“What do they say caused the accident?” she asked coolly.
“A fall down a flight of stone stairs after everyone else had left. He had graciously offered to wait for a technician who was traveling a long distance to make emergency repairs. The man found Cass at the foot of the stairs.”
“Did they say whether he’d been drinking?” she asked sharply.
“It wasn’t a consideration, apparently … . How many grandchildren does Jeffa have, Mrs. Parsons?”
“We have two girls and a boy, between four and eight. They’re all excited about meeting their grandmother for the first time.” ’.’
“What attracted you to Idaho? I presume you’re a native of Maryland.”
“I’m interested in the preservation of the environment, and I went vacationing in the northwest part of the state and fell in love with it! You should visit the area. If you like it around here, you’ll like Idaho ten times more.”
“Thank you for the suggestion. It’s something to keep in mind.”
When they arrived in Jeffa’s driveway, he told her to go in and he would bring the luggage. Mother and daughter were embracing in the doorway when he pulled away.
“I didn’t see any tears,” Qwilleran told Polly when he reported to her condo later in the evening. She had invited him to a soup supper and had
prepared his favorite baked potato soup-a cream base flavored with cheese and bacon bits and loaded with chunks of yesterday’s baked potatoes, skins and all. It was another of Polly’s leftover masterpieces.
“What was the daughter like?” she asked.
“Not as handsome or sophisticated as Jeffa. She doesn’t expect to stay long, judging by the size of her overnight bag. She didn’t show any signs of mourning for her brother. I wonder what the funeral arrangements will be.”
“My spies at the library know all the particulars,” Polly said. “Mac MacWhannell is taking care of everything according to Jeffa’s wishes: cremation, no funeral, but a memorial service to be planned by the two curling clubs. … I hope Jeffa stays here. Big Mac is depending on her help with the tax rush. He was being very solicitous at Amanda’s rally. One can’t help wondering … You know, his wife is terminally ill.”
Qwilleran said, “I’ll be willing to bet that Jeffa stays here.”
fifteen
When Qwilleran was preparing the cats’ breakfast, they sat watching him intently, Koko looking intelligent and Yum Yum looking hungry. Speak to them on your own intellectual level, he believed, and they will respond accordingly. He said to Koko, “Will you reiterate your recent midnight message? If you still suspect foul play, slap the floor three times with your tail.”
Koko’s tail remained virtually glued to the vinyl, but the doorbell rang, and Susan Exbridge was on the doorstep. “Darling, I’m on my way to the shop, but I have news.”
“Come in!” he said. “Have a cup of coffee.” “Your coffee is wonderful, but don’t let me stay. I’m meeting a fabulously affluent customer.” She went directly to the loungy sofa. “Love this rug! It’s not my taste, but it’s so sensually correct with your furniture.”
He served coffee. She recognized his Jensen tray. He admired her earrings. She said they were hallmarked English silver buttons. He said, “Excuse me while I finish feeding the cats.” They were on the kitchen counter and had finished feeding themselves.
Finally he joined his guest with a coffee mug and said, “Well, I delivered Angela to her mother’s house, as requested.”
“What did you think of her?”
“To tell the truth, she seemed cold and calculating and not at all concerned about her brother’s death. She doesn’t have her mother’s commanding stature, I noticed.”
“She’s a stepdaughter,” Susan told him. “When Jeffa married Mr. Young, he was a widower with a daughter. Then they had a son together.”
Qwilleran nodded. “Understandable. And what’s your news?”
“Darling, I don’t need to tell you how thin the walls are in this development! Last night I heard an awful row next door between the two women. It was embarrassing!”
“But not so embarrassing that you didn’t listen, I hope.”
“Actually, I couldn’t catch a word, but I heard a door slam, and then all was quiet… . But this morning the airport limousine came for Angela! She’s gone! I think Jeffa is staying here! Big Mac will have his help during the tax rush, and I may get my hands on that Hepplewhite sideboard for the New York show!”
“Hmff!” was Qwilleran’s only comment.
“Mac has come to the rescue like a big brother, making all arrangements. He’s treasurer of the curling club, you know, so he has a double interest in the case.”
“Have you talked to Robyn?”
“Yes, and I feel so sorry for her. She and Jeffa are the
chief mourners, and it’s very touching how they’re consoling each other. Donald is probably laughing his head off, rat that he is!”
“Yow!” came a loud comment from Koko, who was on the table in the foyer, as if to speed the parting guest.
“Well, I must tear myself away,” Susan said. “Thanks for the coffee, and don’t forget: I’m interested in the St. Louis pitcher!”
After she had left, Koko continued to sit on the carved oak glove box, one of his favorite perches in recent days. He treated it like a pedestal for the sculptural poses he liked to strike.
“Vanity! Vanity!” Qwilleran observed.
He turned his attention to the speech he was scheduled to make that evening. At the urging of his friend, Kip McDiarmid, editor of the Lockmaster Ledger, he had consented to be after-dinner speaker at a meeting of the literary club. His decision was influenced, no doubt, by the choice of meeting place, an upscale restaurant in horse country: the Palomino Paddock.
A veteran at making such speeches, he knew what his audience would want to know:
1. How he had learned his craft. (He gave credit to a tenth-grade English teacher, Mrs. Fisheye.)
2. His favorite authors. (Trollope, Flaubert, Nabokov and Mark Twain.)
3. What it’s like to be a twice-weekly columnist. (Rough. Fun. Challenging. Underpaid.)
4. Where he gets his ideas. (I stare at my cat and he stares at me, eyeball to eyeball, and my brain goes into high gear.)
5. What he enjoyed most about writing for metropolitan newspapers Down Below. (The Press Clubs.)
Half serious and half entertaining, his talks always attracted a few more subscribers for the Moose County Something,
The dinner meeting at the Palomino Paddock was held in a private room-really two rooms thrown together because of the number of reservations. After the medallions of beef and the strawberries with peppercorn sauce, the Lockmaster editor introduced “the notorious columnist from the barbaric county to the north.”
Qwilleran began by saying, “Needless to mention, I took the precaution of being vaccinated before venturing on this foreign soil.”
The question-and-answer session that followed the talk included a discussion of haiku, since most of the audience had read that day’s “Qwill Pen.” Then Kip McDiarmid closed the program with a tongue-in-cheek haiku:
“Sick cat… Burnt toast… flat tire … computer down … business as usual.”
It was after midnight when Qwilleran reached
Indian Village. As he turned into River Road, a vehicle ahead of him pulled up to Amanda Goodwinter’s condo. A passenger hurried indoors while Amanda herself brought luggage from the trunk.
Qwilleran was positive the guest was Maggie Sprenkle. Unfortunately it was too late to call Polly and ask if she knew what was happening.