woods are kind of scary at night."
Qwilleran accompanied her to her car and asked if she had noticed a lot of cars in the theatre parking lot. "It's a dress rehearsal for Midsummer Night's Dream, and I have a pair of tickets for you for opening night, if you'd like to see the show."
"I'd love it! Thank you so much! I'll take Virginia; she's been so good to me... What's that rumbling noise?"
"Only a bulldozer working overtime at the end of the orchard." He opened the car door for her. "Fasten your seatbelt. Observe the speed limit. And don't pick up any hitchhikers."
The irrepressible Mrs. Robinson was laughing merrily as she started through the block-long patch of woods at a bumpy ten miles per hour.
To Qwilleran the rumbling of the tractor was a welcome sound. It meant that Polly could cross off one item on her worry list. The man-made hill between house and highway would give her a sense of privacy, though there was little traffic on Trevelyan Road. Paving it had been a political boondoggle; no one used it except locals living on scattered farms.
So Qwilleran listened to the comforting grunting and groaning of Eddie's skim-loader.. Lounging in his big chair, he asked himself: What have we learned to date? Benno may have killed Zak. Yet, even if he were a vengeful victim of the embezzlement, he would have known that the dog was not Floyd's. Tish had said the two young men had been arguing violently.
Over what? A soccer bet? A woman? Drugs? Eddie may have killed his friend in a fit of drunken passion. The tension between boss and helper had been evident on the job - ever since Audit Sunday. When Eddie visited the barn, Koko hissed at him.
"Yow!" said Koko, sitting on the telephone desk, perilously close to the English pencil box: His comment gave Qwilleran another lead: The police were being evasive about the murder weapon at the Trackside Tavern. "Not a hunting knife" was all Andy Brodie would say. Could it have been a well-sharpened pencil?
With a growl and an abrupt change of mood, Koko sprang from the desk and launched a mad rush around the main floor - across the coffee table, up over the fireplace cube, around the kitchen. Objects not nailed down were scattered: books, magazines, the wooden train whistle, one of the carved decoys, the brass paperweight. Qwilleran grabbed the wooden pencil box from the path of the crazed animal.
"Koko!" he yelled. "Stop! Stop!" Another decoy went flying. There was the sound of breaking glass in the kitchen. Then the cat flung himself at the front door. He bounced off, picked himself up, gave his left shoulder two brief licks, and stormed the door again like a battering ram.
"Stop! You'll kill yourself!" Qwilleran had never interfered in a catfit; it usually stopped as suddenly as it had started. But he honestly feared for Koko's safety. He rushed to the foyer and threw a scatter rug over the writhing body and pinned him down. After a few seconds the lump under the rug was surprisingly quiet. Cautiously he lifted one corner, then another. Koko was lying there, stretched out, exhausted.
It was then that the growl of the bulldozer floated up the trail on the damp night air. So that was it! The constant stop-and-go noise was driving Koko crazy. Or was that the only reason for the demonstration? Qwilleran felt an urgent tingling on his upper lip. He pounded his moustache, put on his yellow cap, and started out with a flashlight.
Following Koko's significant catfit, Qwilleran jogged to the building site, where the skim-loader was making its nervous racket-starting and stopping, advancing and retreating, climbing and plunging. He could see bouncing flashes of light as the vehicle's headlights turned this way and that. While he was still a hundred yards away from the earth-moving operation, the noise stopped and the headlight was turned off. Time for a cigarette, Qwilleran thought; he'd better not leave any butts around.