"Fulla bats. You like bats? Know a feller was bit by a bat. Kicked the bucket."
"I gather you don't recommend the caves. How about the spectacular waterfall at the cove?"
"Purty sight! Lotsa pizen snakes back there, but it's a mighty purty sight!" The carpenter's eyes were twinkling roguishly.
Qwilleran thought, This is mountain humorscaring lowlanders with tales of snakes, bears, and bats. Let him have his fun. "When do you think this job will be finished?" he asked.
"Like 'bout when I git it done. Gonna rain some more."
"The man on the radio said the rain is over for a while," Qwilleran assured him.
"Them fellers don't know nothin' on radio," said the weather expert.
Qwilleran returned indoors to dress for downtown, and while he was shaving he heard another vehicle pull into the parking lot. A peek out the front window of the upstairs hall revealed Dolly Lessmore in brilliant yellow stepping out of her white convertible. He toweled the lather off his face and rushed downstairs to admit her.
"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," she said gaily. "I just wanted to see what Sabrina did for you. The plants do a lot for the foyer, don't they? Where'd you get that gorgeous candleholder?"
"From Potato Cove," Qwilleran said. "Go into the living room and sit down. I'll bring some coffee."
"I was hoping you'd say that."
"Shall I add a surreptitious soupfon of brandy?"
"What I don't know won't hurt me," she said, "but not too much, please; I'm on my way to the office . . . Are these the cats?" The Siamese were walking regally into the room as if they expected to be the main attraction.
"Some persons call them that," he said. "I think of them as domestic software."
Dolly turned away. "I don't know anything about cats. We've always had dogs."
At that pronouncement Koko and Yum Yum turned around and walked out, their long, lithe bodies making U-turns in unison. Foreparts seemed to be leaving the room while hindparts were still coming in.
Qwilleran served coffee in the new mugs, explaining that they were handmade by Otto the Potter and remarking, "The cove's an interesting little business community. 1 hope no one convinces them to move into a mall."
"Don't worry! Those Taters don't have enough sense to grab a good offer when they get one. They'd rather play store all summer and go on welfare all winter. Don't get friendly with Taters, Qwill."
He huffed into his moustache. Now he knew the reason for her impromptu visit; the club had notified her of his faux pas. "Didn't you hire a Tater to make repairs to this house?" he challenged her.
"Well, you know, Mr. Beechum does very good work for not much money." Dolly surveyed the living room with approval. "Sabrina did a super job here. She's a Virgo. That's a good sign for a designer."
"What's your sign?" he asked. "Or is that a trade secret?"
"I'm a Leo."
"I assume that's a good sign for selling real estate."
"It's a good sign for selling anything," she said with a throaty laugh.
"How about Hawkinfield's sign? Does anyone know?"
"Oh, sure. He was a Capricorn, meaning he was tough and power-hungry and always seemed to win, but he had a sensitive side that not many people knew. When he lost his three sons, his life was wrecked. Did you know about that?"
"I knew there were a couple of fatal accidents."
"The thing that drove him half-mad," said Dolly, turning suddenly serious, "was the suspicion that the mountain people were responsible."
"How did he figure that?"
"You don't know the story. I'll tell you . . . There was an avalanche on a ski trail. A group from the Valley Boys' Club went cross-country skiing with an adult counselor. They always hired a Tater guide, of course, who knew the mountains. Well, the skiers were strung out along the trail, with the guide leading and the counselor bringing up the rear, and most of them had squeezed through this one narrow pass when the snow started to slide off the cliff above. The counselor yelled a warning, but the two young Hawkinfield boys panicked and got tangled up in their skis. Snow and ice came thundering down on top of them."
"How do you know all these details?" Qwilleran asked.
"The counselor told us; he plays golf at the club. He yelled for help, but the rest of them were too far ahead. The pass was blocked. He dug frantically with his hands at the mountain of snow, but it was hopeless. There were tons of it! It was two days before they found the bodies. J.J. wrote an editorial on the loss of his sons that would break your heart! Privately, though, he was furious. He imagined a Tater plot. The guide, he thought, had spaced the skiers out along the trail, and an accomplice on top of the cliff started the snowslide."
"That's a far-fetched scenario, Dolly. Having someone to blame may have been a safety valve for his emotions, but ... do you believe Taters would be so malicious?"
"You haven't heard the whole story. The following summer his one remaining son went rafting on the river with a couple of high school buddies. It was after a heavy raina real mountain downpourand the river was turbulent. That's what the kids like, of courserisks! Their raft turned over, and the other two saved themselves, but the body of the Hawkinfield boy was never found. J.J. hired private detectives, thinking his son had been kidnapped by Taters; that's how crazed he was! Those were rough years for him. His wife ended up in a private mental hospital, and he lived alone in this big house."
"What about his daughter?"
"He thought it would be better for her if she went away to school."
Qwilleran said accusingly, "You didn't tell me he'd been murdered on the premises. As it happened, I found out from other sources."
"Oh, come on, Qwill. You're not spooked by anything like that, are you?" she asked teasingly.
"I myself don't object to a homicide or two," he retorted, "but a purchaser of the inn could sue you if you don't reveal the skeletons in the closet."
"Well, now you know," Dolly said with a shrug. "J.J. had made enemies, but we never dreamed it would end the way it did, and now that his murderer turned out to be a Tater, we can't help wondering about the other incidents involving his sons."
"Did you attend the trial?"
"Yes, I was there with Sherry Hawkinfield. The poor girl had no one, you know."
"What convicted Forest Beechum?"
"The crucial testimony came from her. She was here for Father's Day, and on Saturday she went to Potato Cove to buy a gift for her dad. She bought a painting and asked the artist to deliver it on Sunday as a surprise. Robert and I were supposed to come up here for a drink on Sunday afternoon and then take J.J. and Sherry to dinner at the club. While we were dressing, we heard police cars and an ambulance going up the mountain. We phoned the Wilbank house, and Ardis told us there'd been a murder at Tiptop. We couldn't believe it!"
"What time was that?"
"We were due there at three. I think it was about two-thirty when we found out."
"Del Wilbank told me there were no witnesses to the actual incident. Where was Sherry?"
"She'd gone down to Five Points to buy cocktail snacks. The artist was coming up the mountain as she drove down, and he was gone when she returned . . . You seem quite interested in this, Qwill."
"I should be! I'm living at the scene of the crime, and I might hear chains rattling in the middle of the night," he said lightly. "Seriously, though, I've been searching for a writing project, and I've come to the conclusion that J.J. would be a good subject for a biography."
"That would be super! Absolutely super!" Dolly said. "It would put Spudsboro on the map, for sure. If there's anything Robert and I can do to help . . . Well, look, I've got to hie myself down to the office. Thanks for the coffee. The brandy didn't hurt it a bit!"