"A bottle of something . . . Pick you up at one?"
"I'll be ready. Come in and say hello to Brutus and Catta. Good night, dear.À bientôt!"
"À bientôt!"
Qwilleran was grateful that Polly had survived the stress of a major job transition and was her amiable self again.
The four neighbours who met to have Sunday dinner were comfortable friends. The hosts were Arch and Mildred Riker. He was editor in chief of the Moose County Something; she was food editor of the paper. The two men had been chums since kindergarten in Chicago. Their rapport was casual to say the least.
The weather was pleasant, and they had cocktails on the deck: sherry for the women; Squunk water with cranberry juice for Qwill; a martini for Arch.
Polly raised her glass in a toast. "Here's to the beautiful people!"
"Don't forget Arch!" said his old friend.
Huffing testily, Arch said, "We got a blistering letter from one of your devoted readers complaining about your repeated use of the C word in your column. He's threatening to cancel his subscription."
"Let him cancel! I know him, and he's a cat hater. There are twelve million cats in Moose County, and I happen to live with two who are smarter than he is."
Mildred said, "Maybe you should set him straight, Qwill. Write him a strong letter. You're good at that!"
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mildred, but it's unsportsmanlike to engage in a battle of wits with anyone who is obviously unarmed."
"Bravo!" said Polly. "I hear we're going to have an heirloom auction as part of Pickax Now. "
Mildred squealed with excitement, "And an arts and crafts show, and three parades. It's going to be so thrilling!"
Polly concurred. "And Hixie's name for the celebration is brilliant! The committee had been floundering around for months, and the name suddenly came to her in a dream!"
"That can happen," Qwilleran said quietly, suppressing a chuckle. "The way it's shaping up, I can expect a deluge of ideas for the ?Qwill Pen' column, and I won't have to go through trash barrels."
Arch jumped in. "How about writing three a week instead of the usual lazy two?"
"Only if I get a fifty percent raise."
The joke was, of course, that Qwilleran was the richest individual in the northeast central United States. His freak inheritance of the vast Klingenschoen fortune, based in Moose County, had brought him to the north country, and his disinterest in money had caused him to turn it over to a philanthropic foundation. The K Fund, as it was chummily called around town, had been responsible for most - if not all - of the improvements being celebrated during Pickax Now.
Polly said, "The problem will be to focus on the stimulating present without neglecting the nobility of the past."
That said they all nodded thoughtfully and went indoors for one of Mildred's delicious dinners. She was, after all, the food editor of the Moose County Something.
Mildred served watercress consommé, pot roast with an exotic sauce, and small potatoes steamed in their skins.
Polly said, "There's nothing to equal the flavour of Moose County potatoes!"
"We all know why," said Arch. "A potato farmer was using them to make hard liquor during Prohibition, and the revenue agents caught him and poured it all on the ground. . . . Pass the potatoes, Millie."
She said, "Do you know why we have so many potato growers in Moose County? They came from Ireland during the Great Potato Famine in the nineteenth century. There was a blight on the crop, and a million Irish died of starvation, disease, or drowning when they tried to escape in leaky boats owned by unscrupulous profiteers. . . . Sorry! Once a schoolteacher, always a schoolteacher."
The other three talked at once, protesting that it was all very informative.
"And how is Cool Koko?" Mildred asked.
"He has a new hobby. After a lifetime of making carbon copies, I finally broke down and bought a photocopier - a desktop model. Koko is fascinated. He stares at it for hours waiting for it to light up or play music. If nothing happens, he extends a cautious paw and presses a button."
"Koko is so smart!" Mildred gushed.
"Or crazy," Qwilleran said.
Mildred said, "I hear there'll be several family reunions during the summer, and I thought I might run a series of features on the food preferences of each group - with recipes." She looked at Qwilleran speculatively. "Would the K Fund be interested in publishing a cookbook?"
"Absolutely! And I'll volunteer as official taster."
Polly reported that one of the staffers at the bookstore, a volunteer at the humane society, had proposed an auction of homeless cats rescued by the shelter.
Mildred clapped her hands in approval and said, "Wouldn't Qwill make a wonderful auctioneer?"
"Wipe that idea from your mind right here and now!" he growled.
But the two women exchanged nods and smiles, and Arch said with obvious glee, "Something tells me we haven't heard the last of this matter!"
"How's everything at The Pirate's Chest?" he asked Polly.
"Just fine! We have quite a number of book collectors in Pickax, and they think the name of the store alludes to shelves full of treasures."
"How nice!" Mildred said. "And how is the bibliocat doing?"
Polly said, "Many customers have never seen a marmalade before, and they swoon over his apricot-and-cream markings and emerald green eyes. That little cat charms everyone, but one day he hissed at a woman customer and bared his fangs. She was wearing too much cologne! She left in a huff without buying anything, and we had to turn on the ventilating system."
"How is Judd Amhurst doing as special-events manager, Polly?" Mildred asked.
"He may be a retired engineer from the Moose County Power Company, but what most people don't know is, he's been a lifelong bookworm, with an extensive library of his own. And his storytelling hour for young children is a big success. I think they like the grandfatherly look of his white hair."
Mildred said, "I know he's retired, but he seems too young to have such white hair."
Polly knew the answer. "It turned white overnight, following a horrendous experience on the job. He was captain of a crew of linemen working in the woods, looking for downed power lines during a major blackout. He narrowly escaped being killed by a falling tree. I think he took early retirement."
Arch said, "Those power outages always occur after a heavy rain. The ground is soaked, and shallow-rooted trees topple over like bowling pins. I wouldn't want a linesman's job."
Polly said, "He could write a book about his experiences - except that he's no writer."
"Qwill could ghostwrite it," Mildred said.
The other three looked at Qwilleran and he huffed into his moustache.
Mildred continued with her bubbling optimism, "I'm glad to say that Wetherby Goode has promised unusually good weather for our picnics and parades!"
The two veteran newsmen exchanged cynical glances.
After more conversation the amiable party broke up early.
Arch asked Qwilleran, "What's in your Tuesday column? Anything fit to print?"
Qwilleran said, "I don't give insider information. You'll have to wait and buy a paper."
Chapter 2
Following the farewell dinner at the Rikers' condo, Qwilleran and his reluctant housemates moved back to the converted apple barn on the southeast edge of Pickax - close to the action, yet sheltered from the hubbub by patches of woods.
He was moving from the neighbourliness of condo living to the solitude and privacy of a barn and acreage. The latter was one of the oddities of Pickax, a city full of oddities. This one could be explained.