"Wonderful!" Rosemary said. "And all so true!" "Will you excuse me for a moment?" Mildred said weakly. "I want to step outdoors and do some deep breathing before the next reading." She drifted from the room, and Qwilleran and Rosemary looked at each other. "What do you think about that, Qwill?" she said. "The broken contract is my lease at Maus Haus. My partner at Helthy-Welthy is a woman. The ambitious young man is my grandson, I know. He's trying for a very desirable internship in Montreal." "How about the other guy? Mature and intelligent. That rules out Max Sorrel." "Now you're mocking. You're supposed to be serious." By the time Mildred returned, Qwilleran had composed his face in an expression of sincerity. He shuffled the cards and asked his questions: "Will I accomplish my goal this summer? Why am I balked in everything I try to do in this north country?" "The cards show a pattern of confusion, which could result in frustration," Mildred said quietly. "This causes you to scatter your forces and waste your energy in trivial detail. You have skills but you are not using; them. Change your tactics. Your stubbornness is the obstacle. Be receptive to outside help. I see a male and a female in the cards. The woman is good-hearted and fair in coloring, and she has taken a liking to you. The man is young, dark-complexioned, and intelligent. Let him help you. The cards also see a new emotional entanglement. There may be some bad news, involving you in legal matters, but you will make the best of it. Your summer will be successful, although not as you planned it." Qwilleran squirmed in his chair. "I'm impressed, Mildred. You're very good!" She nodded absently and drifted from the room again, after placing a fishbowl on the table. It was labeled Hospital Donations and contained a ten-dollar bill. Qwilleran said: "My treat, Rosemary," and added two twenties, a generous sum that would have amazed his friends at the Fluxion.
Rosemary said: "I don't like the idea of your new entanglement. It's probably that blonde she mentioned." "Did you notice that card? The blonde had a black cat. It sounds like the postmistress. The dark male sounds like her husband." "Or Koko," Rosemary said.
The return walk along the beach was in silence, as each pondered the advice of the cards. One could hear the squeaking of the sand underfoot. Qwilleran made one observation: "Mildred has lost her nervous laugh since the tragedy next door." At the porch entrance they clanged the brass bell for the sheer pleasure of hearing its pure tone, and when Qwilleran unlocked the door and threw it open for Rosemary, Koko was on the threshold, with Yum Yum not far behind. Koko was carrying a single red tulip in his mouth.
"It's a peace offering," Qwilleran told Rosemary, but he knew very well that Koko never apologized for anything. The cat was trying to convey information, and it was not in the field of horticulture… Tulips… Tulips… Qwilleran's moustache was sending him signals. The tulips came from the prison gardens. Nick was employed at the prison… He glanced at his watch and grabbed the phone.
Lori answered. "You caught me just in time, Mr. Qwilleran. I was about to lock up and go home." "You mean you actually lock the post office in Mooseville?" "Seems silly, doesn't it?" she said. "But it's federal regulations." He made the requisite remarks about the weather and then said: "Would you and Nick like to come over tomorrow evening to have a drink and meet the cats and watch the sunset? I have a charming guest from Down Below, and I don't know how much longer she can stay." Lori's acceptance was almost too effusive, and Qwilleran said to Rosemary later: "You'd think it was an invitation to the White House or Buckingham Palace." She raised her eyebrows. "Did I hear you say that your charming guest might not stay much longer?" "Merely an innocent social prevarication intended to lend convincing authenticity to an alarmingly abrupt invitation." "You must be feeling good," Rosemary said. "You always get wordy when you're feeling good."
12
"What shall I wear to visit Aunt Fanny?" Rosemary asked on Wednesday morning. "I'm all excited." "You look nice in your white suit," Qwilleran said. "She'll be dressed like Pocahontas or the Empress of China. I'm going to wear my orange cap." He knew Rosemary was not enthusiastic about his new headgear. On the road to Pickax he pointed out the turkey farm.
"Mildred brought us some turkey from the farm one day, and it was the best I've ever tasted." "That's because it was raised naturally," Rosemary explained. "And it was fresh. No preservatives." Near the old Dimsdale Mine he pointed out a dilapidated boxcar doing business as a diner. "I call it the Dismal Diner. We're having dinner there tonight." "Oh, Qwill! You're kidding." As they neared Pickax he said: "I have a hunch Aunt Fanny will like you. You might find out why she rented to those divers last summer. And tell her the pickax disappeared from the cabin." "Why me?" "I'm going to take a walk and let you girls get acquainted. You could mention the murder of Buck Dunfield and see how she reacts. I'm also curious to know why an eighty- nine-year-old woman with a live-in bodyguard carries a handgun in a county that has no crime." "Why don't you ask the questions and I'll take a walk." Rosemary suggested. "I'm no good at snooping." "With me she's evasive. With another woman she might open up. She likes women lawyers and women doctors, I happen to know." They drove past crumbling buildings that had been shaft houses for the mines, past old slag heaps that made unnatural bumps in the landscape, past rows of stone rectangles that had been the foundations of miners' cottages. Then the road reached the crest of a hill, and Pickax City lay in the valley below, with the circular park in dead center.
"Fanny lives on the circle," Qwilleran said. "Best location in town. Her ancestors made a pile of money in mining." When they pulled into the driveway of the great fieldstone house, Tom was working on the perfectly groomed lawn and his blue pickup was parked in front of the carriage house.
Qwilleran waved to him and noticed that the growth on the young man's lip was beginning to resemble a moustache.
Aunt Fanny greeted them in a flowing purple robe of Middle Eastern design with borders embroidered in silver. A purple scarf was knotted about her head, and her long dangling earrings were set with amethysts. Rosemary was spellbound, and Aunt Fanny was volubly cordial.
Qwilleran brought up an insignificant rear as the hostess swept them into the large pretentious dining room for lunch. He tried hard to pretend he was enjoying his cup of tomato soup, half a tuna sandwich, and weak coffee. He listened in amazement as Rosemary gushed and twittered and Aunt Fanny proved she could answer questions in a normal way.
"When was this lovely old house built?" Rosemary asked.
"Over a hundred years ago," Aunt Fanny said. "In horse-and-buggy days it was considered the grandest house in town. Would you like me to show you around after lunch?
Grandfather brought over Welsh stonemasons to build the house, and there's an English pub in the basement that was imported from London, piece by piece. The third floor was supposed to be a ballroom, but it was never finished." "While you ladies are taking the grand tour," Qwilleran said, "I'd like to walk downtown, if you'll excuse me. I want to see the Picayune offices." "Oh, you journalists!" Aunt Fanny said with a coy smirk. "Even when you're on vacation you can't forget your profession. I admire you for it!" Leaving the house, Qwilleran looked for Tom, but the handyman and the blue truck had gone.