"That poses a problem," Melinda admitted, "but…we might get actors from the Pickax Thespians. Larry Lanspeak played the title role in Jeeves, and he'd make a perfect butler." "You don't mean the owner of the department store, do you?" "Sure! He'd love it! The Fitch twins are home from Yale, and they could wear their costumes from The Student Prince and play the footmen. We'd have a rehearsal, of course, and they'd play their roles with a straight face… Penelope will have a fit!" Qwilleran believed not a word of it, but he was enjoying Melinda's champagne fantasy. "Where will we get a string trio?" She closed her eyes in thought. "Dad talks about three musicians who used to play Strauss waltzes behind the potted palms at the Pickax Hotel before World War Two." "By now they're all dead, Melinda." "Not necessarily. People live a long time in Moose County." As they left the restaurant he said, "Your scenario has been a lot of fun. I only wish we could swing it." "Of course we can swing it!" she said indignantly. "I have my mother's recipes, and I'll work out the details with Mrs.
Cobb. All you have to do is pay the bills." They went to Melinda's condo to look at her great-grandmother's etiquette books, and Qwilleran arrived home at a late hour, humming a tune from The Student Prince. As he turned the key in the new back-door lock, he could hear Koko scolding severely.
"You mind your own business," Qwilleran told him. "Go and fraternize with Yum Yum." Before retiring he made his nightly house check, turning on lights in all the rooms, inspecting windows and French doors, taking a hasty inventory of French bronzes, Chinese porcelains, Venetian glass, and Georgian silver. Everything was in order except in the kitchen, where the step stool was situated unaccountably in the center of the room.
When Qwilleran reported this manifestation to Mrs. Cobb the next morning, she said, "I told you something spooky was happening. Now you'll believe me! What's more, I heard someone fooling around with the piano keys last night after the lights were out." Qwilleran was scheduled to address a luncheon meeting of the Pickax Boosters Club at noon and then pick up Arch Riker at the airport. But first he telephoned his dinner invitations. Everyone accepted with pleasure, despite the short notice.
Penelope said, "My brother returns from Washington this evening. We shall be delighted to attend. Black tie?" "Optional," Qwilleran said. "Melinda wants you to know she's wearing a long dress." "Splendid!" When he called Amanda she was exultant. "Nobody's invited me to cocktails and dinner in a coon's age! I'll drag my long dress out of the cedar closet." To Junior Goodwinter he said, "Don't bring your notebook. You're invited as a guest, not a reporter. And see if you can borrow a tie somewhere." Before going to his luncheon meeting Qwilleran himself bought a new tie at Scottie's Men's Shop, although he thought the price exorbitant.
There were no feed caps at the Boosters luncheon. All the influential men of the community gathered in a private room at the Old Stone Mill for frozen ravioli a la microwave. Among those he recognized were Mayor Blythe, Dr. Halifax Goodwinter, Chief Brodie, and the dour Mr. Cooper. Since President Goodwinter was still in Washington and Vice- President Lanspeak had trans-Pacific jet lag, Nigel Fitch introduced the guest speaker with flowery accolades.
"Gentlemen," Qwilleran began, "it was my previous understanding that Down Below referred to a geographic location. Now I realize it's something else. While we enjoy perfect temperature in Moose County, it's hot as hell Down Below." There was hearty applause from the Boosters.
"Fine weather," he went on, "is not the only reason I'm happy to be here. Since arriving I have not once been mugged, or asphyxiated by carbon monoxide, or knocked down by a truck." (More applause.) "On the debit side, I have had to give up whistling." (Laughter from all except Cooper.) "Having worked all my life, I feel the need to engage in some worthwhile enterprise in this area. I have considered opening an exercise studio next door to Otto's Tasty Eats." (Chuckles.) "Or I might acquire the mosquito-repellant franchise for Mooseville." (Loud laughter.) "Or start a driver's training school." (Roars of laughter.) He then went on to explain the aims of the Klingenschoen Foundation, and as he bowed to the final applause Mayor Blythe presented him with a genuine pickax in good working order.
After adjournment the hardware merchant introduced himself. "I understand you're starting to lock your back door, Mr. Qwilleran. Not a bad idea, the way things are going. I special-ordered your lock from Down Below. Beautiful mechanism! Top of the line!" Then the police chief led Qwilleran aside. "You were talking to me about that girl who disappeared five years ago.
You said she was last seen on July seventh." "That's the last day she worked, according to our employment records." "There was something about that date that rang a bell," Brodie said. "I was a sheriffs deputy then. There was a big cave-in at one of the mines on the night of July seventh. We had it roped off, I remember, until they could put up a fence.
Kept a deputy there twenty-four hours a day. Just thought I'd mention it." A smooth-looking sandy-haired man introduced himself as Sam Gafner, a real estate broker. Qwilleran knew he was a salesman before he opened his mouth. "Interested in a business opportunity, Mr. Q? I happen to know this restaurant is going on the block very soon. Beautiful piece of property; all it needs is some good food management." With applause and compliments elevating his mood, Qwilleran drove to the airport to meet Arch Riker.
The editor stepped off the plane and looked around in dismay. "Is this the airport? Is that the terminal? I thought we'd made an emergency landing on a softball field and the shack with a wind sock was the dugout." Qwilleran grabbed his hand. "Good to see you, Arch. How was the flight?" "Like flying with the Wright brothers." Qwilleran steered him to the Klingenschoen limousine. "I hope you brought your dinner jacket, Arch." With Riker's luggage stowed in the trunk, the sleek black vehicle purred down the long stretch of Airport Road.
"Ten miles of straight road without a curve, hill, crossroad, or habitation," Qwilleran boasted, "Nothing to worry about except deer, elk, raccoons, skunks, and the state police, There's a lot of wild game around here. Everybody goes hunting, pronounced 'huntn. Everybody has a huntn rifle and huntn dogs… Where you see warning signs, those are abandoned mines." "Spooky-looking places," Riker said. "I'll bet the kids use the old shaft houses for their wild parties. How do you like living in the wilderness?" Qwilleran thought, Wait till he sees the butler and the string trio. "Fine! I like it fine! And the cats are going crazy, chasing around the big rooms. Koko can fly up twenty-one stairs in two leaps." "Has he learned any new tricks?" "Arch, that crazy animal has started playing post office. When the mail comes, he sorts it out and brings me the letters he considers important." "Nobody else would believe that, but I do." "It's a fact. He seems to detect certain scents. He's brought me letters from persons he knows, households that have cats, and places where he used to live." "I hear Mrs. Cobb is working for you," Riker said, verging on a touchy subject.
"We'll talk about that when we get home and settle down with a drink," Qwilleran said. "How's everything at the Flux?" "I'm just serving time until I can collect my pension." "Wait till you see the Pickax Picayune! You need a magnifying glass to read the headlines. They cover all the ice cream socials and chicken dinners." "What do you do for news?" "Fortunately the state edition of the Flux is distributed up here, and that keeps us in touch with reality — wars, disasters, assassinations, riots, mass murders, all the worthwhile news. WPKX keeps us informed of car accidents, hunting mishaps, and barn fires." He turned on the radio. "We've just missed the six o'clock news, I'm afraid." The announcer was saying, "… when she fell from a tractor on a farm owned by her father, Terence Kilcally, forty- eight. The tractor then entered a ditch and overturned. Sheriff deputies told WPKX that the tractor continued to travel until it entered a ditch and rolled over… Present temperature in Pickax, a pleasant seventy-five degrees." "Pickax doesn't need air-conditioning," Qwilleran said as he pointed out the important houses on Goodwinter Boulevard. "These stone buildings stay cool all summer. They have walls two feet thick." And then they reached the K mansion. Riker, jaded after twenty-odd years of editing sensational news, was nonetheless stunned by its grandeur. "Nobody lives like this, Qwill! Least of all you! It's a little Versailles! It's the Buckingham Palace of the north woods!" "Quit writing headlines, Arch, and tell me what you want to drink." "I'm back on martinis, but I'll mix my own. Since you've been on the wagon you've lost your touch." Qwilleran poured white grape juice for himself and a thimbleful for Koko.