"Regular," Qwilleran requested and waited for the racket of the grinder to stop before saying, "The club is casting a play right now that has a perfect role for you. Are you familiar with Hedda Gabler?"
"Is that the one where a woman is so wrapped up in her house that she loses her husband?'
"You're thinking of Craig's Wife, by George Kelly. This is Ibsen's drama about another self-centered woman who destroys one man and falls under the power of another. The role of Judge Brack is made to order for you, and I happen to know they're looking for an actor powerful enough to carry it. How do you look in a moustache?'
"Sure, I could handle that role, and I have the time now. The moustache is no problem. I've lived with spirit gum before."
"You'd be playing opposite a very striking young woman who's new in this area."
"is that so?" Kemple said with increased interest. "Who's directing?'
"Carol Lanspeak."
"Oh, she's good! Not only talented but organized. I think I'll take your suggestion and surprise Vivian when she comes home. She's always telling me I could play Madison Square Garden without a mike."
"Are you both natives of Moose County?"
"No, we came up here from Down Below twenty years ago, because it seemed like a good place to raise kids. Also because I liked to hunt. I had mounted heads all over the place - my office, too. Then suddenly I turned off. I brought down a six-point buck one day, only wounded, and when I went to finish him off, he looked up at me with sad eyes. It was like a knife in my heart! I never went hunting again. Even got rid of the trophies."
The two men applied themselves, almost reverently, to the Queen Mum's cake, and there was little conversation for a while.
"How did you get interested in dolls?" Qwilleran asked then.
"When I gave up hunting, I needed a new hobby. History was my minor in college, and Vivian was getting into classic dolls, so I started researching historic doll-makers in England, France, and Germany - almost a hundred of them. It's good for a couple to have a hobby they can share, and it's good to be learning something."
"What did Vivian collect before classic dolls?'
"Primitives. Old Moose County dolls that the pioneers made for their kids. Carved and painted wood, stuffed flour sacks, all that type of thing."
Qwilleran remarked that he had yet to see a doll on the premises.
"All upstairs. In glass cases."
"Under lock and key?"
"Never thought it necessary, but now..." Kemple shrugged.
Qwilleran pointed to another photo in the wall grouping a pretty young blond woman. "Your daughter?"
"Yes, that's Tracy, around the time she was married."
"She looks familiar."
"You've seen her at the Old Stone Mill. She works lunches there, dinners at the Boulder House Inn. She's a waitress. Server is what they want to be called now. She could have had a nice job in the insurance office, but she likes meeting people, and she likes those big tips! And believe me, she gets them! She has a nice personality... More coffee? Or do you want to see the dolls?"
Upstairs in the six-bedroom house there were three rooms outfitted with museum-type cases. The first room contained primitives made between 1850 and 1912. One doll consisted of thread spools strung together so that the arms and legs moved. Another was carved from the crotch of a small tree, with the forked branches for legs. A stuffed stocking had crudely stitched features crossed eyes, crooked nose, upside-down mouth.
"Ugly," Kemple said, "but every one was loved by some little kid."
"Who has access to these rooms?" Qwilleran asked.
"Personal friends, serious collectors, and groups we belong to - that's all. During the holidays we had Vivian's Sunday-school class and then the historical society. In our will we're leaving the primitives to the Goodwinter Farm Museum. The classics will be sold to put our grandkids through college. They're appreciating in value all the time."
"I'd like to see the classics."
Dazzling was the word for the two rooms displaying the china, porcelain, wax, bisque, and papier-mƒch‚ beauties. Twelve to twenty inches tall, they had pretty faces, real hair, and lavish costumes. There were hoop skirts, bustles, elaborate hats, muffs, parasols, kid boots, tiny gloves, and intricate jewelry. Rich fabrics were trimmed with lace, embroidery, ruffles, buttons, and ribbons.
Kemple pointed out French fashion "ladies," character dolls, brides, and pudgy infants. Flirty dolls with "googly" eyes that moved from side to side reminded Qwilleran of Danielle; he had always suspected she was not quite real.
Ever the historian, Kemple pointed out that the older dolls had small heads, long arms, and a look of surprise. Then came plump cheeks, soulful eyes with lashes, and tiny purse lips. Parted lips showing tiny teeth were a later development.
Qwilleran was fascinated by certain facts about the wax dolls. Some had humanhair set in the wax head with a hot needle, hair by hair. Wax had a tendency to melt or crack, and kids had been known to bite off piece and chew it like gum.
"Little cannibals!" Qwilleran said. He listened patiently as Kemple discussed patent dates, dollmakers' logos, and the construction of jointed and unjointed dolls. Then he asked about the doll that had been stolen. It was carved and painted wood, eight inches tall, and very old. The paint was badly worn, and it was thought to have come from a native American village on the banks of the Ittibittiwassee River. It might have been more of a talisman than a toy.
"It was the first that ever disappeared from our collection," Kemple said. Then he lowered his voice to a rumble. "It was found in Lenny Inchpot's possession, you know."
"In his locker," Qwilleran corrected him, "while he was out of town. Police had to cut the padlock, yet Lenny says he never locked it, and I believe him. I've asked my own attorney to take the case. It's my opinion that he was framed."
Kemple looked relieved. "Glad to hear that. Tell your attorney I'll go as a character witness at the hearing if he wants me to. That boy's been in this house hundreds of times. He was Tracy's boyfriend when they were in high school. He had a reputation as a prankster, but he wouldn't do anything like stealing from people."
"Aren't we all pranksters at that age?"
"Yes, but his were clever. Let me tell you about one. Everybody knew the mayor was having an affair with a woman who worked at the post office. One night Lenny painted big yellow footprints on the pavement, leading from the city hall to the post office. The cop on the nightbeat saw him doing it, but it was such a good joke he looked the other way. It was the kind of paint that washes off, and fortunately it didn't rain till the whole town had seen it. That was our Lenny! Vivian and I considered him a future son-in-law."
"What happened?"
"Tracy eloped with a football player from Sawdust City. She's impulsive. It didn't last, and she and Bobbie came home to live with us. Then Lenny's girlfriend was killed, and he started coming to the house again."
"How did Tracy react to his arrest?'
"She was troubled. I could tell, but she wouldn't talk to me. She'll talk to her mother, though. I'll be glad when Vivian gets home." He paused to reflect on family secrets. "You see, Tracy's always one to go for the main chance, and now she's set her sights on Carter Lee James. My fatherly instinct is flashing red. I don't want her to be disappointed again. It seems to me that all the women are flipping over him."
"Understandably," Qwilleran said. "He has a likable personality, good looks, and a glamorous profession."
"That's for sure, and my daughter is a beautiful young woman. James has wined and dined her a few times, and her hopes are up. She comes home late with stars in her eyes. What can I say? She's a grown woman. She wants a husband, a father for Bobbie, and a home of her own. Nothing wrong with that."
"Not to digress, but.... how does she feel about the Pleasant Street project?"