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One by one, the units moved out of the staging area in the correct order, with floats and marchers and bands alternating appropriately.

Qwilleran, waiting for the bikers to be signaled, watched the Friends of Wool roll past. The shepherd stood knee-deep in a small flock of sheep and baby lambs and played his flute. Two spinners dressed as pioneer women sat in antique chairs and treadled their wheels. Six similar chairs were arranged back-to-back for the knitters: four women and two men.

Finally the Parade of Bikers was given the signal. The first to take off was the high-wheeler, followed by neat rows of bikes pedaled by men and women, girls and boys, in colorful helmets. Bringing up the rear was the most prominent man in the county, reclining in a bucket seat with his feet elevated. Everyone recognized the moustache, and while they applauded, cheered, screamed, and whistled, Qwilleran drew on his theater training and pedaled with unflappable cool.

The onlookers swarmed into the road and followed the recumbent - a Pied Piper with wheels. Whether their acclaim was for the bike, or the famous moustache, or the man behind the K Fund …that was anyone’s guess.

The destaging area of the parade was the high school parking lot on the eastside, and when Qwilleran arrived, he found a traffic jam. Floats: were scattered helter-skelter. Families arrived to pick up their athletes, musicians, moms, pets, and bathing beauties. Two school buses were waiting to transport float personnel back to their vehicles on the westside. A truck from the Ogilvie Sheep Ranch was collecting sheep, spinning wheels, and antique chairs.

Qwilleran grabbed Mildred’s arm just as she was boarding the bus. “You got me into this. How about getting me out?”

“What’s the problem, Qwill?”

He said, “I can’t take my bike on the bus. You take my car keys and bring my van down here. It’s a brown van - in the FOO parking lot.”

She took his keys. “What did you think of our float?”

“The lambs were cute. The shepherd looked like the real thing. The sheep were fat and woolly… But your husband, if I may say so, looked sheepish.”

“I heard that!” Arch shouted. “I wouldn’t even be here if you hadn’t blackmailed me, you dirty dog!”

The bus driver tooted the horn. “Come on, folks. They want us to move!”

Qwilleran had invited Andrew Brodie to stop at the cabin for a drink, following the parade, and the chief had said, “Make it at four o’clock. I’ve got to make an appearance at a backyard barbecue - some relatives in Black Creek.”

At four o’clock, Qwilleran had a beverage tray on the porch, along with some Gorgonzola and crackers. “How was it?” he asked when his guest arrived, scowling.

“All they had to drink was iced tea! I played a tune for them and had a sandwich, then got the heck out!”

“You came to the right place, Andy. I happen to have some single-malt Scotch and good cheese.”

Brodie was still in piper’s garb, except for the feather bonnet and shoulder plaid. Cocked over one eye was something like a military overseas cap - in navy blue with a red pompon, cockade, and two ribbons hanging down the back. “It’s a Glengarry,” he said in response to Qwilleran’s compliment. He tapped his left temple. “It has my clan badge.”

They went out to the porch, where Koko was again on the pedestal and Yum Yum was sniffing insects on the outside of the screen. When Brodie sat down, however, she came over to inspect his brogues, bare knees, and fancy garters. Then she stood on her hind legs to see what the kilt was all about.

“She’s bewildered,” Qwilleran explained. “Aren’t you the visitor who used to wear long pants and a shiny metal badge?”

“Where’d you get the sailboat?”

“Mike Zander made it. He’s a commercial fisherman by trade.”

“Sure, I know the Zanders. When I worked for the sheriff, this was my beat. Your guy must be Mike Junior. Whenever I see Mike Senior, we laugh about something that happened a few years back. It was Saturday, and the boats had just come in. Summer people were buying fish on the pier. One stuffy old biddy from Down Below looked at the fish - some of ‘em still flopping around - and said in an uppity voice, ‘Are you sure they’re quite fresh?’ The crew laughed so hard, she left in a huff.”

“Those guys like a laugh,” Qwilleran said. “Their chicken-feeding float had everybody running for cover!”

“We had a good day for the parade, but what we need now is some rain.”

“You have to admit, though, that the dry spell has helped the mosquito situation.”

“I remember one year, the town council brought in colonies of bats to get rid of mosquitoes. They scared off the tourists as well.”

Qwilleran said, “Let me refresh your drink, Andy.”

“I think I could stand another.”

Yum Yum followed Qwilleran indoors to get a drink of water, and she looked at him so imploringly, he gave her a crumb of Gorgonzola. When he returned to the porch, Brodie was standing at the top of the sandladder.

“Your beach is a lot different this year,” he said. “What’s that burnt circle?”

“Some trespassers apparently had a bonfire before I got here,” Qwilleran said. “At least they didn’t leave any beer cans; that’s to their credit.”

Brodie gave Qwilleran a sharp look. “I hear you’re the one that found the body on the beach.”

“Well, if you must know… yes.” He refrained from mentioning Koko’s involvement. Brodie had heard about “that smart cat” from a detective Down Below but believed only fifty percent of it - and , that reluctantly. Yet both he and the prosecutor valued Qwilleran’s interest in certain cases and appreciated his tips. They also respected his insistence on anonymity. Brodie, for his part, was not above leaking police information if it would aid Qwilleran’s unofficial investigations. Little by little, a mutual trust had developed between the two men.

They sat in silence for a while, no doubt thinking of the same thing, until Qwilleran asked, “Were they able to identify the backpacker?”

“Oh, sure. He had an ID on his person - Philadelphia address - age twenty-five- no next of kin, but the name and phone number of a woman.”

“Homicide or natural causes?”

“Homicide hasn’t been ruled out… the coroner can’t determine the cause of death. They’ve flown the body to the state forensic lab.”

“That’s strange.”

“Stranger than you think. Everything points to the time of death as midnight last Friday, a few hours after he called at the Hawley house, but…” Brodie paused uncertainly. “There was no decomposition. Almost like he was embalmed. He’d been dead four days.”

“I should cut off your drinks, Andy.”

“It’s the God’s truth!”

“Does anyone have a theory?”

“If they do, they’re not talking. The State Bureau has clamped down… This is all between you and me, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And now I’ve gotta take off. Thanks for the refreshments.”

They walked through the cabin, Brodie looking for his Glengarry. “I thought I left it on the back of the sofa.”

They looked behind the sofa cushions and in other places where he may have dropped the cap without thinking. Then Qwilleran saw Yum Yum sitting on the dining table, looking guilty. “She’s attracted to small shiny objects, Andy. She pinched your clan badge! Let me look under the sofa.” A few swipes with a fireplace poker produced a brown sock, a yellow pencil, and the missing cap. Qwilleran offered to brush it.

“Don’t bother. I’ll just give it a couple of whacks.”

Qwilleran walked with him to his car, saying, “Remember the two gunshots just before the parade started? Did they ever find out who fired them?”

“Nope.”