"Hixie is always good company," Qwilleran said, wondering if Polly really had another engagement, or if she was avoiding him.
"You'll never recognize the main part of the house when you see it," Mrs. Cobb said as she twirled the lettuce in a salad basket. "Remember all that decorator-type wallpaper? When we removed it, we found the original w had been stenciled, so we did some research on stenciling and got the paperhanger to restore it for us. He was very cooperative. He's a nice young man but down in the dumps because his girl jilted him and married someone wealthy. I told him to forget his old flame and find a girl who appreciate him. He's almost thirty; he should get married... Now prepare for a surprise!"
She led the way into a section of the house built in mid-nineteenth century and now restored to the simplicity of pioneer days. Furnishings such as a rope bed, trestle table and pie safe had come from the attics of Moose County residents.
"We want it to look as if our great-great-grandparents still live here," she said. "Can't you just imagine them cooking in the fireplace, reading the evening prayers by candlelight, and taking Saturday night baths in kitchen?"
The floors sloped; the floorboards were wide; the six-over-six windows had some of the original wavy glass. Mrs. Cobb conducted the tour with professional authority while Qwilleran and Koko tagged along, the latter sniffing invisible spots on the rag rugs and rubbing his back against furniture legs. Yum Yum stayed in the kitchen, guarding the pot roast.
"And now we come to the east wing, added in 1890. We use these rooms to exhibit collections. Here's the Halifax Goodwinter Room with the doctor's collection lighting devices - from an early rush lamp to an elegant Tiffany lamp in the wisteria pattern - very valuable."
At this remark Qwilleran kept a close watch on Koko, but the cat was not attracted to art glass. He merely rubbed his jaw against the corner of a showcase.
"The Mary Tait MacGregor Room is all textiles. Old Mr. MacGregor gave us his wife's quilts, hooked rugs, jacquard coverlets and so on, all handed down in her family." Koko rolle;d on a hooked rug done in a distelfink pattern.
The Hasselrich Room featured Moose County documents, which Qwilleran said he would like to study at some future date: land grants, early birth and death certificates, journals of nineteenth-century court proceedings, and ledgers from old general stores, itemizing kerosene at a nickel a gallon and three yards of calico for fifteen cents.
"It breaks my heart to show you the next room, considering what happened," said Mrs. Cobb. "Nigel was president of the Historical Society, and he didn't even live to see it dedicated. That roll top desk belonged to Cyrus Fitch, and in one of the drawers we found a list of his bootleg customers. Imagine! He was smuggling whiskey during Prohibition! They're all dead now, except Homer Tibbitt."
The cut glass, she said, was donated by Margaret Fitch. A punch bowl, decanters and other serving pieces were dazzling under artfully placed spotlights, but not dazzling enough to capture Qwilleran's full attention. He was getting hungry. Nigel had contributed his collection of mining memorabilia: pickaxes, sledgehammers, miners' caps, lanterns, etc., and David had done pen-and-ink sketches of the shafthouses at the old mines.
Qwilleran tried to subdue his rumbling stomach and then realized that the disturbance was actually a low growl coming from Koko's chest. The cat had discovered a tiered platform exhibiting three model ships. He stood on his hind legs and pawed the air, weaving his head from side to side and looking exactly like one of the rampant cats on the Mackintosh coat of arms.
"Oh, look at him!" cried Mrs. Cobb. "Isn't that touching? Those models were made by Harley Fitch! The three-masted schooner is a replica of one that sank off Purple Point around 1880."
"I think Koko smells the glue," Qwilleran said. "He's a fiend for glue. We'd better get him out of here before he launches a naval attack."
A car drove into the yard, and Qwilleran grabbed Koko while Mrs. Cobb went to greet Hixie Rice.
Sunburned and windblown and clad in sailing stripes, shorts and deck shoes, Hixie breezed into the house. "I hope you don't mind how I look. I've been sailing with one of my customers. He has a catamaran. I never knew sailing could be so divine!"
"You should put something on that sunburn," Mrs. Cobb advised as she served Hixie a Campari.
Qwilleran said, "I wondered why the Black Bear Caf‚ was running such large ads in the Something. You've been cozying up to the proprietor. I hope you know he's descended from a pirate."
"I don't care if he's descended from a dinosaur! He has a beautiful boat. We're going out again next Sunday."
"He used to sail with Harley Fitch. Did he mention the Fitch Witch?"
"No, he talked mainly about himself... and how a blue skyful of sail and a whispering breeze touches the soul of a man."
The pot roast was succulent; the mashed potatoes were superlative; the homemade bread was properly chewy; the coconut cake was ambrosial. So said the guests, and Mrs. Cobb basked in their compliments.
Hixie summed it up. "Forget about the museum, Iris, and open a restaurant. Half the places that run ads in our paper are vile! The ethnic restaurants are the best bet. There's a super little eatery in Brrr called the North Pole Caf‚, where they serve the best zupa grzybowa and nerki duszone I've ever tasted. North Pole! Get it?"
"How about Italian food?" Qwilleran asked.
"There's a fabulous place in Mooseville that's a real mama-and-papa operation. He cooks, and she waits on table. When I went there to pick up their ad order, I went to the restroom and got locked in. I hammered on the door, and I heard Mrs. Linguini yell, 'Papa, lady locked in the toilet! Bring a toothpick!' After a while there was a picking sound in the lock, and Mr. Linguini opened the door, looking cross. He said, 'You do it wrong. I show you,' And he came into the washroom and locked the door. Of course, the mechanism didn't work, and I was locked in the ladies' room with Mr. Linguini!"
"How did you get out?" asked Mrs. Cobb, seriously concerned.
"He hammered on the door and yelled, 'Mama, bring a toothpick!' Oh, it's lots of fun selling ads for the Moose County Something."
Qwilleran said, "Hixie, you should write a guide to the restaurants and restrooms of the county."
"Don't think I haven't thought of it! All I need is a snappy title that's fit to print."
After coffee she excused herself, saying she wanted to get home before dark, although Qwilleran suspected she was going back to the Black Bear Caf‚. He walked her to her car.
"Since you're so keen on creative journalism," he said, "why don't you ask your sailing partner if he killed Harley and Belle in order to finance the remodeling of the hotel. A skyful of sail and a whispering breeze and thou might loosen his tongue."
"You want me to accuse him of murder while we're five miles out in the lake and I'm ducking the boom? No thanks!" She gunned the motor and took off.
Qwilleran chuckled. Hixie had always dated men on the shady side of respectability. He returned to the house where Mrs. Cobb was touching a match to the kindling in the fireplace.
"We'll have our second cuppa here," she said. "It'll be cozy. That Hixie is a clever girl, isn't she? And nice looking. I wonder why she doesn't get married."
They sat in the wing chairs. Koko, stuffed with pot roast, went to sleep on the hearth rug. Yum Yum still preferred the kitchen.
"Wonderful little animals," she said. "I miss them."
"And they miss your cooking... I do, too," he added with more feeling than he usually displayed before his former housekeeper. She breathed a heavy sigh that summed up all the misadventures they had survived at the Klingenschoen mansion. She was looking prettier than usual in her pink ruffled blouse, with the dancing flames lighting her face. He remembered the pink scarf and dashed out to the car for the Lanspeak giftbox tied with pink ribbon.