"The prosecutor was defeated in the last election," said Wilbank. "A woman holds the office now."
"She'll find some former witnesses guilty of perjury, including Sherry," Qwilleran predicted.
"Ardis and I know Sherry pretty well. It's hard to believe she'd be a party to it."
"Sherry was a would-be heiress who wanted to see her male parent underground, although she found it expedient to profess filial friendship. On the weekend of the murder, perhaps J.J. read his inflammatory editorial to her. Writers with any ego like to read their stuff to a friendly ear, you know. Did Colin show it to you?"
Wilbank nodded. "It's in his safe. He said he made the situation clear to you."
"Quite clear! What will happen to Sherry now?"
"We'll take her with us and work something out with the prosecutor ... I think I hear the sirens."
As the paramedics maneuvered the stretcher down the twenty-five steps, the Wilbankstold Qwilleran they'd take a raincheck on the drink; they left with a silent young woman in tow, who tossed her hair back nervously.
He had a strong desire to call Polly Duncan and break the news of his successful investigation. Now that it was all over, he could tell her the whole story without alarming her. He felt free to boast to Polly; she listened with understanding. But first he had to wait for the discount phone rates to go into effect.
Tuning in the eleven o'clock news on the local radio station, he heard this brief announcement: "A police prisoner in Spudsboro General Hospital is a new suspect in the Father's Day murder of J.J. Hawkinfield last June, name withheld pending charges. A spokesperson for the sheriff's department refused to predict what effect the suspect's apprehension will have on the previous murder trial. Forest Beechum is currently serving a life term for the crime."
Before the announcer could conclude with dire predictions of damaging rain and severe flooding, Qwilleran's telephone rang, and an excited voice cried, "Did you hear the newscast? They have a new suspect! Forest may be coming home! Wouldn't it be wonderful?"
Tm very happy for you, Chrysalis. I've recently talked to my attorneys in Pickax, and they expressed an interest in the case, so if you want legal advice, you can call on them."
"Are they high-priced?"
"You don't need to worry about that. The Klingen-schoen Foundation makes funds available for worthy causes."
Tm so happy! I could cry!"
Qwilleran himself was exhilarated by the events of the day, and when he called Polly he said, "G-o-ood e-e-evening!" in a musical and seductive voice. She knew it well.
"Dearest, I'm so glad to hear from you!" she cried. Tve had a most unnerving experience!"
"What happened?" he asked in a normal tone, thinking that Bootsie had swallowed a bottle cap or fallen down a rat register.
"I'm still trembling! I attended that formal dinner I told you about and arrived home after dark. Just as I approached my driveway, I saw a car in front of the main house, parked the wrong way, and someone was behind the wheel. It was standing there with the lights off. I thought it was strange, because no one's living in the main bouse, and curb parking isn't allowed on Goodwinter Boulevard, you know. When I turned into the side drive, the car started up and followed mewithout lights! I was terrified! When I reached the carriage house, I parked near the door, left my headlights on, and had my doorkey ready. Then I jumped out, almost tripping on my long dress, and saw this man getting out of the car! I was able to get inside and slam the door before he reached me, and I sat down on the stairs and bawled like a baby!"
Qwilleran had been speechless as he listened to the chilling account. "This is terrible, Polly! Did you call the police?"
"As soon as I could collect my wits. Gib Campbell was on patrol duty, and he was there in three minutes. The prowler had gone, of course."
"You weren't able to see his face?" "The outdoor lights weren't on, unfortunately." "You should always leave them on when you go out in the evening."
"I thought I'd be home before dark; the days are so long in June."
A specific dread swept over Qwilleran. "I don't like the sound of this, Polly. I'd better get back to Pickax. I'll leave tomorrow morning."
"But your vacation has only just begun!" "I'm canceling it. I can't have anything happening to you."
"It's a sweet thought, dear, but" "No buts! Can you stay home until I arrive?" "I have to be at the library tomorrow and Monday." "Well, don't go anywhere after work, and if you see anyone who looks the least bit suspect, ask for a police escort. I'll be home Tuesday and I'll call you every night while I'm on the road."
"Qwill, dear, you shouldn't do this." "I'm doing it because I love you, Polly! Now hang up so I can call Brodie!"
Qwilleran called the Pickax police chief at his home. "Andy, I'm sorry to bother you. Do you know about the prowler on Goodwinter Boulevard tonight?"
"Just happened to pick it up on my radio on the way from the lodge meeting. Campbell responded. No trace.
The prowler was after Polly. He was waiting for her when she came home."
"Where are you?" Brodie asked.
Tm still in the Potato Mountains, but I'm leaving for Pickax tomorrow. This worries me, Andy. Polly's connection with me is well known around the county around Lockmaster County, too. I'm a prime prospect for a ransom demand."
"You're talking about . . . kidnapping? We've never had a kidnap case in a hundred years!"
"Things are changing. Outsiders are coming in, and you can expect more incidents. I'll be home Tuesday. What can you do about it in the meantime?"
"We'll step up the patrols on Goodwinter, and I'll talk to Polly tomorrow see that she gets a ride to work. We don't want to lose a good librarian!"
After the two calls to Pickax, Qwilleran paced the floor anxiously, and the roaring of the wind added to his agitation. Soon the nightly downpour started, hitting the veranda roofs and the upstairs windows like hailstones. Before retiring, he packed for the journey and assembled his luggage in the foyer. The Siamese were nervous, and he allowed them to stay in his room. They promptly fell asleep, but the events of the day churned in his mind.
Sometime in the middle of the night, as he was tossing restlessly and listening to the wind and rain, a sudden, deafening roar drowned out all other sounds. It was like a locomotive crashing into the side of the house, like a jet shearing off the mountaintop, like an earthquake, a tornado, and a tidal wave! He turned the switch on his bedside lamp, but the power was off. Gradually the booming pandemonium receded into the distance, and he ventured downstairs with the bedside flashlight and even stepped out onto the veranda. Nothing seemed to be damaged, but there was an unearthly moaning on the mountain.
Somehow he made it through the night, trying the radio on batteries from time to time, but the local station never transmitted after midnight. When he finally managed to catch a few hours' sleep, he was aroused by the fitful behavior of the Siamese, pouncing on and off the bed. The sheriffs helicopter was circling the mountain.
Once more he tried the radio and found the station on emergency programming. Along with directives, warnings, and pleas for volunteers, there was this repeated announcement: