Qwilleran gave them an update on their former student, and they described their vacation week. They had enjoyed the people at the inn, the sunsets, the carriage rides, and the lectures at the hotel.
"A conservation officer told us that this island was completely submerged thousands of years ago, except for the promontory where the lighthouse stands," said the one who had taught science. "Now all that's left of the wetland is the peat bog in the center of the island. I do hope they won't spray for mosquitoes. Insects, birds, frogs, snakes, turtles and all of those creatures work together to preserve the bog, which in turn preserves the quality of air and water."
"A peat bog," said the other sister, "is a mysterious miracle of nature. Did you know that a human body can sink in a bog and be perfectly preserved forever?"
Altogether, the conversation was better than the tea, although Qwilleran drank three cups of the stuffnot because he liked it, but because it was there. Later, while walking home, he formulated a new theory about the missing lightkeepers. First he thought they had been drugged with island coffee and dropped into the bog. Yet, that would require a motive on the part of the islanders, and motive was the missing piece in the puzzle.
Next, he decided that the lightkeepers had wandered into the bog themselvesbut why all three of them? And what were they doing in the woods?
Stimulated by the tea blended of leaves, roots, flowers, and grasses, Qwilleran composed a scenario: The islanders had entertained the lightkeepers with tall tales about chests of pirate gold, buried in the marsh long before the Beadles, Kales, and Lawsons washed up on the shore. The lightkeepers believed the stories. Perhaps they were bored; perhaps they were greedy; perhaps they had been drinking too much ale. Whatever the reason, the head light-keeper sent an assistant to reconnoitre on one moonlit night. The fellow went out with a lantern and shovel and failed to return. The second assistant was dispatched to look for him. And finally the lightkeeper himself went in search of the other two, with the result that Trevelyan, Schmidt, and Mayfus are honored by a bronze plaque on Lighthouse Point.
That evening, the crew in Four Pips played dominoes again, and the highlight occurred when Koko made one grand swipe with his tail, knocking a dozen pieces on the floor and enabling Qwilleran to spell hijacked. Otherwise, the words were ordinary: jailed, ideal, field (again), lake (again), deface, flea (which could also be leaf), lice, bike, and feed. Then, just as Qwilleran was getting bored, he was able to spell Beadle, and that gave him an idea. He walked up the road to Harriet's cafe to get a chocolate sundae and try out his lightkeeper scenario.
It was late, and there were no customers. "Just a chocolate sundae," he said to the island woman who was waitress, cashier, and busgirl.
As soon as his order was placed in the kitchen, Harriet came through the swinging doors. "I knew it was you, Mr. Q. Would you rather have hot fudge? I know you like it, and I can boil some up, if you don't mind waiting a bit."
"I appreciate that," he said, "but you look tired. Just sit down with me and have a cup of coffee."
Her plain face looked drawn, and her shoulders drooped. "Yes, I'm beat tonight . .. Hettie, dish up a chocolate sundae and bring us two cups of coffee. Then go home. I'll clean up. Thanks for staying late."
Qwilleran said, "Your long hours are getting you down. Why don't you take some time off once in a while?"
"It's not that so much," she said as she dropped into a chair. "I'm discouraged about business. All those accidents are scaring people away, and the radio is saying it'll be a bad summerrain, high winds, and low temperatures. The B-and-Bs aren't getting reservations for the holiday weekendnot what they expected, anyway. And the hotel is cutting down on help. Some of my roomers upstairs have been laid off, and they're going back to the mainland. And then ..." She stopped and heaved a long tired sigh. "Yesterday I heard something that upset me."
"Is it something you can tell me?" he asked.
"I don't know. It's something I heard when I visited my ma yesterday. I just don't know what to do. I always thought islanders were good people who wouldn't hurt a soul, but now ..." She shook her head in despair.
"It might help you to talk about it," he said, mixing genuine sympathy with rampant curiosity.
"Maybe you're right. Will you promise not to say anything?"
"If that's what you want me to do."
"Well ... one of our people was involved in the accidents."
"Do you know who it is?"
She nodded.
"Those are serious crimes, Harriet. This person must be stopped."
"But how can I squeal, Mr. Q?" she said in desperation. "We've always stuck together, here on the island, but I'm getting to feel more like a mainlander. I lived there so long."
"It's not a case of islander against mainlander," he said. "It's a matter of right and wrong. You're a good person, Harriet. Don't wait until someone else is killed or injured. If that happens, you'll never forgive yourself. You'll feel guilty for the rest of your life."
"I wish I hadn't come back to the island," she moaned. "Then I wouldn't be faced with this terrible decision."
"That's understandable, but it doesn't solve any problems. You're here now, and you're involved, and it's your duty to come forward."
"My ma thinks I should keep my mouth shut. She's afraid something will happen to me."
"You won't be at any risk. I've been doing some snooping myself, and if you tell me what you know, I'll be the one to blow the whistle. No one will be the wiser."
"I've got to think about it," she said, wringing her hands.
Qwilleran's moustache bristled, as it did at moments of suspicion or revelation. This was a breakthrough waiting to break through, and it was a delicate situation. These islanders required special handling. He had to be at his sympathetic best.
"More coffee?" she asked.
"No, thanks," he said. Already the drums were beating in his head. There was no telling what wild-growing leaf, root, flower, or grass the islanders put in their coffee. "I think you should call it a day and get some rest. In the morning you'll be thinking clearly, and you'll make the right decision."
"Yes," she agreed with a sigh of relief. "I just have to clean up a bit, and then I'll go upstairs."
"What has to be done?"
"I always sweep the floor, straighten the chairs, and tidy up the kitchen."
"I'll help you," he said. "Where's the broom?" Gripped by the immediacy of the situation, Qwilleran forgot to mention his peat bog theory.
CHAPTER 15
Qwilleran greeted Tuesday with the feeling that it would be momentous, and so it proved to be, although not in the way he expected. As he envisioned the day's prospects, Harriet would agree to tell all; the post office would have a postcard for him; and Koko would unearth a blockbuster of a clue. To start with, breakfast was auspicious: French toast with apple butter and bacon strips, then a poached egg on corned beef hash. Afterward, the Siamese were in the mood for dominoes: Koko as player, Yum Yum as devoted spectator.
Koko started conservatively, flooring only four or five dominoes with each swish of the tail, thus limiting the play to short words: lie, die, bad, egg, cad ... or gaff, jail, lice, dead.
The connotation was generally negative, and it caused Qwilleran to wonder. He said, "Loosen up, old boy. Put more swish in your tail."
After that, words of special relevance cropped up: bleak, as in Four Pips; bald, like Exbridge; and fake, like the antique shop. Certain pairs were linked in tandem: black followed by flag, and head followed by ache. If Koko really knew what he was doing, the last one meant he'd had enough!