"George Barter of Hasselrich, Bennett & Barter can probably expedite things for you. He planned to fly down here Monday."
"I hope he's bringing boots," she said.
"The disaster may delay his visitI'm sure it's being reported on national newsbut when he arrives, he'll have some good news. The Klingenschoen Foundation wants to establish a conservancy to save Little Potato. They'll buy any property that's for sale, to insure that it's never commercially developed. Some Taters may opt to sell and retain lifetime rights to live on the property. And the price paid will be fair. No gouging."
"I can't believe this!" Chrysalis said. "I've heard about the conservancy idea, but I never dreamed it would happen to Li'l Tater! Was it your suggestion, Qwill? We're so lucky that you came to the Potatoes! How can we thank you?"
"In the mountains we aim to be good neighbors," he said.
"Yow!" was the affirmation from the carrier.
Later, driving away from the airport in a rental car, Qwilleran tried to organize his ambivalent feelings about the Potatoes. So much rain! So much corruption and prejudice! And yet he had never seen so many rainbows . . . witnessed such dramatic skies . . . felt such magic in the mountain air! Too much had happened in one week. One week? To Qwilleran it seemed like a year! Time became distorted in the mountains. Look what happened to Rip Van Winkle!
He and the Siamese again spent a night at the Mountain Charm Motel, famed for its uncomfortable beds and country-style fripperies. Despite its shortcomings, it was the only hostelry in the area that welcomed pets. After dinner he turned on the television, minus the sound, to keep Koko and Yum Yum entertained. It was a nature program, and they huddled together at the foot of one lumpy bed, staring at the screen, while Qwilleran lounged on the other lumpy bed, trying to read the newspaper. His mind could not focus on world news. Unanswered questions plagued him: What really triggered Wilson Wix's heart attack? Did Robert Lessmore's investment firm promote the Hot Potato Fund? Was Yates Penney a baker from Akron or a federal agent?
Then he reflected, If Koko had not found that key behind the painting and that door behind the secretary desk, Forest Beechum would be spending the rest of his life in prison. Did Koko know what he was doing? Or was he simply on the scent of a postage stamp and a dog's mattress? As for finding the key, was Koko pursuing his hobby of tilting pictures? Or did he know that something was not where it should be?
Though Qwilleran found it difficult to rationalize Ko-ko's behavior, he could understand why Sherry had hidden the key as she did. Were not women prone to hide things in the sugar bowl, behind the clock, under the carpet, or in their underclothing? Sherry wanted no unauthorized person in her male parent's office until she could find time to examine, and possibly burn, his personal papers.
Picking up The Magic Mountain, Qwilleran thought a good read would relax his mind, but he was unable to find his place. Yum Yum not only untied shoelaces; she stole bookmarks.
Either Koko lost interest in the mating rituals of Brazilian beetles, or he knew he was on Qwilleran's mind. With a stretch and a yawn he deserted the tube and hopped onto the other bed, saying a cheerful "Yow!"
"Yow indeed!" Qwilleran said. "Is that all you have to say? When you sniffed the label on the sherry bottle, were you getting high on the adhesive? Or were you trying to tell me something? And all the time you were wallowing on the floor in front of the Fitzwallow huntboard, you knew there was something of interest underneath it. Was it the dog's toys? Or the ash-blond hairball?"
Koko's large black eyesblack in the dim lamplight of the motelwere brimming with concentration, and Qwil-leran told himself, He's trying to transmit a thought; I must relax; I must be receptive.
Koko was concentrating, however, on a spider crawling up the wall, and after springing at it and knocking it down, he ate it.
"Disgusting!" Qwilleran said and went back to his own thoughts, recalling his incredible week in the Potatoes: getting lost in the woods, the unpleasant episode at the golf club, the horrifying accident at the waterfall, the pain and incapacitation that resulted, the washout and the prospect of being marooned on Tiptop, the ordeal on the muddy trail . . .
"I don't know why I came to the damned Potatoes in the first place! Do you know, Koko?" Then he answered his own question. He remembered the party celebrating his inheritance ... all those good friends ... all that mediocre food . . . someone suggesting the Potato Mountains for a vacation . . . himself jumping at the idea and pursuing it like a fool, persevering against odds, agreeing to pay $1,000 a week for a white elephant. Why? What attracted him? How could he explain his stubborn resolve?
Koko was watching him with twitching whiskers, and Qwilleran put a hand to his own moustache. Slowly the cat rose from his lounging position on the bed. He arched his back and stiffened his tail and pranced, stiff-legged, around the mattress. Qwilleran watched the performance and wondered what it was supposed to convey, if anything.
Round and round Koko paraded until Qwilleran recalled the revolving circle on top of Little Potatothe silent marchers with lanterns, believing in the power of thought and fervently willing their kinsman to be returned to them.
No! he thought. How could their influence be felt in Pickax, many hundreds of miles away? "Impossible!" he said aloud, and yet he stroked his moustache with a heavy hand, and as he pondered the cosmic conundrum, Koko caught another spider.