"How about driving over to the apple barn first, for half an hour?"
"Business or social?"
"Business, but I'll have coffee waiting for you."
"Oh, no, you won't! I'm not ready to have my hair fall out. I'll bring a nontoxic take-out from Lois's."
"What time?"
"Nine o'clock."
On Saturday morning Koko knew something was afoot. While eating his breakfast, he kept looking over his shoulder and listening. When Brodie arrived, he was not in uniform, and Yum Yum kept staring at him.
"What's the matter with her?" Brodie asked.
"She's looking for your badge."
Qwilleran had been wondering how to report his information to the police chief without naming his collaborators: a pleasant gray-haired grandmother and an intuitive cat. He began by enlisting Andy's sympathy. "Polly's in the hospital," he said morosely. "Heart attack."
"How bad?"
"I phoned this morning, and she's out of danger. It was a shock, although I should have seen it coming. Too much stress and not enough exercise."
"You've gotta look after that lady, Qwill. She's an asset to the community. Why don't you and Polly - "
"Never mind," Qwilleran said. "You can go and play your bagpipe at someone else's wedding."
The two men sat at the breakfast bar with their coffee and some doughnuts from Lois's.
"How's the Lumbertown investigation coming along?" Qwilleran asked.
"To tell the truth, I think they've run out of places to look for that guy."
"It's my opinion that he's right here in Moose County - underground."
"You mean - hiding out?"
"No. Buried."
Brodie swallowed a gulp of coffee too fast and coughed. "What makes you think so? Have you been conversing with your psychic cat?"
"I have an informant."
"Who?"
"I'd be crazy to reveal my source."
"Why did he come to you? Why not the police?"
"Well, it's like this, Andy. A lot of people out there don't like the media, but they like the media better than they like the cops. Tipsters, you know, are whispering in our ears all the time."
Brodie grunted. "D'you pay for the information?"
"Why would we pay for it? We didn't ask for it; we didn't want it; we can't use it."
"So what did you find out?"
"Floyd was no financial wizard, but he hired someone who was. That person juggled the books to defraud the depositors, and Floyd wasn't savvy enough to realize it, or he was too involved with his trains to care. Then the true embezzler threw suspicion on Floyd by having him disappear, when actually she had plotted his murder."
"She?" Brodie said with unprofessional astonishment. "You mean - his secretary?"
"She posed as his secretary, although she was second in command, hired to introduce new accounting methods - and she sure did! Not only did she abscond with the loot, but she didn't even payoff her hitman. The investigators questioned her in Texas but let her slip through their fingers."
"She told them she was fired for accusing the Lumbertown president of sexual harassment," Brodie explained.
"Okay, now I want to show you a video of the Lumbertown Party Train on Audit Sunday, if the cats will allow us to use their TV. The suspect appears in several frames."
"Why don't you get a TV of your own?" the chief grumbled as they climbed the ramp to the highest balcony. The Siamese followed them, then bounded ahead to claim the only available chair.
"Sorry, we have standing room only," Qwilleran apologized. "Now watch the crowd scenes for a gorgeous woman in trousers - also in the dining car with Floyd."
The video played. Brodie watched. Koko yowled at intervals.
"So where's the body?" he asked when the tape was rewinding.
"No one knows; that's for you guys to find out. The hitman himself was killed in that fracas at the Trackside Tavern, and his accomplice has since died in an accident. If you ever find the body, I believe your forensic experts will say he was killed by a blow, or blows, to the head, inflicted by a carpenter's hammer."
"You expect me to believe all this? Well... thanks for the entertainment. It was better than the play I saw Thursday night." They started down the ramp, and in passing one of the large windows Brodie said, "You should clear out that jungle and build a motel."
"The far end of the jungle," Qwilleran told him, "is where Floyd's son, Eddie, was fatally injured in the tractor rollover."
"Must be true what they say about the Trevelyan curse."
After walking with his guest to the parking area, Qwilleran made a few turns around the barn before letting himself in the front door. As he opened it, something slammed into his legs, throwing him off balance. It was Koko, shooting out of the door like a cannonball!
"Koko! Come back here!" Qwilleran yelled, but the cat was headed lickety- split down the orchard trail. The man charged after him, shouting. Koko kept on going. It was a hundred yards to Trevelyan Road, and he was covering it with the speed of a gazelle. There was the danger that he might dash across the highway in front of a car.
"Koko! Stop!" Qwilleran yelled with all the breath he could muster during the chase.
The cat stopped, but not until he had reached the building site. He ignored the framework of the new building. He went directly to the concrete slab of the garage and started his digging act. His hindquarters were elevated, and his brisket was close to the slab as he scraped the rough surface. Then he flopped on his side and rolled luxuriously on the concrete, twisting this way and that in apparent ecstasy.
The demonstration chilled Qwilleran's blood. He remembered that Eddie had poured the slab early in the morning after Audit Sunday, although the cement work had been scheduled for later in the week. It was on that Monday, also, that Koko had commenced his vigil at the foyer window. Had he witnessed something unusual during the night? From his window on the top balcony he had a view of the orchard trail. With his feline nightsight he might have seen a truck without headlights pulling onto the property. Perhaps he heard the clink of shovels in the rocky soil. Later came Koko's resolute digging in the crook of Qwilleran's elbow, not to mention his interest in the Panama Canal. Qwilleran grabbed Koko and carried him back to the barn. Now what? he asked himself. If he confided his suspicions to Brodie, the jackhammers would move in, digging up Polly's garage floor, and she'd have another heart attack.
Carrying a bunch of fresh daisies, Qwilleran went to the hospital and found Polly sitting in a chair, looking remarkably serene. She was feeling fine, she said. She was looking forward to the catheterization; it might be an adventure. The hospital food was better than she expected. Dr. Diane was a dear young woman. The cardiologist from Lockmaster was most encouraging.
There was a sparkle in Polly's eyes that Qwilleran had not seen for several weeks, and finally she said, "I have a subject to broach to you, dear. I hope you won't be offended."
"You know I'm offense-proof where you're concerned, Polly."
"Well, I believe that this little setback of mine is a message from the fates that I should not build a house; Bootsie and I should move into the Duncan homestead with Lynette. That is, if you think I can dispose of my two acres and a half-finished house."
"No problem," he said with a sigh of relief.
-17-
It was mid-September, and in Moose County the vicissitudes of summer were simmering down. Most vacationers had left; children were back in school; and the new college reported excellent enrollment for its first semester.
Polly Duncan, who had been flown to Minneapolis for coronary bypass surgery, was convalescing at the Duncan homestead. She claimed to feel better than she had in years! Bootsie was enjoying his new diet, running up and down stairs, and losing weight.