He strummed a few chords and flashed the smile that always made his groupies howl. The audience shouted for more.
She’d rather wear a helmet than a crown. She never reads the lawbooks upside-down.
She’s got a lot of clout
And hey! She finally dried out! We’d rather have Amanda run our town.
The audience exploded with cheers and laughter, and even Amanda managed a faint smile.
Qwilleran said, “If elected, she should appoint Derek as court jester.”
“Do you think he wrote that himself?” Mildred asked dubiously.
“It sounds more like Hixie Rice,” Polly said. “What do you think, Qwill?”
“It could have been Burgess Campbell. He has a sense of humor.”
“Or Alexander,” said Arch.
A crowd was gathering around the apothecary jar. Anyone who dropped a dollar bill into the jar would receive a photocopy of the lyrics. Dwight Somers had a portable copier and was cranking them out as fast as he could. Some enthusiasts wanted five or ten copies, and the Ruff Abbey Fund grew accordingly.
As Qwilleran and Polly walked home, she said, “How
Maggie would have loved this turnout for Amanda! Why do you suppose they left so suddenly? And why did Maggie have us to dinner without mentioning a word about their plans? It’s all very strange to me.”
Qwilleran said, “Her cats were already lodged at the Pet Plaza, so she fibbed when she said they were upstairs, sleeping.”
“How do you know they’re there?” she asked sharply.
“I’m writing a column on the facility, and there they were!
eleven
The day after the rally, when rain would have been appreciated by the parched county, another morning sun flooded Qwilleran’s living room through the large glass areas overlooking the riverbank. Where was the Big One? Water was being rationed. Farmers worried about their flocks and herds. Wetherby Goode talked about going into hiding if the Big One continued to stall over Canada.
When Qwilleran opened his bedroom door and stepped out onto the balcony, he looked down at a dazzling light on the coffee table-enough to alarm him for a moment until he realized it was the French pitcher, reflecting and multiplying the sun’s rays. It was a remarkable example of optic lead crystal, chunky and heavy; he estimated it weighed five pounds, empty. Nine deep vertical cuts faceted the spherical base, which was topped with a narrow neck, a perfect pouring spout, and a gracefully well-balanced handle. Even without sunlight the crystal had a life of its own, playing optic tricks with interior shapes and shadows. Koko recognized it as something special and tried to get his sleek head into the pitcher’s neck.
“No!” Qwilleran shouted, and the cat withdrew quickly.
“You guys missed a good party yesterday,” he told the cats as he was preparing their food. “There was a nice dog there-quiet, intelligent, well-mannered. Your kind of dog. His name was Alexander.”
As if some kind of mental telepathy were at work, the phone rang at that moment, and Burgess Campbell was on the line. “I was just talking about Alexander,” Qwilleran said. “How did he like the rally yesterday?”
“He takes everything in his stride,” Burgess said. “We could all take lessons from Alexander… . Why I’m calling, Qwill-Ernie was telling us about your book, Short & Tall Tales, and I wondered if you had room for one more.”
“Yes, if it has a legendary quality and a Moose County connection.”
“I think it qualifies. My father used to tell about this feed-and-seed supplier in Brrr Township in the 1920s. He called it Phineas Ford’s Fabulous Collection.”
“Are there any Fords still around? I haven’t run into that name.”
“Dad said the last ones went Down Below during World War Two, to work in the defense industry. If you’re interested, I could dictate it to my computer and mail you a printout. Then you can edit it as you see fit.” ;
“Sounds good to me!” Qwilleran said.
Ruff Abbey was given a hero’s funeral-on Monday, not Tuesday, because of the threat of the Big One. The service was held in the high school auditorium because so many mourners wanted to attend. Burial was in Sawdust City because the Mudville Curlers insisted.
After the service Qwilleran was cashing a check in the bank when he bumped into someone and said, “Sorry.”
The other man said, “Sorry,” and then looked up. “Qwill!”
“Ernie! If I’d known it was you, I’d have bumped harder!”
“Story of my life.” He lowered his booming voice to a mutter. “Gotta couple of minutes? If we could sit down somewhere and spread this thing out…” There was a roll of drafting paper under his arm.
Qwilleran used his influence, and they went into a small conference room.
Ernie Kemple, former insurance agent and enthusiastic volunteer, was not in his usual jovial mood. In the last year he had surmounted family problems and carried on with bravado, throwing himself into community service.
But now he looked discouraged as he unrolled a large drawing of a floor plan. “Did you hear about my idea for an antique village?”
“Sketchily. Fill me in. It sounds interesting.”
“The idea was flying high… . and then the wings fell off. I suppose you know that Otto’s Tasty Eats went out of business.”
“Good riddance!”
“Yeah … well… His building was for sale by owner, and I thought it would be perfect for an antiques cooperative, where dealers rent spaces and take turns minding the store.”
Qwilleran asked, “Would this area have enough dealers to make it work?”
“Oh, sure! Collectors all over the county are selling from their barns and basements, and they’d welcome the opportunity to ‘go pro,’ you know, without a big investment. Also, dealers in surrounding counties could have a branch in Pickax and cash in on the tourist trade. I’d have exhibit booths around the walls of the main floor and balcony, and have a courtyard in the middle for serving lunches and snacks. The K Fund was standing by, ready to give me a low-interest business loan… . and then I made Otto an offer for the building, and crash! He said he was planning a business venture of his own!”
Qwilleran said, “Sounds as if he’s stealing your idea! Would the dealers tell you if they’ve been approached by another promoter?”
“What good would it do? He’s got the building, and it’s perfect for an antique mall operation. It’s downtown. It has parking in the municipal lot. It’s in the traffic hub.” Kemple started to tear up the plans.
“Not so fast, Ernie! Wait and see what happens. Success breeds success, and you’ve done a great job with the Fire Watch-“
“Yes, but the shooting-!”
“It’s a tribute to you… . and Ruff… and all the other volunteers that the Fire Watch will be continued till snow flies. It could have been worse-much worse-if he hadn’t put his call through to the hotline when he did.”
“I wonder if they’ll ever find the killer,” Kemple said.
Qwilleran drew a heavy hand over his moustache. He had a hunch they would.
Qwilleran drove home with a desire for a large dish of ice cream to comfort his distress over Kemple’s plight. On the bright side, Otto might be opening a roller rink, disco hall, video parlor, or basketball arena. Then Ernie could have his antique village in a building designed for the purpose-perhaps a Swiss chalet like the curling club-out in the country!
Arriving at Indian Village he stopped at the gatehouse for mail and was unlocking his mailbox when he caught a woman staring at his moustache. He recognized her hairdo.
“Mrs. Young! We met at the rally yesterday! I’m Jim Qwilleran. I didn’t know you’re a villager.”
“I have a unit between Amanda Goodwinter and Susan Exbridge,” she said. “I feel like an out-of-town pygmy between two local giants.”