It was a slow crawl and a long crawl. After all, the original diagram showed the tunnel extending from the stable, under the carriage house and across the barnyard to the basement of the west wing. Qwilleran had read about such a tunnel in Europe, connecting a convent with the outside world: the convent was haunted, and human bones were eventually found in the tunnel. There were no bones in the Goodwinter tunnel, only beer cans and gum wrappers and some unidentified items that Koko saw fit to sniff. Qwilleran found the air in the tunnel stuffy, smelling of mold and mice, but Koko was experiencing a catty high.
They crawled on. The farther they progressed, the more rubble they encountered, and the faster the cat wanted to travel, yikking and tugging at his leash.
"Arrgh!" Qwilleran growled through his teeth.
"Yow!" replied Koko impatiently.
They were nearing the southwest terminal, but there was no light at the end of the tunnel - just a wall of chipped stone. Scattered about were broken rocks, chunks of mortar, and a few discarded tools - chisels, hammers, and a drill. Also there was a great deal of dust. They crawled to the end, Qwilleran choking and trying to cough without unclenching his teeth.
Koko was the first to find it - a small, square, boxlike object in a dark corner of the tunnel.
A bomb! Qwilleran thought. Dynamite!
Twisting the end of the leash around one gloved hand, he used the other to flood the contraption with light. Then he moved toward it on his knees and found a button to press. For a moment there was dead silence in the tunnel, then... a hair-raising screech... an angry growl ending in a vicious snarl... the moans of the dying... the bong of a death knell... ghostly wailing and rattling... screams!
Koko shot off like a rocket, and Qwilleran on the other end of the leash went sprawling on the clay.
-21-
WHEN QWILLERAN EMERGED from the barn with his sackful of pink towels and yowling cat, Mitch Ogilvie cupped his hands and yelled across the barnyard, "Your phone's ringing!"
For two hours Qwilleran had been on hands and knees with hunched back, and he responded stiffly. Nevertheless, he made his way to the apartment quickly enough to catch the caller before she hung up.
"Oh, there you are, Qwill!" said Carol Lanspeak. "I let it ring fifteen times because I thought you were outdoors on a nice day like this. Were you outdoors?"
"Yes," he said, breathing hard.
"I've been to the hospital to see Verona. Baby is going to make it - and Verona's pregnant."
"I didn't know. How is she?"
"Not too good. She wants to go 'down home' and have Baby convalesce there. Larry's taking care of her expenses and giving her something to live on. Vince left her without a cent! That brute!"
"Have they found him?"
"I don't think so. The police have been talking to Verona, and Larry has asked his attorney to advise her."
"I feel sorry for Verona."
"So do I. We never really got to know her. She was so quiet and retiring. She volunteered for our cleaning committee and was very reliable. The reason I'm calling, Qwill - she has something she wants to tell you. She says it's important. Do you think you could go to the hospital tonight? I'm taking her to the airport tomorrow."
"I'll go. Thanks for letting me know."
"By the way, the board has voted to give Mitch the job," said Carol.
Polly Duncan was the next to call. "They've found him!" she said without any formalities. "Somewhere in Ohio. My assistant's mother-in-law heard it on the air and phoned the library."
"He's guilty of more than just killing a hophead, I surmise."
"What do you mean?"
"I'd like to drop in to see you tonight - and discuss a few things," Qwilleran said.
"Come for dinner, and I'll whip up a curry."
"Uh... thanks, Polly, but I have an appointment in Pickax. See you after eight o'clock."
"Don't have dessert," she said. "We'll have pumpkin pie and coffee."
On the way to Pickax Qwilleran experienced a pang of remorse that he had not allowed Baby to visit the cats; it was pure selfishness on his part, he admitted. And now it wouldn't ever happen. It was perhaps a need for penance that led him to have dinner at the Dimsdale Diner. After some watery soup and oversalted cabbage rolls and unrecognizable coffee, he drove to the hospital.
He found Verona in a private room, sitting in a chair and picking at a meal tray. "I'm, sorry to interrupt your dinner," he said.
"I don't feel like eatin' any thin'," she said, pushing the tray away. "Have they caught him?" Her soft voice had lost its lilt and was now a dreary monotone.
"They found him somewhere in Ohio."
"I'm glad."
"Cheer up. Baby is going to be all right, and your eye is - looking better. The bruise is fading."
She touched her face. "I didn't bump into a door. We were arguin' and he hit me."
"When did it happen?"
"When he was leavin' - Monday night."
"You told me he left Monday noon."
"That's what he told me to say." She turned away and looked out the window.
"Carol Lanspeak said you have something you want to tell me, Mrs. Boswell."
"That's not my name. I'm Verona Whitmoor."
"I like that better. It has a pleasant musical sound, like your speaking voice," he said.
She looked flustered and lowered her head. "I'm so ashamed. I was cleanin' the museum, gettin' it ready for Sunday, and I went in Iris's kitchen when you weren't there and took the cookbook."
"I knew you were the one," said Qwilleran, "after you sent me the meatloaf. It was her recipe."
"Vince liked her meatloaf so much, and I was tryin' to please him."
"I'm surprised you could read her handwriting."
"It was hard, but I figured it out. I meant to take it back, but then every thin' happened." She looked pitifully vulnerable and undernourished.
"Ms. Whitmoor, shouldn't you have something to eat? That apple pudding looks good."
"I'm not hungry."
"How did you happen to meet Vince?" Qwilleran asked. "I was workin' in a restaurant in Pittsburgh, and he used to come in. I felt sorry for him because he was always in pain - with his bad leg, you know. He was wounded in Vietnam."
Qwilleran huffed scornfully into his moustache. Verona went on. "We got friendly, and he invited me to come up here on a vacation. He said I could bring Baby. He didn't tell me about the money - not then."
"What money?"
"His mother came from here, and she told him about some money hidden under the barn, but he had to dig for it. His grandfather knew all about it. But the diggin' was hard, and he was always afraid someone would find out what he was doin'. That's why he killed the man in the barn." Verona put her face in her hands, and her thin shoulders shook with her sobbing. Such an outburst of emotion over the murder of a tramp caused Qwilleran to ask:
"Did you know the man who was killed?"
She shook her head, and the tears continued to pour forth. He placed the tissue box on her lap and waited patiently. What could he say? Perhaps her emotions were a confused combination of grief and relief that she and Baby were free of Vince. It was a long, painful scene. When he finally persuaded her to talk, her faltering voice mumbled a few words at a time.
He described the emotional ordeal when he arrived at Polly's cottage at eight o'clock. Bursting into the house he said, "I knew that guy was a fraud! He was no expert on printing presses, and he lied about his bad leg - told Larry it was polio, told Verona he got it in Vietnam. Actually it was the result of a boyhood escapade. And get this! He and Larry and Susan are second cousins!"