-Scene Nine-
Place: Qwilleran's apartment; later Stephanie's restaurant
Time: The same day
QWILLERAN went into his studio to organize his thoughts and compose a catchy lead for the Eddington Smith profile, taking care to confine the cats to their apartment.
Ordinarily they assisted his creative process by sitting on his notes, biting his pen and stepping on the shift key of the typewriter, but this time he had a firm deadline. The Siamese were banished.
The job required concentration. In his workshop Eddington used a strange vocabulary: giggering and glairing; nipping up, blinding in, holing out, wringing down and fanning over; casing in, lacing in, and gluing up.
Eddington had said that Winston liked the gluing-up process. Was Koko smelling the glue when he sniffed the spines of books as if reading the titles? Could a cat possibly smell the glue on a seventy-five-year-old volume of Dickens or a century-old Shakespeare? It hardly seemed likely. But, ruling out glue as the attraction, why did Koko sniff books? Why did he sniff certain titles and not others? Were there bookworms in the bindings? Could he smell animal matter? When they spent the summer months in the country, the Siamese were always fascinated by ants, spiders, and ladybugs on the screened porch. Why not bookworms? Qwilleran decided he would ask Eddington to inspect Koko's favorite titles. The cat had suddenly become interested in Moby-Dick and Captains Courageous.
These ruminations were not helping him meet his deadline, and when Francesca arrived with her wallpaper samples, he said, "Excuse me if I appear groggy. I've been working on a profile of Edd Smith, and I'm in a bookish fog. Tell me your news, Fran."
"First, a drink," she said, collapsing on the sofa. "First the news," Qwilleran insisted, "and then a drink.'"
"Chad Lanspeak is a suspect! Carol and Larry are in a panic!"
"Hmmm," he said, tamping his moustache. "What time do the police think Harley was killed? Your father wouldn't tell me anything. I don't know why. Suddenly he clammed up."
"I know why," said Fran. "Last year he was reprimanded for talking about a case under investigation. Poor Dad! He loves to talk. I can probably find out for you. Why do you want to know?"
"Chad came to my apartment at 6:15 P.M. to sell me some handmade snowshoes. The transaction took longer than I expected, so it was 7:30 before he dropped me off at the community center. I know, because I looked at my watch and figured you'd give me hell for being a half-hour late. According to the newspaper account, David and Jill found the bodies at 7:15. Assuming Chad had put in a full day at the store, he couldn't be implicated."
"You should phone Carol and Larry and tell them that," said Fran.."They've called in their attorney. Do you know Hasselrich?"
"He's the attorney for the Klingenschoen Fund."
"Call Carol and Larry right away. It'll relieve their minds."
Qwilleran punched the number of the Lanspeak residence, visualizing their attractive country house as he waited for them to answer: split-rail fences, cedar shake roof, picturesque barn. "Hello, Larry? This is Qwill. I have some information for you that may be vital... Yes, I know. Fran told me, but assuming Chad worked a full day in the store, he's in the clear. He was with me from 6:15 to 7:30 and supposedly came directly from work. What time did he check out?... Well, then, he should be covered. You remember I told you he was selling me snowshoes. That's why I was late for rehearsal... That's right. He drove me downtown in his rattletrap truck and dropped me off at the rehearsal hall at 7:30... Yes, I thought it might help. I even have a pair of Beavertails to prove it. Tell Hasselrich, and let him take it from there. I'm standing by if he wants me to do anything... So long, Larry. Chin up!"
As he poured Scotch for Fran, she walked around the living room, appraising it with a professional eye-moving a table three inches to the left, adjusting the blinds, straightening the picture of the 1805 gunboat. "How did this print get so crooked?" she asked. "We haven't had any earthquakes or sonic booms."
"Blame it on Koko," QwiJ!eran said. "He likes to rub his jaw against the comers of picture frames, and that one is easy to reach from the back of the sofa. If you knew anything about cats, that would be perfectly obvious."
She settled down with her drink. "I still can't believe we've lost Harley."
"No one says much about his wife. Did you know her very well?"
Fran shifted her eyes. "I met her a few times."
"Did she come from Chipmunk?"
"Somewhere out in that direction."
"What did people think about their marriage? Why were they married in Las Vegas?"
"Honestly, Qwill, I don't feel like talking about it. Harley isn't even buried yet. It's too painful. Mind if I smoke?" With gestures that had a practiced grace she shook out a cigarette, flicked the silver lighter he had given her for Christmas, and inhaled deeply.
Qwilleran waited for her to enjoy a few puffs before saying, "You and David were close friends, weren't you?"
"How did you know? It was just a high-school crush."
"Did you ever think you might marry him?"
"Did you ever think you might be a nosey bastard... darling?"
Archly he said, "I have a compassionate curiosity about my fellow beings. It's one of my noble traits." He produced a bowl of cashews and watched her gobble them hungrily. "Seriously, Fran, do you suppose the local investigators are competent to solve this case?"
"The state police have sent a detective up here, Dad says. A homicide expert. But don't underestimate our local cops. They've grown up here, and they know everyone. You'd be surprised how much they know about you and me and Chad and everyone else. They don't keep files on us; they just know."
Qwilleran poured another drink for her; her glass was emptying fast. "What's the Fitch mansion like?" he asked.
"Banana-split architecture at its gooiest!" she said. "A mix of Victorian Gothic, art deco and Italian. But it has a certain country charm. All those chimneys! All those rambling stone walls around the property!"
"I wonder if the killer or killers had time to find what they wanted before being interrupted. No doubt they had a lookout in their vehicle - someone who alerted them when David and Jill were approaching. What do you think they were looking for?"
"Money and jewelry, I suppose. They started ransacking the desk in the library and the dresser drawers upstairs. Harley's grandmother left jewelry in trust for Harley and David to give to their wives when they married. Belle had some pretty good things."
"What about books? Might they be looking for rare books?"
"Are you kidding? They were probably dropouts from Chipmunk who wouldn't know a rare book from a telephone directory."
"What kind of firearm did they use?"
"A handgun that's very common around here for hunting... Hey, don't let Dad know I'm telling you this. He's not supposed to discuss it, but he and Mother have a rap session at the kitchen table after every shift, and I have big ears."
"You have very lovely ears, if I may digress."
"Well, thank-you," she said amiably, looking surprised and pleased. "I just might go to dinner with you, if you extend the invitation."
"First I want to feed the cats," Qwilleran said. He released them and set out two bowls of the chefs specialit‚ du jour, a kind of bouillabaisse without the mussel shells. "It would be interesting to know," he said, "if Harley knew the killer. I imagine it was someone who had been in the house and knew what they had. It was someone who knew their rehearsal schedule and expected them to be gone by 6:30. That is, if they were killed between 6:30 and 7:15. On the other hand, if they were killed before 6:30, it was by someone who picked a random time for robbery and murder."