Kemple's guffaw rattled the beaded fringe on the hanging lights overhead. "I call the play Hedda Cauliflower. Danielle isn't playing Hedda; she's playing Adelaide in Guys and Dolls. And I'm not playing Judge Brack; I'm playing the villain in The Drunkard. You should come to a rehearsal, just for laughs. Trouble is, I feel sorry for Carol. Fran Brodie, too. They're working so hard! Why did they ever give that role to Danielle?"
"Good question," Qwilleran said.
As he drove out Ittibittiwassee Road, Qwilleran was plagued by other questions: Was Carter Lee indeed the petty thief who had annoyed townsfolk in December? If so, what was his motivation? Would a man of his professional standing stoop to stealing used clothing intended for the needy? Was the petit larceny a rehearsal for the grand larceny in the Village clubhouse? A sum estimated at two thousand dollars had been taken from the money jar. As for the lambskin coat reported stolen on Year's Eve, Qwilleran had seen its like in catalogs, priced at fifteen hundred. But then he had seen Carter Lee wearing a similar, if not identical, coat when he and Lynette made their impromptu visit. Was it the same coat, or had he bought a new one? If the same, had he covered it, or had it never really been stolen?
Nothing made much sense until Qwilleran arrived home. The Siamese met him at the door, prowling restlessly. It was too early for their dinner. They were bored. No birds, no falling leaves, no dancing snowflakes. They needed action.
In one drawer of the hutch cabinet there were cat toys galore: things that bounced, rattled, rolled, glittered, or smelled like catnip. Yum Yum could entertain herself for hours with one of these, batting it under the sofa, pawing it out again. Koko, on the other hand, was too worldly-wise for such kittenish amusements. He preferred the stimulation of the chase, and he sat on his haunches gazing speculatively into the upper reaches of the living room.
"Okay, where's Mosca?" Qwilleran said, folding a newspaper and whacking his left palm.
They waited. The cat gazed upward hopefully; the man whacked his palm. Their pet housefly was conspicuously absent, and a sickening thought occurred to Qwilleran. There was a possibility that Koko had caught him and eaten him. "Disgusting!" he said as he tossed his folded newspaper into the wastebasket.
Yum Yum was on the hutch cabinet, scratching at the wrong drawer. He rapped on the front of the toy drawer.
"No! No! Over here!" It made no difference with catly persistence she pawed the wrong drawer.
"Cats!" he said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. To convince her he jerked open the drawer and showed the Procrastination File In her near-sighted way she studied the letters, sealed envelopes, brochures, and clippings for a long minute then jumped down and went to the kitchen for a drink of water.
It was a reminder to Qwilleran, however, to look at Clayton's photos: candids of the dowser, close-ups of the forked stick, shots of Cody, and one of Carter Lee measuring the mantel with a tapeline and Danielle making notes. Also in the envelope was the transcript of Clayton's tape recording. Much of the dialogue duplicated Qwilleran's tape, but there was an unexpected interlude:
MAN: Refinish floor. Strip and refinish five-foot varnished mantel. Repaper room in Victorian design... Am I going too fast for you, Danny?... Replace two panes in breakfront with crowned glass... Hello there! Who are you?
CLAYTON: I'm visiting my grandma. Mind if I take some pictures to show my mom when I get home?
MAN: On the double! We're working here...Danny, where were we?
WOMAN: (shrilly) With crowned glass.
MAN: Replace chandelier with gaslight fixture.
WOMAN:Chuck, did you see those daggers in the hall?
MAN: What about them?
WOMAN: One has a lion on the handle. MAN: Do you like it?
WOMAN: It's my sign. Leo.
MAN: Well...
WOMAN: Do you think I could?
MAN: He'll never miss it... Hey, what is it you want now, kid?
CLAYTON: Is this your dog?
MAN: Get him out of here! Both of you, evaporate!
CLAYTON: C'mon, pup. C'mon.
Qwilleran read no further. The stolen dirk had not turned up in Lenny's locker, but Danielle had given one 1ike it to Lynette as a wedding gift. The hilt was a lion rampant... Now he thought he had figured it out: Danielle was a kleptomaniac, stealing at random all over town when she first moved to Pickax. Did Willard know? Did he have the anonymous check sent from a Chicago bank to cover the theft? Did Carter Lee know her weakness and humor her? The theft of his lambskin coat on New Year's Eve may have been a playful prank, a family joke. Did she steal his good-luck doll and plant it in Lenny's locker along with the other things? Was it a woman who phoned the tip to the police hotline? That was one clue that could be checked.
-19-
By Saturday evening the pretty little bubbling brooks and picturesque gurgling streams of Moose County had become raging torrents, overflowing their banks, inundating farmlands and forests. Wooded areas were so thoroughly soaked that shallow-rooted trees toppled across highways, adding to the hazard of driving. Some washed downstream along with timbers from wrecked bridges, creating temporary dams that caused even more flooding.
As Qwilleran dressed for dinner with Polly, he tuned in the WPKX news update and heard: "The sheriff's helicopter, searching for stranded motorists in isolated areas, rescued a family of five in the Plumley Mill area an hour ago. Several vehicles are completely submerged at the camp west of Mooseville."
Polly called to see if driving would be too bad. They had a reservation at the Old Stone Mill. She said, "We closed the library at noon today and won't open Monday. The schools will be closed."
Qwilleran said, "I called the restaurant about their park-lot; no problem. And I called the sheriff about the highways; the access road to the Mill is... accessible."
The restaurant had been converted from an old grist mill; the picturesque waterwheel, almost twenty feet high, was still there, although the millstream had long since run dry. They were ushered to their favorite table and approached by their favorite server, Derek Cuttlebrink, a towering six-feet-eight.
"Hi! Guess what!" he said even before announcing the evening specials. "We may get our millstream back again. It was a branch of the Rocky Burn that dried up in the Forties. Now the Rocky Burn is running so high, it could bust right through here and start the mill wheel turning again!"
"Where would the water go from here?" Qwilleran asked.
"Through No Man's Gully and into the Ittibittiwassee...What'll it be? One dry sherry and one Squunk with a twist?"
As he loped toward the bar on his long legs, Polly said quietly, "I'm glad Derek is buckling down to some kind of life. Meeting that girl has been good for him." At various times he had wanted to be a cop, an actor, a career busboy, or just a bum. Now he was enrolled in Restaurant Management at MCCC.
Returning with the drinks, he said, "Now for the bad news. I'm not supposed to talk about this, but the Ice Festival biggies are having a secret emergency meeting in the private dining room downstairs. It doesn't look good."
In between the friendly overtures of the attentive server, the two diners managed to discuss automation for the library, the newspaper's editorial on illiteracy, the new Brutus, and Herman Melville's obsession with good and evil.
Polly said, "I have a feeling Lynette will phone again tonight. She'll have been to the parades. Have you heard if Carter Lee is getting the commission to restore the hotel and the Limburger mansion?"
"The K Fund hasn't decided. Like the mills of God, they grind slowly." He felt as if he were living a double life. He could talk to his tablemate about his Faur‚ recordings and the Rikers' new car but not about his disturbing suspicions. He avoided mention of Danielle and the silverhilted dirk, the doll found in Lenny's locker, Wetherby's opinion of Carter Lee, and his own devious scheme to get a look at Carter Lee's portfolio. Polly would only worry. Besides, Qwilleran's conclusions were based on hunches, hearsay, and idle gossip.