She was aghast. “I can’t believe it. Derek has more class than that!”
“Was there a scandal involving Chet’s Bar a few years ago - before I came to town?”
“I vaguely remember. Ramsbottom was charged with something, but charges were dropped. That was before we had a real newspaper. The Pickax Picayune, with all - due respect to Junior’s late father, never printed anything that might embarrass anyone.”
“Koko did something strange when I came home. He bit me! He’s never done that before.”
She gasped. “Did he draw blood?”
“No, he just wanted to get my attention, but it was a forceful way of doing it. We were having our bedtime read, and he suddenly nipped the thumb holding the book. I assumed he was telling me to close the book, serve his nocturnal snack, and turn out the bleeping lights. He’s been edgy lately.”
“What were you reading?”
“A Rebecca West that I picked up this week. The Birds Fall Down.”
“Today Brutus was sniffing Catta indiscreetly, and that little girl turned and hit him on the nose - hard! Was he surprised! It was laughable.”
Qwilleran said, “She’ll grow up to be a tough lady cat who knows her rights and doesn’t take harassment from man or beast. I say we should groom her for the first feline vice president.”
“I say you’re hallucinating, dear. How’s your steak?”
“Perfect! How’s your fish?”
“Delectable !”
“Any world-shaking news at Indian Village?”
“Yes! My lovely next-door neighbors are leaving, and who knows what noisy characters will move in? The walls are so thin, as you well know, and the Cavendish sisters are so quiet, I’m spoiled.”
“Where are they going?”
“To the new retirement village near Kennebeck. Ruth can’t drive anymore, and Jennie has trouble with her knees. At Ittibittiwassee Estates they can have a one-story unit, and transportation is available. Also there’s an infirmary on the grounds.”
“What about their cats?” Qwilleran asked.
“Small indoor pets are permitted. They wouldn’t go anywhere without Pinky and Quinky.”
“Did you know that the Ittibittiwassee Estates development isn’t on the Ittibittiwassee River? It’s on Bloody Creek, but they thought Bloody Creek Estates would lack marketing appeal.”
Polly added, “Especially since they have so many accidents at the Bloody Creek bridge. They should install some kind of safeguard.”
“They keep talking about it, but nothing is ever done. Perhaps Junior should write a hard-hitting editorial.”
“By the way, Qwill, did Hixie call you about the spelling bee?”
“She did, and she twisted my arm. She wants me to be wordmaster. I wanted to be timekeeper.”
“Your talents would be wasted. Anyone can hold a stopwatch and ring a bell.”
“What’s your assignment?”
“Chairing the wordlist committee. We have to compile a list of three hundred words, ranging from those commonly misspelled to the virtually unspellable. It’s a practice list for the spellers to study in advance.”
“I’ll give you two for your list,” he said. “Believable and knowledgeable have plagued me all my life.
To E or not to E? That is the question. I’ve considered having my left forearm tattoed: No E before the A in believable.”
“I have a problem with seize, siege, and sieve,” she said. “Why don’t we go home and make some wordlists? We can have coffee and dessert there.”
On Sunday afternoon, while Polly was again sitting for the portrait painter, Qwilleran wrote a thousand words about Duff Campbell and his watercolors. Mrs. Fish-eye’s influence was in high gear, and the column virtually wrote itself, leaving him time to think about Polly’s wordlist. Batting words around gave him as much pleasure as batting the horsehide had ever done.
He began jotting down words that had tripped up spellers in the days when he was winning bees. Confusion over single and double consonants was one stumbling block: raccoon and vacuum, embarrass and harass, exaggerate and belligerent, lassitude and verisimilitude, confetti and graffiti, irrational and irascible, parrot and pirouette…
His mind wandered to Jasper… and the Art Center… and the Click Club that was being dedicated. It was John Bushland’s idea - a space on the lower level for photo exhibitions, slide showings, video-viewing, and talks on photography. “Bushy,” as he was called, was the town’s leading commercial photographer, who also freelanced for the Moose County Something. Qwilleran believed he should put in an appearance.
Beverly Forfar met him in the lobby of the Art Center. “Are you coming to see the Click Club? It’s a neat facility! And John Bushland is adorable. Is he married?”
“Not now,” Qwilleran said. “And we have another reason to celebrate. Jasper has moved to another address! He’s no longer insulting our visitors.”
“I hope he left voluntarily,” Qwilleran quipped. “Otherwise we could be sued for violating animal rights.”
She lowered her voice a tone. “I’ve also told Phoebe she can’t have that butterfly contraption. This is an art center, and we have to have some standards. What do you think, Mr. Q?”
“If you’re the manager, you have to manage.”
“Well, Phoebe’s miffed about it. See if you can talk some sense into her head.”
He went to the Butterfly Girl’s studio instead of the Click Club. “Where’s your buddy?” he asked.
The artist flinched, surprised out of her intense concentration on her work. “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Q. I didn’t know anyone was around. They’re all downstairs.”
“Where’s Jasper?”
“Jake took him,” Phoebe said, looking pleased.
“I thought Jake’s roommate was allergic to feathers.” “Oh, that’s all changed now. Jake bought a condo in Indian Village.”
“Did he get his promotion?” Qwilleran inquired casually.
“No, he’s going to continue doing what he likes best - tending bar and gabbing with customers. But he just got an inheritance from an old uncle in Montana. That’s where Jake comes from. He says it’s just like Moose County, only larger.”
“An apt description,” Qwilleran said. “So that’s a stroke of luck, isn’t it? And what else is new in your glamorous young life? Are you going to be on the drugstore spelling team?” He was making idle conversation as he contemplated the news about Jake.
“I don’t think so. I’m not getting along with my parents right now. The trouble is…”
“The trouble is what?”
“I broke the news that I’m moving into Jake’s condo.”
“I see.” He was unable to think of a better response.
“Another problem is that Jake doesn’t want me to raise butterflies. He’s squeamish about caterpillars, and I’ve just started a new hatch of Painted Ladies. Would you like to take them, Mr. Q? They’ll be ready to fly in a couple of weeks, and then you can set them free… See! They’re over there on Jasper’s table. They have to be kept out of direct sunlight.”
They occupied a cardboard box about the size of a small TV, with viewing windows of clear plastic on the top and three sides. There were several of them, crawling around and munching on green leaves - not attractive insects, being spiny and wormlike.
“Well, I don’t know,” Qwilleran said. “Are you sure these ugly things are going to turn into butterflies?”
“I’ll show you a picture of the Painted Lady,” Phoebe said. “I love to paint them. They have a lacy pattern of orange and black with white spots.”
“Hmmm,” he mused, thinking he might salvage his uninspired interview with Phoebe and get a column out of it after all. “Let me think about it for a while. I’m going down to the Click Club, and I’ll get back to you.”