The Pickax Arts Council hoped to move into its new gallery and studios by Thanksgiving. Thanks to the generosity of the Klingenschoen Foundation, they had taken over the unfinished house on Trevelyan Road. References to the legendary curse were avoided.
Celia Robinson received a postcard from Switzerland: Florrie was improving, and Tish had met an interesting ski instructor.
Word was circulating on the Pickax grapevine that Mr. Q had been seen in Scottie's Men's Store, being measured for a kilt.
As for the Lumbertown scandal, the body of Floyd Trevelyan, buried under concrete, had been disinterred, and Nella Hooper replaced him on the wanted list. It seemed odd to Qwilleran that the law enforcement agencies, with all their technology and expertise, had failed to find this spectacularly good-looking woman. Earlier they had found her and let her go after questioning. Now they had the video of the Party Train, in which she appeared several times. And yet... It was Arch Riker's theory that the lawmen weren't trying hard enough, and he wrote an editorial to that effect. Anything that happens 400 miles north of everywhere, he argued, is of lesser importance to the establishment Down Below.
Then, quite by accident, Qwilleran uncovered a new clue. Following the final matinee of A Midsummer Night's Dream, theatre club members were invited to an afterglow at the apple barn. Among those present were Fran Brodie, the Lanspeaks, Junior Goodwinter, Derek Cuttlebrink, Elizabeth Hart, and Jennifer Olsen, who was becoming the club's leading ingenue. The Lanspeaks inquired about Polly's health. Derek demonstrated his exuberance by climbing the loft ladder straight up to the third balcony. Fran reminded Qwilleran that he had promised to read her playscript and give an opinion. He apologized for overlooking it.
Derek, having brought his guitar, also volunteered to sing a new folksong, titled The Wreck of Old No.9:
There was once a famous hoghead On the old SC&L. His name was Ozzie Penn, And he could drive a hog through hell! But he had to give up drivin' 'Cause they said he was too old. They retired him with a dinner And a watch of solid gold. "You've survived your share of train wrecks "In fifty years," they said. "Now go home and join the lucky ones "That get to die in bed."
Chorus: "No, I want to go out whittlin'," Said good old Ozzie Penn. But they said his dreams were over, And he'd never drive again. He hung around the switchyard And told hair-raisin' tales: How he made the fastest runs And kept the hog upon the rails. Then one day he saw a vision That made his old eyes shine. On a siding east of Mudville Sat old Engine No. 9 The great steam locomotive, A mighty 4-6-2, Had a tender full o' coal And - by Crikey! - looked like new.
Chorus: "I want to go out whittlin'," Said the famous engineer. There was nobody to see him Wipe away an old man's tear. He rounded up his buddies And said, "Let's have some fun! "Let's take the whole dang consist "Por one last whittlin' run! "You fellas gotta jump "Before we hit the final curve. "So don't sign on with Ozzie "If you haven't got the nerve." With a crew of three old-timers And fifty deadheads, too, They left the yard at Mudville To make Ozzie's dream come true.
Chorus: "I want to go out whittlin'," They'd often heard him say, And he'd earned his chance to do it Now that he was old and gray. With the whistle screamin' "wildcat!" They whittled down the line, All knowin' what would happen To engine No.9. As the fiery, sweatin' monster Plunged down the steepest grade, The final order came to jump And every man obeyed. But Ozzie at the throttle Said he'd go down with the hog As it sank with hiss in', scaldin' steam In the muck o' Black Creek bog.
Chorus: "I want to go out whittlin'," Said good old Ozzie Penn, And the hoghead got his wish Because he'll never drive again.
Derek's listeners applauded and wanted to know if he'd written it himself. He glanced at Qwilleran, who nodded.
"Yep," said the folksinger in an offhand way.
Elizabeth said, with her eyes shining, "He's so talented!"
Meanwhile, Yum Yum watched the festivities from the balcony, tantalized by the aroma of pizza drifting up from the main floor. Koko, always more adventurous, mingled with the guests, accepting compliments and slices of pepperoni. He was within earshot when Qwilleran commended Jennifer for her portrayal of Hermia.
"Yow!" he said.
"See? Koko agrees with me. I believe his favorite character in all of Shakespeare is Hermia."
"Yow!" Koko repeated with added emphasis.
Qwilleran pondered the incident when the guests had left. The Siamese were enjoying a private afterglow-of-the-afterglow under the kitchen table, nibbling sausage and cheese and fastidiously avoiding the bits of mushroom and green pepper. Qwilleran, watching them, suddenly said, "Hermia!"
Koko looked up from his plate and made the usual comment.
Qwilleran thought, There's more to Hermia than meets the ear! During the summer the cat had exhibited many quirks, which were now abandoned. As soon as the mystery of Floyd's disappearance was solved, Koko stopped staring out the foyer window in the direction of the two-car garage slab. At the same time he stopped his everlasting digging in Qwilleran's elbow and lost interest in the Panama Canal. After the crimes of Edward Penn Trevelyan and James Henry Ducker were exposed, he no longer stole black pens or sat on the fireplace cube with the decoys.
Was it coincidence that he had pursued these activities so assiduously? Was it ordinary feline fickleness when he stopped? Qwilleran knew otherwise. Koko had a gift of intuition and prescience that was not given to mere humans - or even to the average cat - and he had an unconventional way of communicating. It amused Qwilleran to paraphrase Shakespeare: There are more things in Koko's head, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
When the Siamese had finished their gourmet treat and washed up, the three of them ambled into the library for a read.
"What'll it be?" Qwilleran asked. He had asked that question several weeks before, and Koko's choice was Swiss Family Robinson. And what happened? Celia Robinson moved to Pickax, and the Trevelyan women flew to Switzerland. Coincidence? "Sure," Qwilleran said with derision.
Now Koko sniffed the bookshelf devoted to drama and nudged the copy of Androcles and the Lion.
"We had that book a few weeks ago," Qwilleran reminded him. "Try again."
This time the cat's choice was a slender paperback, Fran Brodie's playscript of the Lion in Winter.
In a flash of revelation Qwilleran remembered the young woman in the Pickax People's Bank: Letitia Penn, who turned out to be Letitia Trevelyan... and who had a friend named Lionella. Later it developed that the one name was shortened to Tish and the other to Nella.
That was the answer! That remarkable cat knew from the beginning that the Lumbertown fraud was masterminded by Nella a.k.a. Li onella! Now Qwilleran understood Koko and the lions, but what about Hermia? There was something about this H word that triggered Koko's brain cells and was supposed to trigger Qwilleran's. Yet, he was stymied - until he thought about the dictionary. His unabridged dictionary always stimulated the associative process.
As he climbed the ramp to consult its erudite pages, the Siamese followed with vertical tails. On this occasion he had a reason for allowing them into his sanctum. One of them immediately inspected the typewriter and left a few cat hairs among the type bars; the other lost no time in knocking a gold pen off the desk.
Looking up the definition of Hermia, Qwilleran found what he already knew: Hermia was a lady in love with Lysander in A Midsummer Night's Dream. There were other proper nouns, however, that might have a similar sound to a cat's ear, and he read them aloud: "Hermo... Hermione... Hermitage... Hermes." Nothing attracted Koko's attention until he reached "Hermaphrodite."
The sound of the word brought an alarming response that started as an ear-splitting falsetto and ended in a menacing growl.