Dusk was falling, and she opened the door cautiously. Then, `Qwill!' she cried. 'What a pleasant surprise. Come in! Have a chair!'
`You're working late again,' he said with a note of disapproval.
`There's so much to do: decisions to make, problems to solve,' she explained. The gentle, musical voice he had always found spine-tingling was now flat and weary.
He said, 'Hold out for three days more, Polly, and then we'll both be back to normal living. I've missed our dinner dates and evenings of music. What did you decide about keys?'
She brightened somewhat. 'We've ordered five - one for you, since you're more or less the godfather of the store.'
`I'm not sure I understand the title,' he said. 'Who gets the other four?'
`Key One is for me. I unlock the side door and then open the front door for customers who will be waiting to get in - we hope. Key Two is for my assistant, who will have the same responsibilities on my day off. Key Three is for Dundee's assistant, who will have to come in twice a day, seven days a week, to feed him, put fresh water in his bowl, and attend to his facilities.'
Qwilleran said, 'That's a demanding assignment. I hope she's well paid.'
`She's quite satisfied with the arrangement. She's moved into one of those apartments beyond the park and will be available for Green Smock duty if needed. You see, she has a computer and does programming out of her home. And then there's Key Four for Alden Wade, since many of the special events he manages will take place evenings.'
When she stopped for breath, Qwilleran asked, 'Will the ESP have a key?'
`Good question, Qwill. The ESP governing board agreed with me that the Edd Smith project is a charitable endeavour on the part of local citizens, and it has space in this building as a charitable gesture on the part of the bookstore. Therefore, it should observe bookstore hours, and the volunteers should come and go through the front door. Also, they should check in and out at the front desk and should park in the north parking lot.'
`I presume the ESP door on the lower level will be locked when there are no volunteers on duty.'
`Absolutely! And the shop's "open" schedule will be posted on that door.'
`Do they still have an army of volunteers?'
`The original "army" has completed its task of collecting books and cataloguing. Now Lisa has a smaller group of volunteers willing to mind the shop during certain hours. When they report for duty, they'll pick up the ESP key at the front desk and return it when they close. Lisa will schedule the volunteer shopkeepers, working from her home. There will be one or two a day - never more than three. You ask a lot of questions, Qwill. Are you planning to write something?'
`Not right away. I'm just curious.' He stood up. 'Now I'll let you get back to work.'
`Not so fast!' Polly said. 'Here's your key to the side door.'
‘Hmmm,' he mused. 'Is it honorary? Or do I have responsibilities? If Dundee's assistant has a Sunday-morning hangover, will I be called to substitute?'
`Oh, Qwill! The thought never entered my mind, but now that you mention the subject . . . it's not a bad idea!'
Chapter 9
On Thursday morning the Siamese breakfasted grandly on Lois's meat loaf, while Qwilleran reluctantly sliced bananas into a bowl of dry cereal, wondering why he had found cereal exciting in his boyhood. He had grown up with the packaged variety, and the packaging itself had improved his reading skills. He could spell 'ingredients' while other kids were learning to spell 'cat' and 'dog'. Now, shopping at Toodle's Market, he had been overwhelmed by the enormous selection -until he spotted a famous slogan: Snap Crackle Pop! He bought two boxes, but the sound effects were somehow less intriguing to his middle-aged ears. He gift-wrapped the second box and dispatched it to Arch Riker's office by motorcycle messenger, anonymously.
Within minutes, the phone rang - more impatiently than usual, it seemed - and he purred a pleasant 'good morning' into the mouthpiece.
`What's the matter with you?' came an exasperated voice. 'Are you cracking up?'
`Just a sentimental reminder of the good old days, Arch.'
`You ate this stuff! I didn't eat this stuff! Mine had baseball cards in the box, and pictures of Niagara Falls.'
`It's the spirit of the gesture that counts,' Qwilleran said in a syrupy tone.
Arch growled into the phone, 'If you haven't got anything better to do, get down here and help us put the paper to bed.'
He slammed down the receiver, and Qwilleran went about his morning chores with satisfaction.
This was the day of the press preview, and Qwilleran attended the unveiling with his press card sticking out of his vest pocket and his orange baseball cap on his head. As he walked to Winston Park, sirens could be heard; the sheriff's patrol was escorting the visiting press from the airport.
Yellow tape roped off an area for news photographers and TV teams. At the centre of the area was a mound of immense boulders that might have been left there by a prehistoric earthquake, interspersed with spiky holly shrubs. At its summit was a large cube of polished granite with WINSTON PARK chiselled on all four sides. This was the platform for the tall, cylindrical object about to be unveiled.
Although there had been no publicity about the event, a modest crowd had gathered outside the yellow tape. They had to step aside for a school bus when it delivered a load of passengers in black leotards and tights - the high-school acrobatic team plus two students with drums. The rumour was true that a derrick would lift the shroud, but it was a human derrick. The black-clothed figures positioned themselves among the boulders, forming a pyramid, at the apex of which was an agile figure with an oversized fishing reel. The drums began a slow, suspenseful roll. The shroud started to rise, revealing an irregular stack of books chiselled from granite and three times the normal size. The drumbeats quickened! More books appeared, piled one on top of another, making a pedestal for a sculpture: a bronze cat, twice life size, sitting tall in an attitude of superior intellect, while his plumed tail draped casually over the column of books.
`Winston!' shouted the onlookers amid cheers and applause.
Qwilleran thought, If only Edd Smith could see this!
The next scheduled event was the official ribbon cutting, and he stayed to watch - but only because it would please Polly if he was there. Later he would describe it in his personal journal.
Qwilleran left the dedication ceremonies in the same way he had arrived - on foot - waving to the motorists who looked at him and pedestrians who said, 'Hi, Mr Q!'
Arriving in the barnyard, he waved at the two Siamese, who waited for him in the kitchen window with ears pricked and tails stiffened into question marks. According to Qwilleran's watch, the performance was less of an affectionate welcome and more of a reminder that their noon snack was ten minutes late. Even before hanging up his orange hat and car keys, he prepared two plates of Kabbibbles, each with a tiny morsel of cheese buried like the prize in a box of Cracker Jack.
Then he carried a dish of ice cream up the ramp to his studio on the second balcony, where he worked on Friday's `Qwill Pen' column.
In the afternoon there was a phone call from Lisa Compton. `Qwill! Good news. Edd Smith's Place is getting its own telephone! We've been using an extension of the bookstore phone, and Burgess Campbell said that was bad business practice. He's going to pay the monthly phone bill. ESP will have its own listing in the telephone directory. Do you have a pencil handy? I'll give you the number.'
'Who's handling the ESP story for the Something?' Qwilleran asked.
'Roger took the pictures, and Jill's writing the story. He got a wonderful shot of Dundee examining an Ernest Hemingway book worth five thousand.'