"When Edgar Allan Poe's wife was dying in a poor cottage without heat or blankets, her only sources of warmth were her husband's overcoat and a large tortoise-shell cat." "A touching story, if true, " Qwilleran commented.
"I've read it in several books. Most cats are lovable." "Or loo some as the Scots say. By the way, I promised Mildred we'd tell her all about Scotland. How will it be if we take her to dinner at Linguini's next Sunday? We'll invite Arch Riker, too." Polly thought it would be a nice idea. Actually, the following Sunday was her birthday, but he pretended not to know, and she pretended not to know that he knew. The next morning he walked downtown to buy her a birthday gift, but first he had to hand in his copy at the newspaper.
In the city room he picked up a Monday edition and read his Bonnie Scots cut lines to see if anyone had tampered with his carefully worded prose. Then he read the large ad on page three: TAG SALE Estate of Dr. Halifax Goodwinter At the residence, 180 Goodwinter Boulevard Sale: Saturday, 8 A.M. to 6 P.M. Preview: Friday, 9 A.M.
to 4 P.M.
Furniture, antiques, art, household equipment, books, clothing, jewelry, linens, china, silver, crystal, personal effects. All items tagged. All prices firm. All sales final. No deliveries. Dealers welcome. Curb parking permitted.
Managed by: Foxy Fred's Bid-a-Bit Auctions "Did you see the ad for the Goodwinter sale?" Carol Lanspeak asked him when he went to the Lanspeak Department Store to buy a gift.
"Melinda hasn't said a word to the Historical Society. One would think she'd give the museum first choice--or even donate certain items." "I suppose she has a lot on her mind," Qwilleran said.
"How's her Lady Macbeth progressing?" Carol, who had been arranging a scarf display in the women's department, steered him away from the hovering staff who were eager to wait on Mr. Q. He was a regular customer, and they all knew that Polly wore size 16, liked blue and gray, preferred silver jewelry, and avoided anything that required ironing. Before answering his question, Carol said, "This is off the record, I hope." "Always." "Well, Larry finds her very hard to work with. She never looks at him when they're acting together, and there's nothing worse! She acts for herself and doesn't give him anything to play against. Very bad!" "Is Dwight aware of this?" "Yes, he's given her notes several times. Granted we have another ten days to rehearse, but... I don't know about Melinda. Did you hear that she lost another patient? Wally To.whistle's grandmother. Perhaps you saw the obituary." "What can you expect, Carol? She inherited all of Dr. Hal's octogenarian and nonagenarian patients with one foot in the grave." "Well..." Carol said uncertainly, "our daughter got her M.D. in June and is interning in Chicago. Melinda wants her to come back and join the clinic. Naturally, Larry and I would love to have her living here rather than Down Below, but we're not sure it's the wise thing to do, considering..." She shrugged.
"What do you think?" "What does your daughter think?" "She wants to stay in Chicago." "Then let her stay there. It's her decision. Don't interfere." "I guess you're right, Qwill," Carol admitted.
"Now what can we do for you?" "I need a birthday gift for Polly. Any ideas?" "How about a lovely gown and robe set?" She showed him a blue one in size 16. "Fine! Wrap it up," he said.
"Nothing fancy, please." He was a brisk shopper.
"White box with blue ribbon?" "That'll do... Now, what do I need to know about the box office job tomorrow?" "Just report a few minutes early," Carol said.
"I'll meet you there and explain the system." At one-thirty the next day, Qwilleran said to the Siamese, "Well, here goes! Let's hope I don't sell the same seat twice." He had sold baseball programs at Comiskey Park and ties at Macy's, but he had never sold tickets in a box office. He walked to the theatre, through the woods and across the parking lot, where there appeared to be an unusual profusion of cars for a Tuesday afternoon. In the lobby, the ticket purchasers were milling about as if it were opening night.
"Hi, Mr. Q," several called out as he pushed through to the box office. The window was shuttered, but there was a light inside, and Carol admitted him through the side door.
"Can you believe this crowd?" she remarked.
"Looks like we've got a hit show! Now, here's what you do. When customers first come up to the window, ask them what date they want, and pull the seating chart for that performance. Seats already sold have been x-ed out on the chart.
" The chart of the auditorium showed twelve rows of seats on the main floor and three in the balcony--twenty seats to the row, divided into left, right, and center sections.
"Next, ask them how many tickets they want and where they want to sit.
All seats are the same price. Then you take the tickets out of this rack; they're in cubbyholes labeled according to row. Be sure to x-out the seats they're buying... Then take their money. No credit cards, but personal checks are okay. Any questions?" "What's that other rack?" "Those are reserved tickets waiting to be picked up. You probably won't have any pickups so early in the game, but you'll get phone orders. When you sell tickets by phone, put them in the pickup rack, and don't forget to x-out the seats on the chart." Carol pulled out a drawer under the counter.
"There's the till, with enough small bills to make change. Lock it when you're through, and lock the box office when you leave." "What do I do with the keys?" "Put them in the bottom of the tall-case clock in the lobby. It's all very simple.
" The hard part, Qwilleran discovered, was on the other side of the window. He opened the shutters and faced his public. They had formed a queue, and there were about forty in a line that snaked around the lobby. The first at the window was a small, nervous woman with graying hair and wrinkled brow.
"Do you know me?" she asked.
"I'm Jennifer's mother." "Jennifer?" he repeated.
"Jennifer Olson. She's in the play." "No doubt you'll want tickets for opening night," he guessed, reaching for the Wednesday chart.
"Yes, ten tickets. Our whole family is going." "Here's what's available, Mrs. Olson. Do you want them all in the same row, or a block of seats?" "What would a block be like?" "It could be two rows of five, one behind the other, or three shorter rows bunched together." "I don't know. Which do you think would be best?" "Well, it's like this," Qwilleran explained.
"If you take a block, it can be closer to the stage. To get a full row you'll have to sit farther back." "Why is that?" "Because," he said patiently, "tickets have already been sold in various rows at the front of the auditorium, as you can see by this chart." He pushed the seating plan closer to the glass and waited for Mrs.
Olson to find her reading glasses. Frowning at the chart, she said, "Which is the front?" "Here's the stage. As you can see, the entire front row is still available, if you don't mind sitting that close." "No, I don't think we should sit in the front row. It might make Jennifer nervous." "In that case, the next full row available is H. That's the eighth row." "I wonder if Grandma Olson will be able to hear from the eighth row." "The acoustics are very good," he assured her.
"What are those?" Mrs. Olson asked. The customers standing in line were getting restless. The man behind her kept looking at his watch with exaggerated gestures. A young woman had a child in a stroller whose fretting had escalated to screams. An older woman leaning on a quad-cane was volubly indignant. And the front doors opened and closed constantly as frustrated ticket purchasers left and new ones arrived.
Qwilleran said, "Mrs. Olson, why don't you walk down into the auditorium and try sitting in the various rows to see how you like the location? Meanwhile, I can take care of these other customers... Take your time, so that you're sure." There was a groan of relief as she left, and Qwilleran was able to serve the entire lineup by the time she returned. The selection had dwindled considerably, but he could offer her an irregular block of seats in the center section.