When he returned to Unit Four, he found two demanding cats and a message from Kenneth on the machine: 'Mr Q, I collected some good stuff. Want me to speed out to your place tomorrow night?'
Qwilleran called him and said, 'Yes, I'd like to get an idea of the stories we can expect from the old-timers. If I order two dinners from Lois's, could you bring them out here? How does that sound?'
`I can handle that!' Kenneth said.
Chapter 20
Facing east, the glass walls of the Willows provided not only a view of the riverbank but a warm morning sun that Koko and Yum Yum found ideal for washing after breakfast. Qwilleran was basking in its warmth himself, with his second cup of coffee, when the attorney arrived.
`Nice place. Great view,' he said as he dropped his briefcase on the coffee table.
Qwill said, 'It may not give you the shot in the arm you get from the apple barn, Bart, but it should give you an environmental lift.' The Barter family lived in the country, too, but among rolling hills and sheep farms. 'Coffee?'
`By all means. And I picked up a couple of Danish at Tipsy's on the way here.'
They sat at a small table in the window and Qwilleran asked, `Did you come via West Kennebeck? If so, you passed the Hibbard property.'
`Yes, but it's heavily wooded. All you can see is the red roof and the tower. How's the book faring?' `I'm acquainting myself with the history of the family and house — and with Violet, the sole remaining heir. And that's why I called you. She's sixtyish, intelligent — obviously loaded — and with a life expectancy that's extremely iffy. And — without telling anyone — she has just married a younger man!'
`Maybe you should be writing a novel, Qwill. Who is he?' `The actor you saw in the Oscar Wilde play, manager of special events at the bookstore, initiator of the theatre arts programme to be announced in today's paper.'
`Sure, I remember seeing him. He introduced you at the lit club debut. Talented guy — with a lot of polish. What's the problem? Jealousy? He's an outsider.'
The problem is, Bart, that in Lockmaster he has a reputation as a fortune hunter.'
‘Hmff! . . . The plot thickens!'
`She confided in another woman that she went to her attorney last Tuesday to have her will changed. One can only guess: how? I've talked to Violet and to her best friend, and both women have indicated that the preservation of Hibbard House is of greatest importance. And yet . . . This will sound, Bart, as if I've been playing private detective. There are realty professionals in town who dream of developing the Hibbard property as a big commercial venture.'
`There's no law against dreaming, Qwill.'
`Yes, but the realtors are paying guests at Hibbard House and chummy with the new bridegroom. They go duck hunting together on weekends.'
`All very interesting,' the attorney said. 'What do you want from me?'
The Hibbards, according to Maggie Sprenkle, have always been clients of your firm. Since the K Fund is underwriting the book, it behoves us to inquire about the future of the building. Museum? School? Health spa? Gambling casino?'
'I see your point, Qwill.'
`I don't want to know what the dear woman has written in her will. I simply want to know if the property is protected against commercial development. Otherwise, why should I waste my time on the book?'
`You're quite right, Qwill. How urgent is this matter?'
`Top priority! Her condition is precarious.'
At the pizza party Connie had mentioned that she was taking a week off to get settled, and Qwilleran had mentioned that he needed to interview her about life in today's Hibbard House.
`Your place or my place?' she asked. 'Mine is a mess.'
On Monday afternoon she rang his doorbell, excusing her frazzled appearance but saying she needed to relax for a half hour.
He offered her coffee or a soft drink, and she chose the latter. `I've been warned about your coffee, Qwill. They say it's one degree short of illegal.'
`Where would you like to sit?' he asked. 'At the table in the window, or in one of the sofas where the cats hang out?'
`A sofa with cat hairs. I'm exhausted!'
Qwilleran served the drink, placed a tape recorder on the coffee table, and said, 'How does the hoary old mansion adapt to modern living?'
`Well, on the second floor there are four large bedrooms with high ceilings and canopy beds. Each has its own sitting room and luxurious bath in what was called the "water closet" in the days before indoor plumbing. The second generation of Hibbards did a lot of entertaining, and guests stayed a week or a month. It's like living in a movie set - fun for a year or so but not the kind of place where you'd like to spend the rest of your life. Actually, the other two women are also leaving. The one who's a hospital supervisor is taking a position in Rochester, and the one who's a teacher is getting married.'
Qwilleran said, 'Then there will be only male guests?'
`They say there's a waiting list for accommodations, but temporarily it will be strictly stag. The men's quarters are in the old guest house a hundred yards behind the main building. I've never been invited to one of their slosh parties, but you might talk to the Wix brothers or Judd Amhurst. Judd is very nice. Frankly, we thought Violet should have married him. But he has family in Texas, and they want him to move down there to be with his grandchildren.'
With questioning, Connie told about a twenty-foot Christmas tree in the foyer one year . . . picnic suppers on the veranda in summer with deer coming to the porch for a handout ... bridge and ping-pong tournaments . . . and, after Alden's arrival, dramatic readings in the library and classical concerts in the music room.
With amusement Qwilleran thought of the duck-hunting Wix brothers sitting still for a dramatic reading . . . 'Did everyone participate willingly in every activity?' he asked.
Connie thought a moment. 'While Violet was house mother, we all went along with everything she suggested. She's such a gracious hostess, you know. But after Alden joined our happy family, nothing was quite the same. Violet was highly impressed with his sophistication and allowed him to call the plays . . . Should I be telling you all these family secrets, Qwill?'
`I'll use discretion,' he assured her.
Then he added, with the confidential tone that had melted icebergs, 'Off the record, was Violet's marriage well received?'
Frowning, Connie said, 'Not exactly. I don't know about the men, but to the girls it seemed like a bad choice. Don't ask me why. It's just a feeling . . .’
At six o'clock Kenneth arrived in his rental car, carrying two dinner boxes from Lois's, and was greeted by Qwilleran and two eager Siamese.
‘Wait'll you hear what I've got!' he said, patting the recording kit.
`Come in! We'll listen while the food's reheating. Sit over there.' Qwilleran indicated two cushiony sofas facing each other across the lush shag rug. It was clearly handmade, a wild tangle of long pile.
`Some rug!' Kenneth said.
The cats think so, too.'
Qwilleran served Q cocktails, and they listened to a male voice - not old, not young - telling the following tale:
My name is Henry Newsome, retired painter and paper hanger. I never worked on the Hibbard House. They always hired those high-priced decorators from Down Below. But when_l was growing up, my mother talked about it. She'd been a live-in maid-of-all-work when she was a young girl. That would be almost a hundred years ago. I'm eighty. Her name was Lavinia, and that's what I'll call her.
(Slight cough)
Excuse me. It's just an allergy. Now, Mr MacMurchy says you're interested in stories about that big old barn. No disrespect intended. My mother used to tell one story that would make a good movie. That's what we thought when we were kids. Anyway, here goes: