Francesca was attractive without doubt. She bubbled with youthful vitality, wore enticing scents, and had legs that looked provocative with high-heeled sandals. Having turned fifty, however, Qwilleran was beginning to feel more comfortable with women of his own age who wore size 16. Polly Duncan was head librarian at the Pickax Public Library, and she shared his interest in literature as no other woman had ever done. Following the tragic death of her husband many years before, she was now rediscovering love, and her responses were warm and caring, belying her outward show of reserve. They were discreet about their relationship, but there were few secrets in Pickax, and everyone knew about the librarian and the Klingenschoen heir, and also about the interior designer.
"Polly is getting edgy," Qwilleran said to his attentive listener. "I don't like what jealousy does to a woman. She's intelligent and admirable in every way, and yet... the brainiest ones sometimes lose control. Sooner or later there's going to be an explosion! Do you think librarians ever commit crimes of passion?"
"Yow," said Koko as he scratched his ear with his hind foot.
-Scene Two-
Place: Downtown Pickax
Time: The following morning
Cast: HIXIE RICE, a young woman from
Down Below
EDDINGTON SMITH, dealer in used books
CHAD, the black sheep of the
Lanspeak family
Construction workers, pedestrians, clerks
QWILLERAN decided to take a casual walk downtown after hearing the 9 A.M. newscast on station WPKX. "Vandals opened fire hydrants during the night, seriously draining the city's water supply and impeding firefighters called to a burning building on the west side."
As a veteran journalist who had written for major newspapers around the country, Qwilleran despised the headline news on the radio - those twenty-five-word teasers sandwiched between two hundred-word commercials. They only fueled the feud between the print and electronic media. He stormed around his apartment, ranting aloud to the alarm of the Siamese.
"How many hydrants were opened? Where were they located? What was the extent of water loss? What was the cost to the city? Whose building burned as a result? When was the vandalism discovered? Why did no one notice the gushing water?"
The Siamese flew about the apartment as they always did when Qwilleran went on a rampage. "Well, never mind. Excuse the outburst," he said in a calmer mood, tamping his moustache. "In a few days we'll get our news from print coverage."
Moose County had been without a good newspaper for several years, and now the situation was about to be corrected. Thanks to the Klingenschoen Memorial Fund and some prodding from Qwilleran, a paper of professional caliber would hit the streets on Wednesday next.
Meanwhile, there were only two adequate sources of news. One could plug into the grapevine that flourished in the coffee shops, on the courthouse steps, and over back fences. Or one could wander into the police station when the talkative Brodie was on duty.
"I'm going downtown to do a few errands," Qwilleran informed his housemates. "Mr. O'Dell will be coming in to clean, and he has orders not to give you any handouts, so don't put on your phony starvation act. See you later."
Koko and Yum Yum listened impassively and then accompanied him to the head of the stairs, where they both rubbed jaws against the Mackintosh coat of arms until their fangs clicked on the wrought iron. Qwilleran often wondered about their silent farewells. Were they sorry to see him go, or glad? Were they worried or relieved? Who could tell what was behind those mysterious blue eyes?
He always walked downtown. Everything in Pickax was within walking distance, although few of the locals ever used their legs for transportation. As he walked down the long driveway, the construction crew working on the renovation of the mansion greeted him jovially, and the job supervisor tossed him a hard hat and invited him into the building to inspect their progress.
The Klingenschoen mansion, three stories high and built of fieldstone two-feet thick, had been completely gutted in preparation for the conversion, and the interior was redesigned to provide amphitheater seating, a thrust stage, a professional lighting system, and adequate dressing rooms. It would seat three hundred and would be the new home of the Theatre Club.
"Will it be finished on schedule?" Qwilleran asked.
"Hopefully, if the architects don't give us any flak," said the supervisor. "Someone's flying up from Down Below to make an inspection next week. I hope they don't send that girl architect. She's a tough baby."
Qwilleran chuckled at the remark. The architectural firm was a Cincinnati outfit specializing in small theater design, and the "tough baby" was Alacoque Wright, a flighty young woman he had dated Down Below before she eloped with an engineer. He resumed his walk, marveling at the quirks of fate and anticipating a reunion with Cokey. The three blocks of Main Street that constituted downtown Pickax were unique. In its heyday the town had been the hub of the mining and quarrying industry in the county, and all commercial buildings were constructed of stone.
What made the cityscape unusual was the design of the stores and office buildings, which masqueraded as miniature castles, temples, fortresses and monasteries, reflecting the flamboyant taste of nineteenth-century mining tycoons.
Walking past the public library (housed in a Greek temple), Qwilleran automatically looked for Polly Duncan's cranberry-red car in the parking lot. In front of the lodge hall (a small-scale Bastille) a volunteer shaking a canister for the "Save Our Snakes" fund flashed an irresistible smile, and he donated a dollar. As he passed Scottie's Men's Shop (a Cotswold cottage) a young woman breezed out of the store with her hair flying, her shoulder bag flying, and yards of skirt flying. It was Hixie Rice, the exuberant advertising manager of the new Moose County newspaper. She had been his neighbor Down Below, and he had been instrumental in bringing her to Pickax.
"Hi, Qwill!" she trilled.
"Morning, Hixie. How's it going?"
"Like you wouldn't believe! I sold Scottie a double spread for the opener, and he signed a twenty-six-week contract. Even that weird bookstore took a quarter page. And today I'm lunching at the country club with three bankers! Nigel Fitch is charming, and his sons are adorable, especially the one with a moustache. Too bad they're all married."
"I didn't know that made much difference to you."
"Forget my lurid past Down Below," she said with an airy gesture. "In Pickax I'm totally discreet. I've given up married men, cigarettes, and high heels. I bought seven pairs of skimmers at Lanspeak's, and I skim everywhere. What are you doing for dinner tonight? I'll buy."
"Sorry, Hixie, but I've got a date."
"Okay. Catch you later." She skimmed across Main Street in the middle of the block, dodging cars, vans, and pickups with deft footwork, throwing kisses to the drivers who whistled in appreciation or honked horns in annoyance.
Qwilleran headed for the bookstore that Hixie called weird. For once she had not exaggerated. It literally crouched on the backstreet behind Lanspeak's department store. Rough stones were piled up to simulate a grotto, and the stone was feldspar; on a sunny day it glittered like the front of a burlesque house. Hanging alongside the front door was a weathered sign, almost illegible: EDD'S EDITIONS. In the grimy front window were old books with drab covers, and one drooping potted plant.