Qwilleran thought, When Polly finds out about this, it will be the coup de grace.
Fran said, "What else did Big Mouth tell you?"
"About the pink elephants and red velvet that he installed for Harley and Belle. Was that one of your mistakes?"
"NO!" she thundered in her best stage voice. "My boss handled that transaction. Amanda will sell clients anything they want, whether it's bad taste or utterly impractical or illegal. She's corrupt, but I like her."
"Arch Riker is going to marry Amanda."
"I hope he has a sense of humor. He'll need it!"
"Have you heard how the bank will replace Nigel and the boys?"
"Nothing official, but the rumor is that two women officers will be elevated to VP, and a new president will come in from Down Below. I hope he'll need an interior designer."
"Where were you when you heard about the suicide?" he asked.
"At the hairdresser's. Everyone cried. People really loved Nigel. He was so suave and good-looking and charming!"
"I was having dinner at the Old Stone Mill," Qwilleran said, "and one of the waitresses dropped a tray when she heard the news. I presume Nigel was suave, good-looking, charming, and a big tipper."
"Now you're playing the cynical journalist. Bravo!" she said. "Did you hear that Margaret's place on the library board is going to be filled by Don Exbridge?"
Qwilleran grunted in disapproval. Exbridge was the developer who had tried to have the historic courthouse demolished. He said, "Exbridge will convince the city to tear down our historic public library, so he can build a new one for $9.9 million."
"Now you're being vicious as well as cynical!" There was an amused glint in her steely, gray eyes. She liked to goad him. "Don would also like to replace Nigel on the Klingenschoen board of trustees."
"Perfect!" Qwilleran said. "He can manipulate Klingenschoen grants to buy political favors, like rezoning, tax abatement, sewers, and other benefits for his private enterprises... May I freshen your drink? Then we'll go to Stephanie's for dinner." Mischievously he added, "I heard some curious news last week. I heard that Harley disappeared for a year after finishing college." He knew it would ruffle her.
"He didn't disappear! He traveled for a year. For centuries young men have taken the grand tour before settling down. Nothing unusual about that!" She was on the defensive now.
"The consensus is that he did something unconventional during his year of freedom."
"Stupid gossip!" she said testily.
"Did he travel by plane, motorcycle, or camel?"
"Frankly, I never thought it important to ask."
"Did he discuss his itinerary?"
"The Fitches would consider it tacky to bore people with their travels. And he didn't bring home any color slides or French postcards or plastic replicas of the Taj Mahal.... What am I getting? The third degree?"
"Sorry... How's David? Have you seen him, or talked with him?"
"I talk to Jill on the phone every day," Fran said, relaxing after her brief flurry of annoyance. "She thinks David's on the verge of a breakdown. They're going away for a few weeks-to a quiet place in South America where they spent their honeymoon."
"I suppose David will inherit everything."
"I really don't know." She looked at her watch. "The restaurant stops serving at nine o'clock."
"Okay, let's go... as soon as I feed the cats."
"Did you ever find my cigarette lighter?"
"No, but Mr. O'Dell has been alerted to look for it when he cleans."
The Siamese had retired to their apartment and were studiously watching birds from the windowsill. Qwilleran put a plate of tenderloin tips on a placemat in their bathroom, turned on the TV without the audio, and quietly shut the door to their apartment.
On the drive to Stephanie's he said, "Is it true that Harley's grandfather was a bootlegger?" He expected another indignant rebuttal.
"Yes!" she said with delight. "He believed people were-going to drink anyway, and if he smuggled in good stuff from Canada, they wouldn't go blind from drinking rotgut. He didn't believe in Prohibition, income tax, or corsets for women."
The draped tables at Stephanie's were placed in the original rooms of the old house, and Qwilleran and his guest were seated in the second parlor. The late sun was still beaming through the stained-glass windows, turning the beveled mirrors and wine glasses into rainbows. Over dinner they discussed the new theater.
Qwilleran said, "They're installing the seats this week. It should be available for rehearsals in August. Do you still want to open with an original revue?"
"Well..." Fran said indecisively, "under the circumstances we thought of doing a serious play and asking David to take a role. Something challenging and worthwhile might renew his interest in life. He's so depressed that Jill is afraid he'll follow his father's example."
Qwilleran thought, If David is involved in the situation that led to Harley's execution, he has good reason to be depressed. He could be the next victim. To Fran he said, "Do you have any particular play in mind? Nothing Russian, I hope; it would push him over the brink."
"And nothing too bloody," she said. "And nothing about two brothers."
A mellifluous voice could be heard in the front parlor, where there were four or five tables for diners. It was a man's voice, talking earnestly, then laughing heartily.
"I recognize that voice," Qwilleran said. "But I can't place it."
Fran peered over his shoulder. "It's Don Exbridge!" she said brightly. "And he's with a woman. I think it's Polly Duncan! They seem to be having a go-o-od time."
She.looked teasingly smug. "Aren't you going to send drinks over to their table?"
Qwilleran scowled as a ripple of pleasant laughter came from the front parlor. It was Polly's gentle voice. After that he was impatient with the rest of the dinner: the salad was limp; the hazelnut torte was soggy; the coffee was weak. He was impatient with Fran's conversation. He was impatient to send her on her way, impatient to get home to the sympathetic Siamese. Not once, he recalled, had she mentioned Koko and Yum Yum during the evening; he doubted whether she even knew their names. Not once had she remarked about the new newspaper or commented on the column he was writing. On the whole he was sorry he had agreed to fly Down Below to look at a stainless-steel bed and some neo-Bauhaus chests. There was nothing wrong with his present bedroom furniture. He felt comfortable with it. He had always felt comfortable with Polly, too. He had never felt entirely comfortable with Francesca.
On arriving home he went first to the cats' apartment to check on possible drafts from an open window and to turn off the TV. They were both asleep in one of the baskets, curled up like yin and yang. Then he flicked on the light in the bathroom to see if they had finished their dinner, and to give them fresh water.
The scene was one of havoc Yum Yum's commode was overturned, and its contents had been flung about the room. A shiny object, half-buried in a damp mound of kitty gravel, proved to be a silver cigarette lighter.
Something, Qwilleran thought, is radically wrong with that cat! She used to be so fastidious! Tomorrow she goes to the doctor!
-Scene Two-
Place: Qwilleran's apartment
Time: The morning after Yum Yum's demonstration
Featuring: AMANDA GOODWINTER
As HE DIALED the animal clinic to make an appointment for Yum Yum, Qwilleran thought, It was stupid of me to buy her a plastic dishpan; she wanted equal rights! She wanted an oval roasting pan like Koko's.