If SG had been the object of Daisy's affection, it would have to be Gafner, he concluded. Scott Gippel was the enormous councilman who required two chairs. Junior's father — with his paper hat and bemused expression — would hardly appeal to a giddy young girl. Gafner, the real estate broker was the most likely candidate. After his bike ride, he decided, he would do some serious research.
It was a beautiful day for biking. Warmed by the sun and caressed by light breezes, Qwilleran headed for his favorite country road. The vegetation, freshly washed, was a vibrant green. Flocks of blackbirds rose from the brush and followed the lone rider, scolding with staccato chirps. Clicks in the sprocket and rear wheel added to the chorus. He remembered Mrs. Cobb's parting words: "Be careful with that broken-down contraption, Mr. Q. You really ought to buy a ten-speed." Everything on Ittibittiwassee Road smelled damp and clean. The sun and breezes had dried the pavement, but the roadside ditch was filled with rainwater. It was a good thirty feet from the pavement to allow for future widening of the road. This would be a major highway when the condominium development was completed. Too bad! He liked the quiet and the loneliness of the road.
Coming up on the right was the site of the old Buckshot Mine, where miners had died in a cave-in in 1913. As he pedaled past the ruins he listened intently for the eerie whistling sound said to emanate from the mineshaft. The abandoned shaft house, a weathered silver, had been drenched with rain.
Qwilleran was studying the ruins with such concentration that he was unaware of a truck approaching from the opposite direction-unaware until its motor roared. He looked ahead in time to see its burst of speed, its sudden swerve into the eastbound lane, a murderous monster bearing down upon him and his rickety bicycle. He yanked the handlebars and plunged down toward the ditch, but his front wheel hit a rock, and he went sailing over the handlebars. For an interminable moment he was airborne…
When he climbed out of the ditch, dazed and wet and bleeding, he staggered painfully to the deserted highway, not knowing where he was or why he was there.
Roads go somewhere. Follow the road. Move. Keep moving.
In a few minutes or a few hours a car stopped. A man jumped out, shouting, and put him in the front seat. For a few minutes-or hours-he sat in a speeding car. The man kept shouting.
What is he saying? I don't know — I can't — He was wheeled into a building. Bright lights. Strange people, talking, talking — He was tired.
The next morning he opened his eyes and found himself in a strange bed in a strange room.
13
Before Qwilleran was released from Pickax Hospital, he had a consultation with Dr. Melinda.
"All your tests turned out fine," she said. "You're a very healthy guy — for your age." "And for a young chick you're a very smart doctor." "I'm so smart, lover, that I sneaked in a Wassermann test in case you want to apply for a marriage license. I'm also writing you a prescription for a crash helmet. With your head injury you could have drowned in that drainage ditch." "I'm sure the hit-runner thought he was leaving me for dead." "Some strange things are happening in Moose County," Melinda said. "Amanda may be right about the tourist invasion. You should report it to the police." "On the strength of what? My dream? Brodie would think I damaged something else besides my bicycle. No, Melinda, I'm merely going to keep a sharp lookout for a certain truck. In my dream I could see it clearly, coming at me fast, a rusty grille grinning at me, towering over me, It was one of those terrain vehicles." "Junior was one scared kid when he brought you in, He though you were a zombie." "It was a strange experience, Melinda. When I opened my eyes in a hospital bed and didn't know where I was or who I was, it didn't disturb me at all. It was simply a puzzle that aroused my curiosity. Glad you got Arch Riker up here to straighten me out." Riker picked Qwilleran up at the hospital in a rental car from the airport. "I have time for a cuppa, Qwill, before I catch my plane." "Then head north at the traffic light and we'll tune in the coffee hour at the Dismal Diner, If you think the Press Club is a gossip mill, wait till you hear the boys up here." "What did your tests show? Everything okay?" "Everything's fine, but I have some ugly suspicions about my bike mishap, It was no accident, Arch! It was a hit-run attempt on my life." "I warned you! Why do you get mixed up in criminal investigations that are none of your business? Leave it to the authorities." "This has nothing to do with the missing housemaid. It's something else entirely. I came to that conclusion when I was lying in that hospital bed. You know the conditions of the Klingenschoen bequest: I have to live in Pickax for five years or the estate goes to a syndicate in New Jersey. Well, what happens if I die before the five years are up?" "Without knowing anything about probate law," Riker said, "I'd guess that the dough goes to New Jersey." "So it's to their advantage if I fade out before the five years are up. In fact, the sooner the better." Riker gave his passenger an incredulous glance. "That's a jarring thought, Qwill, Why do you suspect them?" "It's a so-called foundation involved in some dubious venture in Atlantic City. I don't trust those people." The editor said, "When I first heard about the Old Lady's will, I knew it was too good to be true. Forget the inheritance, Qwill. You never wanted a fortune anyway. You know you can have your job back at the Fluxion." "Then the money will leave Moose County." "Don't try to be a hero. Get out of here and save your skin. Let those forty-seven affluent Goodwinters buy some new books for the library." Qwilleran fingered his moustache with uncertainty. "I'll figure out something. I've got an appointment with the attorney this afternoon. And maybe we'll hear some scuttlebutt at the diner." The coffee hour was effervescing in a haze of blue smoke. A few men in feed caps nodded to Qwilleran as he and Riker helped themselves to coffee and doughnuts. The two newsmen sat at a side table, listening.
"He's handin' out cigars, but he ain't the father." "I butcher my own hogs, make my own sausage. Only way to go." "It says in the Bible that a fool's voice is known by its multitude of words, and that fits him all right!" "Birds! That's my bag, and I always limit out." "If she's a lawyer, why would she want to get married?" "They had to shoot the whole herd. Damn shame!" "All she wants is his dough, I betcha." "Man, my wife makes the best rabbit stew you ever tasted." "Never heard the name. Is it Russian or something?" "My mother-in-law's been here goin' on three weeks." Before heading for the airport Riker dropped Qwilleran off at his house. "Did you get any clues from all that bull?" he asked.
Qwilleran shook his head. "They know who I am. They clammed up." If he was expecting a joyous welcome from the Siamese, he was disappointed. They could smell the hospital, and they circled him with distaste, Yum Yum hissing and Koko producing a chesty rumble that sounded like distant thunder.
The situation was still a standoff when he left for his one o'clock appointment.
He walked into the law office slowly, still hampered by the wrappings on his sutured knee. Penelope also lacked her usual verve. She was wearing dark glasses and looking pale. In a shaky voice she said, "You look a trifle battered, Mr.
Qwilleran, but we are all thankful it was no worse. What can I do for you?" He stated his question about the Klingenschoen will.
"As you know," Penelope reminded him, "it was a holographic will. The dear lady insisted on writing it herself, without an attorney and without witnesses, to protect her privacy. Let me review the document again to refresh my memory." The clerk brought the handwritten will, and Penelope read it carefully, shaking her head. "You are justified in being concerned. In the event of your death the estate would go to the alternate heirs in New Jersey. But surely you have nothing to worry about. Except for your temporary injuries, you seem extraordinarily healthy." "Then brace yourself," Qwilleran said.. He repeated his suspicion about the so-called accident and his distrust of the East Coast heirs. "Is there anyone in town who comes from that part of the country or has connections there?" "Not to my knowledge," she said, looking pensive and withdrawn.