"I found a kitty," she said. "Be careful! He might scratch. Put him down gently - very gently - that's the way!"
Baby did as she was told. That was to her credit, Qwilleran thought. She listened to reason and she was obedient.
"I like kitties," she said. "I know you do, but your mother wants you to go home.
She isn't feeling well. Pick up your pail, and we'll walk back to your house."
With a backward look at the kitten as it staggered away on wobbly legs, Baby walked out of the barn and picked up the green pail and yellow spade. Qwilleran closed the barn door, and they started down the ramp.
"That's a nice pail," he said. "Where did you get it?"
"My mommy bought it for me."
"What color is it?"
"It's green!" she said impatiently as if she considered her questioner mentally deficient.
"What do you do with your pail?"
"Dig in the sand."
"There's no sand around here."
"We went to the beach," she said with a two-year-old's frown.
They were walking slowly across the barnyard, and Qwilleran realized that the legs of small children are uncommonly short; it would take half an hour to traverse Black Creek Lane. He doubted that he could maintain a dialogue with Baby for half an hour without insulting her intelligence and sounding like a fool himself.
She broke the silence by saying, "I want to go to the bathroom."
"Can you wait till you get home?"
"I don't know."
Dire possibilities flashed through Qwilleran's mind. This was a situation he had never been called upon to face.
Baby had a solution, however. "Do you have a bathroom?" she asked.
Devious child! he thought; she's determined to get in to see the cats. Thinking fast, he said, "It's out of order."
"What does that mean?"
"It's broken."
They walked on, Qwilleran clutching her hand and dragging her along.
"I want to go to the bathroom," she repeated.
Qwilleran took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll get you home in a hurry. Hang on to your pail." he scooped her up as he had seen Verona do, reflecting that she weighed not much more than Yum Yum. With rapid strides, being careful not to jiggle her, he hurried up the lane.
Verona was waiting on the porch, wearing a shabby robe, her hair uncombed, and her face pale. One eye was swollen shut, and there was a purple bruise on her cheek.
"Thank you, Mr. Qwilleran. I'm sorry to trouble you." Baby tugged at her mother's bathrobe, and a wordless understanding passed between them.
"Excuse me," Verona said.
Qwilleran waited. The black eye aroused his curiosity. When she returned, he said, "Where's Vince?"
"Gone to Lockmaster... to the library? To do some research? He left yesterday noon?" The fascinating lilt had returned to her speech.
"What happened to your eye?" Qwilleran asked.
"Oh, stupid me! I walked into a cupboard door?"
Qwilleran huffed into his moustache. He had heard that one before. "I found your little girl playing with kittens in the barn. They may be wild. She could get scratched or bitten."
"Poor Baby doesn't have anyone to play with," said Verona pathetically.
"Why doesn't your husband make a sandbox for her? She likes to dig."
"I'll ask him, but he works hard and gets so tired? His bad leg, you know, gives him pain?"
"When do you expect him?"
"I think he'll be home for supper?"
Jogging back to the museum Qwilleran thought, Why would Boswell go to the Lockmaster library when the Pickax library has the definitive collection of material on hand- printing? What else might attract him to Lockmaster? The medical center? The race track? Or some covert business in connection with the crates in the barn? His fleeting suspicion about the content of the crates returned, and he thought, I'd like to spend an hour with a crowbar in that barn!
Upon arriving home he found Koko on the telephone table, an indication that it had been ringing. Kristi might have tried to phone. He called the Fugtree farm.
"I've heard the news!" he said to her. "I don't know what to say!"
She spoke with surprising belligerence. "I know damn well what to say. Why didn't someone kill him before he poisoned my goats?"
"Do the police have a suspect?"
"Of course," she said bitterly. "I'm the prime suspect, and Mitch is a close second."
"How do I get on the list?" Qwilleran asked. "I was on the Willoway Sunday morning, and I heard him threatening you. I threw a rock into the stream, but I felt like throwing it at his head."
"Well, I imagine the police will be talking to you as a matter of course."
"I'll keep in touch. Let me know if there's anything I can do."
Soon afterward, Larry Lanspeak phoned. "What the devil is happening in North Middle Hummock, Qwill? First Iris's death, then two thefts in the museum, then a herd of goats poisoned, and now a mysterious dead body." "Not guilty!"
"We've had an application for Iris's job from a woman in Lockmaster who's highly qualified, but she's too old, considering she's already had one heart attack. God knows we don't want another manager dropping dead on the kitchen floor."
"I still think Mitch is your man, Larry," said Qwilleran, "I spent some time with him last evening, and I'm impressed. He has good ideas, and he'd bring some youthful spirit to the job. Old people like him and young people like him."
"I value your opinion," said Larry, "but - taking the long view - I still favor Boswell, and Susan goes along with my thinking. As manager he can continue cataloguing the presses, help us set up a Museum of Handprinting and assume the title of curator. In its scope I dare say it will be unique in the United States, if not the world! Of course, the final decision is up to the board of governors. We're having a meeting this week."
Qwilleran said, "Excuse me, Larry. There's a sheriff's car pulling up at toe door. I'll talk to you later."
The deputy standing on the doorstep was the one who had responded to Qwilleran's call ten days before. "Mr. Qwilleran, may I ask you a question or two?" he asked politely.
"Certainly. Will you step inside? I don't want the cats to run outdoors." Both of them were standing beside him, sniffing the fresh air.
The deputy asked, "Did you see or hear anything suspicious, sir, in the vicinity of Fugtree Road?"
"I can't say that I did. This old house is built like a fort, you know, and the windows were closed. I had friends in during the evening, and we were talking and not paying much attention to the outside world... although... there was one thing I might mention," Qwilleran added as an afterthought. "Sometime after midnight I was reading in bed when the cats alerted me to a faint rumbling sound. I checked the apartment and also the museum and found everything in order."
"Did you look outdoors?"
"Briefly, but everything was quiet so I went back to my reading."
"What time was that?"
"WPKX was signing off." At that moment there was a rumbling sound in the hallway, and both men turned to look for its source. It was coming from the floor at the far end of the hall. One of the Oriental rugs was humped in the middle, and the hump was heaving.
"That's my cat,"Qwilleran explained. "He burrows under rugs and talks to himself."
The deputy produced a photograph of a man, full-face and profile. "Have you seen this person in the vicinity in the last two or three days?"
"Can't say that I've ever seen this face." It was the face of a once - handsome but now debauched thirty-year-old. "Is he the man you're looking for?" Qwilleran asked with feigned innocence.