"How did she happen to find Pickax, Qwill?"
"Interesting story! The Ledfields' nephew brought her here as his fiancée, and since he had given her no ring, Doris gave her one of her diamonds. However, Harvey turned out to be a cat hater, and Clarissa dropped him."
"I can well imagine," Maggie said vehemently.
"But she liked it here, and the newspaper was glad to get her. However, a problem has arisen; she'd like to return the ring, and she can't reach Doris. Only secretaries and housekeepers come to the phone."
Maggie said, "There's one thing about Nathan Ledfield that Jeremy and I had to learn. He's a perfectionist - and very proper. Everything has to be just so! To appear in public with the sniffles and a box of tissues - as I sometimes do - would be unthinkable for Nathan, and Doris has to live by his rules. So . . . when they're suffering from allergies - the polite word for coughs and sneezes - it's understandable why Nathan wouldn't want Doris to talk on the phone."
Maggie said with finality, "Tell the young lady to come and see me about the kitty auction, and we'll have a nice long talk."
When Qwilleran conveyed the invitation, he told Clarissa, "Maggie is from the moneyed families of Purple Point. Her great-grandmother owned a successful coal mine; she wore a long black dress with a little lace collar and carried a shotgun. Maggie prefers to live in the city and do humanitarian work. She's made it fashionable to volunteer at the animal shelter, and families now visit the shelter in their Sunday-best clothes on weekends, to see the cats and dogs, since we have no zoo. I warn you, Clarissa! Maggie has a very persuasive personality, and she doesn't even carry a shotgun."
The hot topic of conversation in coffee shops, at bridge clubs, and on the grapevine during late June was the Heirloom Auction - particularly the anonymity of donors.
The Lincoln copperplate in Tuesday's paper, the grandfather clock on Wednesday, the Victorian teacups on Thursday . . . who had donated them? Why the secrecy? The guesses and arguments that resulted constituted the best publicity the auction could have enjoyed!
Qwilleran knew the provenance of the three teacups, and he prepared to outbid any and all. He would give them to three women he knew.
Such was the suspense engendered by the Heirloom Auction series that tickets were sold out by Thursday night.
For Qwilleran, finding a subject for Friday's "Qwill Pen" was a problem. Clarissa's four-part series had said it all! The auction's charitable purpose, its organization and implementation, the enthusiasm of the student volunteers, and the generosity of the unnamed donors. Anything the "Qwill Pen" might say would be redundant, and yet readers would be disappointed if he overlooked the auction completely.
His solution: a nostalgic piece on the first auction he ever attended - and how he succeeded in outbidding an antique dealer for a historic roll-top desk. Purposely he neglected to mention the name of its famous, or infamous, owner - Ephraim Goodwinter. He knew the omission would bring a flood of mail from curious readers, keeping the office manager overworked for a week. Arch Riker would go into a rage over the "sly trick," although, Qwilleran knew, the editor in chief liked enthusiastic reader response.
When Qwilleran went to the paper to file his Friday copy, he passed the feature department and Clarissa caught his eye. She jumped up and joined him in the hallway. "Could we talk for a minute, Qwill?" She waved toward the empty conference room.
"I'll meet you there as soon as I throw my copy on Junior's desk."
"Aren't you a little late?"
"With malice aforethought," he explained. "When we're close to deadline, he doesn't have time to change anything. Editors like to edit."
In the managing editor's office, Junior grabbed the copy and rang for the copyboy. "Looks as if your girl's turning out all right, Qwill."
"She's not my girl. She applied for a job, and Arch hired her."
He joined Clarissa in the conference room.
In the empty room they sat at one corner of the long table.
"First let me compliment you on the auction series," he said. "You tackled the subject in depth without being stuffy."
"Thank you. It's my training. Did you have R and R when you were in J school?"
"It depends what you mean by those initials."
"Research and report. Each semester we were assigned a topic and had to explore it in depth and then write a report."
"What sort of topic?"
"Oh . . . the Volstead Act . . . the anatomy of cats . . . the naming of the original forty-eight states . . . mold as an environmental concern. The rule was: Collect all the available information - and then ask one more question."
"Did you have a favorite?"
"The naming of states was fun. Did you know that individuals react psychologically more strongly to state names beginning with a vowel than those beginning with a consonant? Texas is not only bigger than Ohio but has three strong consonants in the spelling."
"Hmmm. Under the circumstances, I'd say little Ohio has done quite well, despite all the vowels. Eight American presidents have come from Ohio, not to mention Thomas Edison and the Wright brothers." He could have mentioned Clark Gable, Doris Day, Cy Young, and Irma Bombeck, but Clarissa was rattling on.
"Are you from Ohio?" she asked.
"No, but the ?Qwill Pen' ran a series on nearby states called ?Know Your Neighbour.' "
"I'd love to be a columnist," Clarissa said wistfully.
"Don't be too sure! A reporter gets an assignment and writes the necessary coverage, but a columnist always starts with nothing but a deep hole to fill."
Suddenly Arch Riker appeared in the doorway. "You two clear out! I'm having a meeting in this room."
"But I won't keep you, Qwill. I just wanted to give you some good news."
"You've had an offer from The New York Times. "
With great joy she announced, "My best friend in California is coming for the Fourth of July weekend to attend the cat auction and bid on a kitten!"
"Good! Be sure to tell Maggie Sprenkle. It'll sound good in the publicity. Would he . . . or she . . . like to see The Big Burning ? There are house seats available."
"She's my classmate from J school, but she went into advertising. She also writes short stories and has sold a couple to crime magazines. She's hoping to find some juicy plot material while she's here."
He huffed into his moustache. He said, "Does your friend have a name? I hear the situation is so crowded on the West Coast, they're resorting to numbers."
On Friday night Qwilleran was sprawling in his lounge chair and reading to the Siamese. Yum Yum liked to sit on his lap and snuggle up to his ribs. The baritone vibrations reminded her, he had been told, of her mother's heartbeat while in the womb. Koko sat tall on the arm of the chair. Suddenly the phone rang, and Koko fell off. Yum Yum disappeared.
It was Polly, too excited to wait for his eleven o'clock call. "Qwill I have the most thrilling news! Orders are pouring in for the books you'll be signing next Wednesday. Already I've reordered twice."
"How do you account for that, Polly?"
"People tell me they're going to send books all over the country - to friends who grew up here and knew rumours of the enchanted castle in the woods. And Bushy's photos of the interiors will add to the excitement. Aren't you thrilled?"
Arrangements were made, sentiments were exchanged, and Qwilleran returned to his reading, only to be interrupted by the phone again.
"Qwill! I forgot to tell you the world-shaking news. Our crotchety mayor came into the store today and actually bought a book! What's more, she was congenial, according to the Green Smocks!"