This discovery called for a celebration. He prepared coffee and thawed a couple of chocolate brownies from the bountiful freezer, and he gave the Siamese a handful of something crunchy that was said to be nutritious and good for their teeth. He was eager to resume his search now. There was one more clue to pursue: the fate of Luther's widow.
"When we last heard from her," he said, "she was a twenty-three-year-old widow with four young children and an impressive bible. Was she deeply religious? Was she pretty? Too bad we don't have a picture of her."
His enthusiasm was contagious, and both cats were now in attendance, seated on the table in statuesque poses. Yum Yum's notorious paw occasionally disturbed the order of the clippings.
"Ple-e-ease! If you're going to participate, do something constructive... Listen to this! In the same year that Luther died, Lucy went into business - and she wasn't taking in washing!"
A business announcement in the Picayune stated: "Lucy Bosworth, widow of Luther Bosworth, announces that she has purchased the Pickax General Store from John Edwards, who is retiring because of ill health. Mrs. Bosworth will continue to handle the best quality edibles, apparel, hardware, sundries, notions and homemade root beer at reasonable prices. Open daily 7 A.M. to 10 P.M. Closed Sundays until noon."
"The party store of 1904!" Qwilleran exclaimed. "With checkers around the pot-bellied stove instead of video games... Wait a minute! What do we have here?"
A written comment in the margin of the clipping, in Lucy's recognizable hand, said, "Cash."
"Interesting," said Qwilleran. "If Luther was a miner, where did Lucy get the money to pay cash for a going business? Miners didn't carry insurance in those days - that I know! Did Ephraim make restitution to the victims' families? Not likely, unless forced to do so. Did Lucy sue? Victims weren't big on litigation in the good old days. Did she blackmail the old tightwad? And if so, on what grounds?"
"Yow!" said Koko with an emphasis that reinforced Qwilleran's conjecture.
He continued deciphering the entries on the flyleaf. In 1904 Lucy bought the store. In 1905 she remarried. Her new husband was Karl Lunspik, and her parenthetical remark in the bible was "Handsome!"
"Ah!" he said. "Handsome man marries widow with four small children! For love? Or because she owns a successful business and an expensive bible?" The next facts caused his moustache to bristle:
In 1906 Karl and Lucy Lunspik had a son, William.
In 1908 their name was legally changed to Lanspeak.
In 1911 the Pickax General Store was re-named Lanspeak's Dry Goods.
In 1926 their son, William, joined the business, and it became Lanspeak's Department Store.
William had five children and eleven grandchildren, one of the latter being Lawrence Karl Lanspeak, born 1946.
"Fantastic!" yelled Qwilleran, to the alarm of the Siamese, who scattered. "They're all second cousins - Larry and Susan with their country club connections and status cars... and Vince Boswell with his rusty van and irritating manners. Larry is the great-grandson of the unsinkable Lucy Bosworth!"
He picked up the phone and called the store. As soon as Larry heard Qwilleran's voice, he said, "Have you seen today's paper? They've identified the body. The guy that poisoned the goats!"
"I know," said Qwilleran. "The police have been around asking questions."
"I hope you didn't give your right name," Larry quipped. "Speaking of names, I've made a discovery at the museum. When do you plan on coming out here?"
"Tomorrow, but why don't you come into town tonight and have dinner with Carol and me? Meet us at Stephanie's."
"Sounds good," Qwilleran said, "but I'm tied up tonight. Thanks just the same. See you tomorrow." He refrained from mentioning that Polly was bringing Bootsie to spend the night.
Turning away from the phone he heard a faint knocking in the front of the apartment that startled him. The usual summons from that direction was the clanging of the brass door knocker. The Siamese froze with their ears forward, and when he left the kitchen to investigate, they hung back. Walking down the hall, he heard the knocking again. He glanced through the glass in the front door but saw no one standing there and no car parked in the yard. It was true, he told himself, that old houses make strange noises.
As he turned his back, the knocking was repeated. Even in broad daylight it was eerie, and to Mrs. Cobb's ears in the middle of the night it must have been terrifying. He strode back to the front door and yanked it open. There on the top step was Baby, carrying her green pail and raising her yellow spade, ready to strike again.
"Hi!" she said.
Qwilleran groaned with relief and annoyance. "What are you doing here? Does your mother know where you are?"
She offered him the green pail. "This is for you." There was a note in the pail, as well as a chunk of something wrapped in waxed paper. The note said, "Just thought you'd like some meatloaf for a sandwich. Made it yesterday. It's better the second day."
"Tell your mother thank-you," he said, handing back the pail.
Baby was peeking around his legs. "Can I see the kitties?"
"They're having their nap. Why don't you go home and have your nap?"
"I had my nap," she said, turning away and gazing speculatively toward the barn.
"Go home now," he said sternly. "Go right home, do you hear?"
Without another word Baby walked down the steps and marched up the lane on her short legs, carrying her green pail. He watched her until she was almost home. She never looked back.
Qwilleran prepared a meatloaf sandwich for himself and gave some to the cats. All three devoured it as if they had been on a week-long fast. Then he hauled his bike out of the steel barn and went for a ride.
There was an unusual amount of traffic on Fugtree Road - gawkers, driving out to see where the body was found, hoping to see blood. A county road crew was working on the bridge, and a blatant orange sign warned that the road was closed for construction, but Qwilleran wheeled past the barrier and talked to the foreman, a burly man in a farm cap, with a cheekful of snuff. The foreman recognized the famous moustache.
"Right down yonder," he said, pointing to the rocky slope where Qwilleran had first scrambled down to the Willoway. "Dry blood allover his face. Looked like one o' them Halloween get-ups."
"Do the police have any idea who did it?" It was a truism in Moose County that anyone in a farm cap possessed inside information or was willing to invent some.
"I hear they gotta coupla suspects, but they didn't charge anybody yet. He was killed somewheres else and dumped. There was a lotta muddy tire tracks on the pavement when we come on the job."
"Who was the murdered man?"
"The guy that poisoned the goats-escaped con, local kid - went Down Below and got inta trouble. I'm tellin' ya," said the foreman with an emphatic spit, "if it was my goats, I'da went after 'im myself with a shotgun!"
-17-
QWILLERAN RETURNED FROM his bike ride just as Polly was parking her car in the farmyard. "I'm a little early," she apologized, "because I want to reach Lockmaster before dark." She handed him a cardboard cat carrier. "Here's my precious darling. Take him indoors before he catches cold. I'll collect his impedimenta."
The carrier had a top handle and round airholes and a printed message on the side: "Hi! My name is Bootsie. What's your name?" From one of the holes a wet button-size nose protruded, then quickly withdrew, only to be replaced by a brown paw that might have belonged to a cocker spaniel.
Polly entered the apartment carrying a can of clinical- looking catfood with much fine print on the label, a cushioned basket, a brush, and a shallow litterbox containing shreds of tom paper. "This is his own commode," she said. "He's trained to paper. I use paper toweling - not newsprint because the ink might come off on his little derriere... And here's his special food, a formula computerized to suit his needs. Give him three level tablespoons, no more, no less, for each meal, and don't let him have anything else. Spread it thinly over a saucer, and I suggest you place the saucer in a secluded corner so he won't feel threatened."