"Down!" Qwilleran shouted, and he obeyed, but his ploy was effective.
Brodie drained his glass and stood up.
"Good grog! Good cheese! Gotta get home before m' wife calls the police."
Qwilleran floodlighted the barnyard and walked with him to his car. "Who's in charge of the parades? Do you know?"
"Gil MacMurchie. A Good Scot, he is."
That was all Qwilleran needed to know.
Chapter 4
Everyone liked Gil MacMurchie. The best way to make friends, he often said, is to be in the plumbing business, on twenty-four-hour call.
After retirement, and now widowed, he lived at the Ittibittiwassee Estates.
Qwilleran phoned him there one morning.
"Gil, I hear you're masterminding the Memorial Day parade. They couldn't have chosen a better brain. Is there anything the ?Qwill Pen' can do to help?"
"Sure would like to bounce some ideas off you, Qwill." "Your place or mine?"
He knew Gil had never visited the barn, even for a plumbing emergency. "I happen to have some scones and marmalade."
"No contest! I'll be there in half an hour."
Qwilleran met him in the barnyard and calmly observed the amazement of a first-time visitor: first, seeing the lofty exterior; next the interior complexity of balconies and ramps; and then the friendly welcome from two Siamese cats, who had never met a plumber they didn't like.
Since the weather was agreeable, the men decided to have their coffee in the octagonal gazebo that was screened on all eight sides and close to nature. The guest had the honor of transporting Koko and Yum Yum in the canvas tote bag reserved for that purpose while Qwilleran carried the tray.
"Who did your plumbing?" Gil asked when they were settled down.
"The architectural designer, who was from St. Louis, brought technicians up from Down Below," said Qwilleran. "Neither he nor I knew the political correctness of using local talent. I've learned a lot since then."
"If you ask me, your ?Qwill Pen' has taught all of us a lot - in many fields."
Then Qwilleran asked a leading question. "I didn't know you were a parade planner, Gil. How long have you been keeping the dirty little secret?"
"Ach, mon! I never even marched in a parade. But Hixie said plumbers know everyone, and all I had to do was pick the right assistants. Smart lassie, that Hixie."
The assistants who were really planning the parade were: Thornton Haggis, county historian . . . Carol Lanspeak, drama director . . . Wally Toddwhistle, designer of sets and props for the theatre club's plays . . . and Misty Morghan, artist. They were all "idea people" - who had never worked on a parade but who were excited over the challenge, especially that of designing floats.
"They said the parade should be designed with a theme and a color scheme. The colors will be green and white - the high school colors. Every float will have the same style of banner running the length of it, one on each side. The floats will have catchy names, done in old-fashioned lettering. They said there should be sight gags and audio gags. And there should be an element of suspense."
"I like it already!" Qwilleran said.
"Yow!" said Koko, who had deserted the wildlife and was hanging around, probably looking for crumbs from the scones.
Gil looked at the cat warily and lowered his voice.
"I could tell you a few of the plans, but I wouldn't want it to go any further."
"Don't worry. Koko is absolutely trustworthy."
"Well! The parade is scheduled to start at eleven AM Five minutes before, a helicopter flies over the parade route streaming a banner: ?Pickax Then!' There are shills planted in the crowd all along the parade route to start the cheers and applause. Next there's a boom like a bombshell. There'll be instant silence in the crowd. Then another boom ! And another. Followed by the shrieking sirens of police cars and the honking of other emergency vehicles."
Qwilleran said, "Eyes should be popping and mouths should be gaping by this time."
"Right. That's the audio gag. Next comes the sight gag. Two street-sweeping vehicles appear. They're draped with green-and-white streamers, and the operators are wearing green coveralls and - white top-hats! And they're sweeping the pavement. . . . Right after that comes the high school tumbling team in green-and-white tights, doing handsprings and back flips and generally jumping for joy. Then comes the first float."
Gil stopped to gulp coffee before continuing. "The first float has a banner - ?How It All Began' - with the historic ax and tree stump on a platform - a cube about five feet high and covered with green grass. And it's surrounded by armed guards! Then there are drumbeats."
Qwilleran said, "I hope this is being filmed!"
"It's going to be televised."
"Yow!" said Koko, who had been ignored for too long.
Gil said, "I'll tell you about one more float, and then I've got to leave. The second float has a banner saying: ?They Were Here First.' It's a forest scene populated with a stuffed moose, elk, wolves, a great horned owl, and a bald eagle! All on loan from the Ledfield collection.
"Nathan Ledfield in Purple Point has a private museum in a big addition at the back of his house. His old man started it - or maybe his granddad. Anyhow, he'll leave the collection to the city when he goes if we promise to provide a building for it. . . . Is there any more coffee in the pot?"
Qwilleran poured.
Koko turned abruptly and showed a sudden interest in Gil's pocket.
A moment later there was an odd noise in the pocket, and he reached in for a cell phone. "MacMurchie here . . . Hmmm . . . Yes, he's here. I'll tell him. Sorry to hear it, but we knew it was coming. Thanks for calling." He slipped the phone back into his pocket and said to Qwilleran, "Well! Well! Well! . . . Homer Tibbitt died this morning. Too bad he won't see the parade."
"Well! What can I say? He was a great man," Qwilleran said.
This was the day Qwilleran shopped for Polly's groceries and stowed them in the trunk of her car in the bookstore parking lot. But all the while he was thinking about the county historian emeritus. He would be one of the "Late Greats": the anecdotes he had told about his early life, the papers he had written for the historical collection at the public library, and the tales everyone had to tell about "The Grand Old Man," as he was known. There would never be another. . . . No doubt Homer's "young bride" could relate a few incidents. Rhoda was eighty when they were married a decade ago; neither had been married before. Together they bantered in true Moose County style and amused their friends.
His weekly shopping for Polly entitled him to dinner at her condo - a pick-up meal, she called it, since she had been working all day.
Tonight, Polly mentioned, "You and I are invited to view the parade from the second-floor windows of the department store."
"I hope you accepted," he said. "And Sunday afternoon is the first performance of the Fire Show on the stage of the opera house. I'll see that you get tickets."
"Oh, I'm so thrilled! I've seen it twice, but that was how many years ago? Will Hixie be handling the sound effects?"
"Yes, if I can get her to come down to earth for a rehearsal." And then he said, "Do you know a woman in Kennebeck who does hand knitting? Bart was wearing one of her sweaters yesterday, and it looked pretty good."
"She sings in the choir at our church. Would you like one of her sweaters? What did you have in mind? It can be your birthday present."
He protested, but not strongly.
Polly went on. "She's fairly young. She went from bride to widow in a few hours. Her husband was a lineman with the power company, and on the first day after their honeymoon he was killed by a falling tree while he was looking for downed wires. The shock affected her mind somehow; she developed second sight; she can predict calamities - like hurricanes, lightning strikes, and so forth. The doctors at the state hospital are interested in her case. I'll make an appointment for you!"