Chapter 18
Tuesday night WPKX kept the grapevine awake with hints about murder in high places. Wednesday morning the Something published an extra, announcing the deaths of Nathan and Doris Ledfield, plus a bulletin that a Ledfield heir had been arrested in California. The entire edition sold out in two hours. And for the rest of the day, all telephone lines were busy throughout the county.
Qwilleran wrote so copiously in his private journal that he had to drive to the stationery shop for another notebook. Not the classic cloth-bound hardcover suitable for preservation in the Library of Congress. Not a slick black-and-chromium looseleaf. Just an ordinary school notebook with lined pages bound into an ugly brown plastic cover.
Behind the stationer, there was a print shop that had permission to reproduce Cool Koko's wise sayings on eight-by-ten cards suitable for framing, with proceeds going to animal welfare. (It's worth noting that a manufacturer of picture frames claimed to sell more eight-by-tens in Moose County than in the rest of the entire state.)
The most recent was: "Cool Koko says: Look before you leap on the kitchen stove."
From there Qwilleran went to the department store to buy a pair of socks he hardly needed.
Larry Lanspeak was busy in the front of the store. "Go back to the office," he said to Qwilleran. "Carol wants to see you."
Carol gave him a tearful greeting. "Oh Qwill! I can't believe the dreadful thing that happened! Liz Hart was killed on the Bloody Creek Bridge last night. Liz was like a second daughter to us!"
He commiserated the best he could and then brought up the obvious question: "What will happen to the Old Grist Mill?"
"Her brothers will want to sell," Carol said, "and those sharpies in Lockmaster will want to buy, but we can't let them get a toehold in Moose County . . ." She paused and waited for a reaction. Getting none, she blurted, "Why don't you buy it, Qwill? . . . I mean, the K Fund?"
"Hmmm," he mused, aware of the feeling between the two counties. "The K Fund invests in local properties. You might suggest it to G. Allen Barter of HBB&A . . ."
"We know Bart very well!" Carol said with enthusiasm. "The Barters have a farm next to ours."
Qwilleran continued his walk through downtown, exchanging greetings with passersby - words and gestures that were more somber than usual.
On Main Street he automatically looked up at the second floor of the Sprenkle Building to see if the five "ladies" were in the five windows. This time one was missing. Was she unwell? Having a bite to eat? Or had she just excused herself? He stopped to watch, often wondering if the ladies could see him across the street, and if they would recognize his moustache. Then Maggie appeared in the window beckoning him urgently.
He crossed the street, waving thank you to the drivers who stopped to let him through the crowded traffic lanes.
At the entrance a buzzer admitted him, and he climbed the narrow stairs covered with plush carpet thick enough to turn an ankle.
As he expected, Maggie wanted to talk about the Ledfield tragedy.
Qwilleran said, "I regret sincerely that I never met the Ledfields."
"It would have been a case of mutual admiration," she cried. "Nathan admired your handling of the Klingenschoen fortune - and he always read the ?Qwill Pen' aloud to Doris. . . . Oh, Qwill!" She showed signs of another emotional outburst.
"Stay calm, Maggie. Remember and be thankful for all the years the Sprenkles and the Ledfields had together."
"I remember the beautiful hands of Doris and Nathan. Musicians' hands are long and slender. Doris said they exercised their fingers for fifteen minutes every day. Her fingers flew over the keys without seeming to touch them. And Jeremy used to marvel at Nathan's fingering of the violin strings. . . . I know you like music, Qwill. Would you like to borrow my collection of their piano and violin recordings? Polly has told me about your magnificent music system at the barn!"
She said, "My favorite is Chopin's Polonaise Brillante! You'll both love it!"
"I'd be honored," he said.
Then he added, "Friday's ?Qwill Pen' will be a ?Late Great' profile of the Ledfields. Is there anything I should know?"
"I can tell you one thing," she replied with fervor. "They always did more than they were asked to do, and gave more than they were asked to give. They supported every worthwhile program: school, church, library, athletic, and civic."
Qwilleran said, "Did you know some of their mounted animals were in the Pickax Then parade?"
"Not only that, but his wildlife museum was open twice a year to schoolchildren who had the highest grades!" Maggie said.
"The Ledfields visited the barn once, paying three hundred dollars a ticket. It was a benefit for the local literacy program. I was not able to meet them due to an embarrassing incident with Koko that ended the evening early."
Maggie had to smile. "Doris told me it was the most fun they had had in years! Your cat stole the show."
"Koko disgraced himself, but the evening was a financial success for a good cause."
Maggie said, "Nathan called it the best fund-raiser he'd ever attended - and he'd gladly pay to see it again."
When Quilleran left he was carrying a leather case of recordings to play on the barn system. He stowed them in the trunk of his car.
Having declined Maggie's offer of "a nice cup of tea," he went instead to Lois's Luncheonette, where he could get a wicked cup of coffee and listen to the gossip. He called it "taking the public pulse."
He found the place in an uproar. Every chair at every table was filled. All the customers were talking at once - about the Ledfields - the murders . . . the family scandal - and the Ledfields' will. Especially the will! Who would inherit? How much? The possibility that the fortune might be going out of state. Everyone seemed to have a cousin or father-in-law whose wife knew the Ledfields' housekeeper or whose uncle was their window washer.
Qwilleran drank his coffee while standing at the cash register, then walked to the office of HBB&A, hoping Allen Barter would be at his desk. He was.
"What brings you out, Qwill?"
"I've been hearing strange rumours about the Ledfield bequests. Do I have to wait for tomorrow's newspaper?"
"Sit down and I'll fill you in. It's very simple. An old intermediate school will become the Ledfield Music Centre, offering private lessons, classes, recitals, et cetera, all under the supervision of Uncle Louie MacLeod. . . . The Ledfield wildlife collection will be moved to a downtown site convenient for classes of schoolchildren. . . . The Old Manse will become a museum of art and antiques, with guided tours conducted by volunteers trained as guides, and with a respectable admission charge to discourage gawkers. Nathan envisioned it as an educational experience for visitors."
"Sounds good," Qwilleran said. "There are rumours that some of the fortune is going out of state."
"You've been hanging around the coffee shops, Qwill."
Next, Qwilleran left his car in the parking lot and walked to the newspaper. "Just touching base," he said to the managing editor.
"We'll be back to normal tomorrow," Junior said. "Will you have your usual ?Qwill Pen' for Friday?"
"I'll write a ?Late Great' on the Ledfields."
"The terms of the will are scheduled to run tomorrow. It could be quite a sensation. The Ledfields go back to the nineteenth century, when mine owners made fortunes and there was no income tax. And they've had a century to invest it, so you know they were loaded. Whether they're leaving it to Moose County remains to be seen. . . . We're printing a large run tomorrow."
In the days that followed, Qwilleran's neighbours in the Village assumed he would stay there for the winter, since he had gone to the trouble of moving from the barn.