grindstone." Qwilleran slipped into an investigative role he had played many times — helpful and sympathetic, but somewhat devious. "It must be gratifying, Penelope, to know that your brother is accomplishing so much for the county when he spends his valuable time in Washington. It's a worthwhile sacrifice that he's making. I understand that he made a speech recently to the Mooseville Boosters, and they're still talking about it." Penelope discarded the tea bags and struggled to her feet, in order to pour a more generous drink of Scotch for herself. "Did he tell them about his social — his social — conquests down there?" Her voice had a bitter edge, and her tongue tangled with certain words. "It's not — not all — business, you know." "No doubt he'll run for office one of these days," Qwilleran went on, "and then his social contacts will be useful." Penelope stared at him through a fog and spoke slowly and carefully. "Alex couldn't… get elected… mayor of…
Dimsdale." "You don't mean that, Penelope. With his name and background and suave manner and striking appearance he'd be a knockout in politics. He'd make a hit with the media.
That's what counts these days." Nastiness and alcohol contorted her handsome features. "He couldn't… get anywhere… without me." Her eyes were not focusing, and when she put her glass down on the table, it missed the edge.
"Sorry," she said as she scrambled about on her knees, picking up ice cubes.
Qwilleran was relentless. "I'm sure you could manage the office efficiently while the senior partner is doing great things in the Capitol." The brilliant, articulate Penelope was pathetically struggling to make sense, "He won't… go down there. He'll bring..
he'll bring her… up here, New partner!" Remarks overheard at the Dimsdale Diner flashed through Qwilleran's mind, "Is she an attorney?" Penelope gulped what remained of her melted ice cubes. "Bring her… into the firm, that's what., but over my.
dead body! I…won't… have it. Won't have it!" "Penelope," he said soothingly, "it will be a good thing for you. Another partner will relieve you of some of the pressure." She uttered a hysterical laugh. "Goodwinter, Goodwinter and Sh — Smfska!" She stumbled over the name. "Goodwinter, Goodwinter and Smfska! We'll be… laughingstock… of the county!" "Have you expressed your feelings to your brother? Perhaps he'll reconsider." She was losing control. "He'll… he'll marry… he'll marry that — that tramp! But I'll… I'll stop it, I can… stop it.
Stop it!" She looked wild-eyed and disheveled. "I feel… awful!" Qwilleran pulled her to her feet, "You need fresh air." He walked her to the solarium and through the French doors and held her sympathetically while she gave vent to tears. "Do you want black coffee, Penelope?" She shook her head. "Shall I take you home?" He drove the BMW to the turreted stone residence on Goodwinter Boulevard, with Penelope crumpled on the seat beside him. He parked under the porte cochere and carried her up the steps to the carriage entrance. A housekeeper came running, and Alexander appeared in a silk dressing gown.
"She's not well," Qwilleran said. "I think she's overly tired." Alexander looked at his sister sternly and without compassion. "Take her upstairs," he told the housekeeper. Turning to Qwilleran he said, "Where did you — ah — find her?" "She came to the house to discuss a legal matter, and she was taken ill. I think she needs a rest — a vacation — before she has a breakdown. Put her in the hospital for a few days. She should have a checkup." "It is unfortunate," Alexander said, "but she goes completely out of her head when she touches alcohol, and she speaks the most utter nonsense. Thank you for returning her — ah — safely. Allow me to drive you home." "No thanks. It's only a short distance, and it's a nice night." As he walked slowly through the moonlit streets he reflected that Mrs. Fulgrove's report about «mosquitoes» and a dead body was roughly related to the facts, and he concluded that Penelope was overreacting to the threat of Ms. Smfska as professional partner and future sister-in-law. True, it would generate merriment in Moose County, especially among the coffee-shop regulars. Anyone familiar with the Goodwinter mystique and Penelope's insufferable snobbery would be amused at the thought of Goodwinter, Goodwinter and Smfska. Among the cackling, bleating, guffawing crowd at the Dismal Diner it would probably become Goodwinter, Goodwinter and Mosquito. Nevertheless, after hospital rest and a vacation, he decided, the junior partner would regain her perspective.
Approaching the K mansion, he glanced at the second floor. The lights were turned on in Mrs. Cobb's suite, indicating that she had returned safely after an evening with that ape! She had always been attracted to tattoos and crew cuts. Her late husband had been a brutish-looking ruffian. There was a light in the back entry, but the rest of the service area was dark, and as Qwilleran unlocked the door he heard a scraping sound in the kitchen. He stood motionless and listened intently, trying to identify it. Scrape… pause… long scrape… pause… two short scrapes. He crossed the stone floor silently in his deck shoes, reached inside the kitchen door, and flicked on the lights.
There in the middle of the floor was the cats' heavy metal commode filled with kitty gravel, and behind it was Koko, preparing to give it another shove with his nose. The cat looked up with startled eyes and ears.
"You bad cat!" Qwilleran said sharply. "You're the one who's been moving things around! You could kill a person! Cut it out!" He returned the commode to the laundry room and went upstairs to think about Penelope and compare her to Melinda. They were both handsome women with the Goodwinter features and intelligence and education. The attorney was the more striking of the two, but she lacked Melinda's equanimity and sense of humor. He was lucky to have a healthy, well-adjusted woman like Melinda who called him «lover» and managed great dinner parties and knew how to pronounce sphygmomanometer.
The next morning he found Mildred Hanstable in the kitchen delivering wild blueberries. She and Mrs. Cobb were having a cup of coffee and getting acquainted.
Qwilleran said, "Mildred, you'll be interested to know that Mrs. Cobb is a palmist." Mildred squealed with delight. "Really? Would you be willing to read palms at the hospital bazaar? We have tarot card readings and raise quite a bit of money that way." The housekeeper seemed flattered. "I'd be glad to, if you think I'm good enough." Diplomatically Qwilleran steered Mildred out of the kitchen and into the library, where he seated her in a comfortable chair and handed her a grubby clutch of yellowed paper.
She shuddered and recoiled. "What's that?" "Daisy's diary. We found it behind her bed. It's totally illegible. I can distinguish a date at the top of each page, that's all. She began writing January first and ended in May." Mildred accepted the diary gingerly. "It looks like a mouse nest, but it's her handwriting, all right. I wonder if I can decipher it." She studied the first page. "Once you get the hang of her letter formation it's not so bad… Let's see. It starts with 'Happy New Year to me, but the spelling's atrocious… Hmmm… She says her mother is drunk. Poor girl never knew what it was to have a decent parent… She mentions Rick. They go out in the woods and throw snowballs at trees. He buys her a burger… How'm I doing, Qwill?" "You're amazing! Don't stop." "Oh-oh! On January second she loses her job at the studio. Calls Amanda a witch. There's something about an elephant, spelled with an f. It's a Christmas present from Rick." "He's the one who stole it," Qwilleran guessed. "Amanda blamed Daisy. Her friends used to hang around the studio." Mildred scanned the pages. "Very depressing… until January fifteenth. She gets a job at the Goodwinter houseuniforms provided. A room of her own. Won't have to live with Della. She celebrates with Rick, Ollie, Tiff and Jim.
"Tiffany is the one who was shot on her father's farm." "Yes, I know. I had her in home ec. Married one of the Trotter boys. Father injured in a tractor accident… Now the diary skips to February. Daisy decides she doesn't like housework. Well, neither do I, to tell the truth… A new boyfriend, Sandy, gives her cologne for a Valentine. Spelled k-l-o-n-e. See what I mean about her spelling?… She doesn't write much in March… April is pretty well messed up… Oh-oh! Lost her job again." "That's when she started working here, according to the employment records," Qwilleran said.