Carol said to him with a touch of fond rebuke, "I knew you'd pop in at the last minute, so I set aside a suit in Polly's size, a lovely suede in terra- cotta. She's down to a size fourteen since her surgery. What did those cardiovascular people do to her?"
"They convinced her to go for two- mile walks and give up all my favorite foods."
"Well, she looks wonderful! And she's drifting away from those dreary grays and blues."
Qwilleran gave the suit a single glance and said, "I'll take it."
"There's also a silk blouse with a lot on zing that'll - "
"I'll take that, too." The blouse was patterned in an overscaled houndstooth check in terra-cotta and British white.
"Polly will swoon over it!" Carol promised.
"Polly doesn't swoon easily," he said. She was a charming woman of his own age, with a soft and musical voice, but there was an iron hand in the velvet glove that ran the public library.
"Where are you two spending Christmas day, Qwill?"
"With the Rikers. Do you and Larry have big plans?"
"We'll have our daughter and her current friend, of course, and we've invited the Carmichaels and their houseguest. Do you see much of Willard and Danielle?"
Not if I can help it, Qwilleran thought. Politely he said, "Our paths don't seem to cross very often." It was the Lanspeaks who had introduced him to the new banker and his flashy young wife. Her frank flirtiness, sidelong glances, raucous voice, and breathy stares at his moustache annoyed him.
"I'm afraid," Carol said regretfully, "that Danielle isn't adjusting well to small-town life. She's always comparing Pickax to Detroit and Baltimore, where they have malls! Willard says she's homesick. That's why they invited her cousin from Down Below to spend the holidays." She lowered her voice. "Step into my office, Qwill."
He followed her to the cluttered cubicle adjoining the women's department.
"Sit down," she said. "I fee l sorry for Danielle. People are saying unkind things, but she's asking for it. She looks so freaky! By Pickax standards, at any rate. Skirts too short, heels too high, everything too tight, pounds of makeup, hair like a rat's nest!.... It may be fashionable Down Below, but when in Rome - "
"She needs a mentor," Qwilleran interrupted. "Couldn't Fran Brodie drop a few hints? She's a glamorous and yet has class, and she's helping Danielle with her house."
"Fran's been dropping hints, Qwill, but... " Carol shrugged. "You'd think her husband would say something. He's an intelligent man, and he's fitting right into the community. Willard has joined the chamber of commerce and the Boosters Club and is helping to organize a gourmet club. Yet, when Larry submitted his name to the country club for membership, nothing happened. They never sent the Carmichaels an invitation! We all know why. Danielle's flamboyant manner of dress and grooming and deportment raises eyebrows and causes snickers. They call her voice cheap. It is rather strident."
"Rather," Qwilleran said. It was unusual for Carol to be so critical and so candid.
"Well, let me know if you think of something we can do... Shall I gift wrap Polly's suit and blouse?"
"Please. I'll pick them up later. Go easy on the bows and jingle bells."
He next went to Amanda's Design Studio, hoping to find a decorative object for the Rikers and hoping that Fran Brodie would be in-house. The police chief's daughter was out, unfortunately, and her cantankerous boss was in charge. Amanda Goodwinter was a successful businesswoman and a perennial member of the Pickax City Council, always re- elected because of her name. The Goodwinters had founded Pickax in the mid-1800s.
Amanda's greeting was characteristically blunt. "If you're looking for a free cup of coffee, you're out of luck, The coffeemaker's on the blink." Her unruly gray hair and drab, shapeless clothing were considered "interestingly individual" by her loyal customers. Her political enemies called her the bag lady of Pickax.
To tease her, Qwilleran said he wanted to buy a knickknack for a gift.
She bristled. "We don't sell knickknacks!"
"Semantics! Semantics! Then how about a bibelot for Arch and Mildred Riker?"
She huffed and scowled and suggested a colorful ceramic coffeepot, its surface a mass of sculptured grapes, apples, and pears.
"Isn't it a trifle gaudy?" Qwilleran complained.
"Gaudy! What are you saying?" Amanda shouted in her council chamber voice. "It's Majolica! It's handpainted! It's old! It's expensive! The Rikers will be crazy about it!"
"I'll take it," Qwilleran said, knowing that Mildred was a collector with an artist's eye and Arch was a collector with an eye for the bottom line. "And I'd like it gift wrapped, but don't fuss!"
"I never fuss!"
For the other names on his list he relied on the new Sip'n'Nibble shop. They would make up gift baskets of wine, cheese, and other treats and deliver them anywhere in the county by Christmas Eve.
On a whim he also went into the men's store to buy a waggish tie for Riker, who was known for his conservative neckwear. It was the bright blue with a pattern of lifesize baseballs, white stitched in red. He hoped it would get a laugh.
His final stop was the Pickax People's Bank to cash a check, and the sight of the famous moustache created a stir. Customers, tellers, and security personnel smiled, waved, and greeted him:
"Merry Christmas, Mr. Q!"
"All ready for Santa, Mr. Q?"
"Finished your Christmas shopping, Mr. Q?"
He responded with courteous bows and salutes and took his place in line.
The gray-haired woman ahead of him stepped aside. "Are you in a hurry, Mr. Q? You can go first."
No, no, no" He remonstrated. "Thank you, but stay where you are. I like to stand in line behind an attractive woman."
The commotion brought a man striding from an inner office with hand outstretched. "Qwill! You're the exact person I want to see! Come into my office!" The new banker had the suave manner, expensive suit, and styled hair of a newcomer from Down Below.
Qwilleran followed him into the presidential suite and noted a few changes: a younger secretary, more colorful furnishings, and art on the walls.
"Have a chair," Carmichael said. "I hear you're living in Indian Village now."
"Only for the winter. The barn's not practical in cold weather. How about you? Have you moved into your house?"
"No, we're still camping out in an apartment at the Village. Danielle has ordered a lot of stuff for the house, but it takes forever to get delivery. Expensive as hell, too, but that's all right. My sweetheart likes to spend money, and whatever keeps her happy keeps me happy... Say, are you free for dinner tonight? I've been wanting us to get together."
Qwilleran hesitated "Well... it's rather short notice, you know." Willard, he decided, was okay, but the googly-eyed Danielle made him uncomfortable.
Carmichael went on. "I'm baching it tonight. Danielle is taking our houseguest to Otto's Tasty Eats - a vile restaurant, if you ask me - so I told her I had to work. Her cousin is spending the holidays with us."
"Well... with a little judicious finagling... I could manage to be free. Where would you like to go?"
"Where could we get pasties? I've never had a pasty. I don't even know what it is."
"It's the official specialty of Moose County, dating back to mining days," Qwilleran said, "And it's pronounced to rhyme with nasty, by the way."
"I stand corrected," the banker said.
"It's an enormous meat-and-potato turnover - okay for a picnic but not for civilized dinner. Have you been to Onoosh's caf‚?"
"No, Danielle doesn't like Mediterranean. When I was in Detroit, though, I used to haunt Greektown for shish kebab, taramasalata, and saganaki... Oopah! Oopah!"
"That's the spirit!" Qwilleran said. "Suppose we meet at Onoosh's whenever you're free. I have to go home and... feed the cats." He was wearing knockabout clothes, but if he had said, "I want to go home and change," Willard would have said, "Don't bother. Come as you are. I'll take off my tie."