"Hey, Qwill!" said an excited Junior Goodwinter. "Can you stand some good news?"
"It's a boy," Qwilleran guessed.
"No, nothing like that; Jody's still here, getting antsy. But somebody wants to buy the Gage mansion! I just got a long distance phone call!
"Congratulations! Who's making the offer?"
"A realtor in Chicago."
"Is it a good offer?"
"Very good! What do you suppose it means? The house wasn't even listed for sale. And why should they pick mine when there are seven for-sale signs on the street? I'll bet Grandma Gage tipped someone off before she died."
"Don't ask questions," Qwilleran advised. "Take the money and run."
"I'm going to tell them it's rented until spring, so don't worry about having to move out, Qwill."
"I appreciate that. And let's not tell Polly until the deal's closed. She'll be upset about losing the carriage house."
"Okay, I won't. Golly! This is the best news I've had since I-don't-know-when."
"Good things come in threes," Qwilleran said. "Maybe Jody will have twins. By the way, was there a woman in the Gage family by the name of Cynara?"
"I don't think so. How do you spell it?"
"Like the poem: C-y-n-a-r-a."
"Nope. Doesn't ring a bell."
At a suitable hour - late enough for the fifty-percent discount but not too late for a Pink Sunset resident - Qwilleran placed a call to Florida, and Koko leaped to the desk in anticipation. "Arrange your optic fibers," Qwilleran advised him. "This may be enlightening." The cat's whiskers and eyebrows curved forward.
When a woman's cheery voice answered, he asked in a rich and ingratiating tone, "May I speak with Celia Robinson?"
There was a trill of laughter. "I know it's you, Clayton. You can't fool your old grandmother. Does your mother know you're calling?"
"I'm afraid I'm not Clayton. I'm a colleague of Junior Goodwinter, Mrs. Gage's grandson. I'm calling from Pickax. My name is Jim Qwilleran."
She hooted with delight tinged with embarrassment. "Oh, I thought you were my prankish grandson, changing his voice. He's a great one for playing practical jokes. What did you say your name was?"
"Jim Qwilleran. Junior gave me your number."
"Yes, he was here for a few days. He's a nice boy. And I know all about you. Mrs. Gage showed me the articles you write for the paper. What's the name of the paper?"
"The Moose County Something."
"I knew it was a funny name, but I couldn't remember. And I loved your picture! You have a wonderful moustache. You remind me of someone on TV."
"Thank you," he said graciously, although he preferred compliments on his writing. Clearing his throat he began, "The editor has assigned me to write a profile of Euphonia Gage, and I'd like to talk with someone who knew her in Florida. Were you well acquainted with her?"
"Oh, yes, we were next-door neighbors, and I sort of looked after her."
"In what way? I'm going to tape this if you don't mind."
"Well, I checked up on her every day, and I'd always drive her where she wanted to go. She didn't like driving in the bumper-to-bumper traffic we have around here. She was eighty-eight, you know. I'm only sixty-eight."
"Your voice sounds much younger, Mrs. Robinson."
"Do you think so?" she said happily. "That's because I sing."
"In nightclubs?" he asked slyly.
Mrs. Robinson laughed merrily. "No, just around the house, but I used to sing in a church choir before I moved down here. Would you like to hear me sing something?"
Qwilleran thought, I have a live one here! "I was hoping you'd suggest it," he said. He expected to hear "Amazing Grace." Instead she sang the entire verse and chorus of "Mrs. Robinson" in a clear, untrained voice. Listening, he tried to visualize her; it was his custom to picture strangers in his mind's eye. He imagined her to be buxom and rosy-cheeked, with partly gray hair and seashell earrings. "Brava!" he shouted when she had finished. "I've never heard it sung better."
"Thank you. It's Clayton's favorite," she said. "You have a nice voice, too... Now, what was I telling you about Mrs. Gage? She didn't like to be called by her first name, and I don't blame her. It sounded like some kind of old-fashioned phonograph."
"You said you did the driving. Did she still have her yellow sport coupe?"
"No, she sold that, and we took my navy blue sedan. She called it an old lady's. I thought she was being funny, but she was serious."
"And where would you two ladies drive?"
"Mostly to the mall - for lunch and to buy a few things. She liked to eat at a health food place."
"Would you say she was happy at the Park of Pink
Sunsets?"
"I think so. She went on day trips in the activity bus, and she liked to give talks at the clubhouse."
"What kind of talks?"
Mrs. Robinson had to think a moment. "Mmmm... diet and exercise, music, art, the right way to breathe..
."
"Were these lectures well attended?"
"Well, to tell the truth, they weren't as popular as the old movies on Thursday nights, but a lot of people went because they didn't have anything better to do. Also they had tea and cookies after the talk. Mrs. Gage paid for the refreshments."
Qwilleran said, "I met Mrs. Gage only once and that was for a short time. What was she like?"
"Oh, she was very interesting - not like the ones... that are forever talking about their ailments and the grandchildren they never see. The park discourages young visitors. You have to get a five-dollar permit before you can have a visitor under sixteen years of age, and then it's only for forty-eight hours. Clayton likes to spend the whole Christmas week with me, because he doesn't like his stepmother. She's too serious, but his granny laughs a lot. Maybe you've noticed," she added with a giggle.
"How old is Clayton?"
"Just turned thirteen. He's a very bright boy with a crazy sense of humor. We have a ball! Last Christmas he figured out how to beat the system. When I picked him up at the airport, he was wearing a false beard! The sight of it just broke me up! He said I should introduce him to my neighbors as Dr. Clayton Robinson of Johns Hopkins. I went along with the gag. It's lucky that none of our neighbors have very good eyesight."
"Did he have his skateboard?" Qwilleran asked.
"Yow!" said Koko in a voice loud and clear.
"Do I hear a baby crying?" Mrs. Robinson asked.
"That's Koko, my Siamese cat. He's auditing this call."
"I used to have cats, and I'd love to have one now, but pets aren't allowed in the park. No cats, no dogs, not even birds!"
"How about goldfish?"
"Oh, that's funny! That's really funny!" she said. "I'm going to ask for a permit to have goldfish, and see what they say. They have no sense of humor. Last Christmas Clayton brought me a recording of a dog singing 'Jingle Bells.' Maybe you've heard it. 'Woof woof woof... woof woof woof!' "
"Yow!" Koko put in.
"Was Mrs. Gage amused?" Qwilleran asked. "
"Not exactly. And the management of the park threw a fit!"
"Who are these people who issue five-dollar permits and throw fits?"
"Betty and Claude. He owns the park, and she's the manager. I don't think they're married, but they're always together. Don't get me wrong; they're really very nice if you play by the rules. Then there is Pete, the assistant whenever when they're out of town. He's handy with tools and electricity and all that. He fixed my radio for nothing."
"How did Mrs. Gage react to all the restrictions?"
"Well, you see, she was quite friendly with Betty and Claude, and she got special treatment, sort of. They took her to the dog races a lot. She enjoyed their company. She liked younger people."
"Including Dr. Clayton Robinson?" His grandmother responded to the mild quip with peals of laughter. "Clayton would love to meet you, Mr.... "