Qwilleran asked, 'How long will it take to make slides from black-and-white photos?'
'I can get them whenever I want them. I can pull strings, and I have a projector you can use. In fact, I'll operate it for you. What's it for?'
Qwilleran explained the forthcoming programme for the literary club, and Bushy thought he might have shots of Edd Smith in his file. He remembered one of the old man on the top step of a high stepladder, and another of him feeding pigeons on the sidewalk.
Then they tackled the question of photographing the Hibbard House.
Bushy said, 'When I phoned Miss Hibbard to make an appointment for the shoot, she invited me to see the interior in advance. The rooms are huge, dark, and cluttered! Believe me, this is not going to be an easy assignment!'
Qwilleran told Janice, 'I've never heard a photographer admit that anything would be easy. They're a smart breed. When the pictures turn out to be super, they're heroes.'
She squealed with amusement, then said, 'He took me along tier the ride when he went to check the quality of light on the exterior. It's very strange architecture! What style is it supposed to he? I thought I'd seen everything when I lived in California.'
`Well, according to Fran Brodie, it has a colonial entrance, a Gothic roof, and a Venetian tower. The Victorian verandas were added later. The interiors, Fran says, are basically Jacobean.'
Bushy said, 'I've told Violet - she told me to call her that - to have a lot of fresh white flowers in the place and put a white tablecloth on the big dining table. I also told her we won't be using people in the pix.'
Janice said, 'I'm going along as his assistant.'
'Yeah, she's been training, and she's very good! There are two things to be learned on this job: the use of close-ups when long shots are impractical . . . and the use of indirect lighting. In my van I have large white reflecting boards, and we'll bounce the light off them.'
Then the two men entertained Janice with tales of their early acquaintance when Bushy lived in Lockmaster.
'I'm glad I moved to Pickax,' he said.
'All the best people come here from Lockmaster,' Qwilleran told him. The latest is Alden Wade. He's really taking the town by storm . . . Do you know Alden, Bushy?'
'Only by reputation!' It was said in a snide manner that alerted Qwilleran's curiosity.
Janice said, 'We saw him in the play, and he was wonderful! He's going to teach a class in acting, I've heard. I'd love to enrol!'
'Incidentally, he lives at Hibbard House,' Qwilleran said.
'Yow-ow!' came an emphatic announcement from Koko, who had been watching crows through the screens.
Janice jumped up. 'He wants his dinner, and it's time for us to go home and feed Bonnie and Clyde. Bushy named the kittens that because they're embarking on a life of crime.'
She excused herself and ran indoors, and Qwilleran walked with the photographer to the barnyard. 'I've been hearing scuttlebutt about Alden, Bushy. It concerns me because Polly has hired him to handle special events for the bookstore. He's the one who asked me to speak to the new literary club.'
'Yeah . . . well . . . I guess he knows his stuff, but he's got a reputation as a home breaker.'
'The good-looking guys are always suspect, aren't they?'
'I dunno. I was never a good-looking guy.' He passed his hand over his bald head. 'But Alden has a track record.'
Chapter 13
It was Monday morning, and The Pirate's. Chest was officially open for business. Furthermore, Qwilleran had promised to buy the first book at Eddington Smith's Place. He had to be there with a fat chequebook, and it had to be fatter than he thought.
Meanwhile, the Siamese were fed early, and he himself grimly prepared a bowl of cereal and sliced bananas, monitored by Koko sitting atop the bar.
At nine-thirty Lisa was waiting with the key to the jelly cupboard for the first customer. 'I knew you wouldn't want publicity, Qwill, but it would have made a front-page story -"Prominent citizen buys rare book for his cat to open ESP!" But then you'd have to have Koko here, too, and he might not get along with Dundee.'
'You're dreaming, Lisa!'
'Violet wanted to be here, but she has a doctor's appointment in Lockmaster. Someone is driving her there.'
'I hope she's not unwell.'
'It's just an ongoing thing that she has to check occasionally. I think they'll have lunch at Inglehart's and make a party out of it. Are you ready?' She drew the precious book from the cupboard and handed it to her first customer.
It was the usual size of a child's book, with a glossy paper jacket in bright blue and a cartoon of a cat with a tall hat striped in white and red. The sixty-odd pages had storytelling verses and more cartoons.
`Will Koko like it?' Lisa asked.
`He likes thin books because they're easy to push off the shelf. So much for his literary taste! But this one will be locked up and displayed occasionally on the coffee table, where he'll sit on it as an expression of respect. He senses when a book is valuable.'
Looking unconvinced, Lisa said, 'Well . . . if you say so! . . . And now I have a surprise for you! Violet has asked me to break the news . . . Her father was a great admirer of the journalism profession, and he collected books written by and about journalists - forty or fifty titles—'
`I'll buy them!' Qwilleran interrupted, pulling out his chequebook.
No! She's giving them to you as a thank-you for doing the book about the Hibbard House!'
`Tell her to give the whole caboodle to the ESP - and then I'll buy them. She'll get a tax break, I'll get the chance of a lifetime, and ESP will get a big contribution. It's simple arithmetic! Are the books here?'
No. They're at the house - four or five boxes of them. She intended that Alden could deliver them to your barn later this afternoon.'
`I'll be there. I'll write a check to ESP. You and Violet can decide how much.'
Qwilleran walked home with The Cat in the Hat. Lisa had put it in one of the plastic bags donated by the drugstore. When he entered the barnyard, both cats were cavorting in the kitchen window, no doubt expecting some meat loaf from Lois's. At any rate, they were disappointed when the rare book was presented - sniffing, looking up in mystification, and sniffing again in apparent disbelief. Even Koko, the chief bibliocat, had no interest in the new acquisition.
That Koko! Qwilleran muttered to himself; he'd probably rather have The Life of George Washington!
He went back downtown to do errands, and there, in front of the Sprenkle Building, he saw Maggie Sprenkle looking up and down Main Street.
'Waiting for a streetcar?' he asked.
`Oh, Qwill!' She laughed. 'You always cheer me up. I couldn't make up my mind where to go first - post office or bank.'
`Considering the way the postage rates are going up,' he advised, `go to the bank first . . . You're looking fine, Maggie. I how are your ladies?' He noted cat hairs on her dark blue outfit; she was a dedicated cat hugger.
`Our dear Charlotte died of old age, and we miss her, but we have a little grey lady from the humane shelter. We call her Emily. Would you like to come up and meet her and have a cup of tea?'
`I'd like to go up and discuss something with you . . . but no tea, thanks. I've just had three cups of coffee.' It was a fib but a nice way of refusing Maggie's weak jasmine tea - with one or more cat hairs floating in it.
The Sprenkle Building dated from the early years when merchants sold their goods on the ground floor and raised large families on the upper floors. Now there were real estate and insurance offices on the ground floor, while Maggie lived in a Victorian palace on the second and third levels. After the death of her husband, Jeremy, she had sold their country house, parted with his lavish rose gardens, and moved downtown, close to her numerous volunteer efforts.