The radio announcer went on. "Many tales of heroism and fortitude have been reported. In West Kirk thirteen persons went down a well and stood in three feet of water for five hours. In Dimsdale a mother saved her three children by burying them in a plowed field until the danger had passed..."
The white legs returned, taking a shortcut across the stage. It didn't faze the audience. At the end of the show they applauded wildly, and the president of the Outdoor Club made Qwilleran and Hixie honorary members. Then she fielded questions while he packed the gear, surrounded by the under-ten crowd. They were fascinated by the tape player, lights, cables, and other equipment being folded into compact carrying cases.
"I liked it when you talked on the telephone," one said.
"How do you know all that stuff?" another asked.
"Why didn't everybody get in a bus and drive to Mooseville or Brrr to be saved?"
"How could he get his wife and little boy in a pail?"
"I liked the red light."
One three-year-old girl stood silently sucking her thumb and staring at Qwilleran's moustache.
"Did you like the show?" he asked her.
She nodded soberly before taking the thumb from her mouth. "What was it about?" she asked earnestly. He was relieved when Nancy Fincher came to the stage. "Mr. Qwilleran, it was wonderful! I never liked history before, but you made it so real, I cried."
"Thank you," he said. "As soon as I put these cases in my car, may I invite you for a drink in the caf‚?"
"Let me carry one," she said, grabbing the largest of the three. Delicate though she seemed, she handled the heavy case like a trifle. When they were established on the wobbly barstools, he asked, "Will you have something to eat? I'm always famished after the show. 'The Big Burning' burns up a lot of energy."
"Just a cola for me," she said. "I had supper here, and half of my burger is in a doggie bag in my truck."
Qwilleran ordered a boozeburger with fries. "You mentioned that potatoes are a complicated crop to raise," he said to Nancy. "I always thought they'd be a cinch."
Nancy shook her head soberly. "That's what
everybody thinks. But first you have to know what kind to
plant - for the conditions you're working with and the
market you're selling to. Different markets want large or
small, white skins or redskins, bakers or boilers or
fryers."
"You seem to know a lot about the subject."
"I grew up with potatoes."
"Don't stop. Tell me more." He was concentrating on the burger, which was enormously thick.
"Well, first you have to have the right kind of soil, and it has to be well drained. Then you have to know the right time to plant and the right kind of fertilizer. Then you worry about crop diseases and weeds and insects and rain. You need enough rain but not too much. And then you have to gamble on the right time to harvest."
"I have a new respect for potato farmers... and potatoes," he said.
A soft look suffused Nancy's face. "When Mom was alive, we used to dig down with our fingers and take out the small new tubers very carefully, so as not to interfere with the others. Then we'd have creamed new potatoes with new peas."
Gary Pratt shuffled up to them. "Are you folks ready for another drink or anything?"
"Not for me," she said. "I have to stop and check Pop's mailbox and then go home and take care of my dogs. I've been working at the clinic all day."
The two men watched her go, lugging her oversized shoulderbag.
"Quite a gal," Gary said. "She has that tiny little voice, and you think she doesn't have much on the ball, but the thing of it is, she's a terrific racer, and she really knows dogs. I tried to date her when she came back from Alaska, but her old man didn't like my haircut. So what? I didn't like the dirt under his fingernails. Anyway, Nancy still had a thing for Dan Fincher. Women think he's the strong, silent type, but I think he's a klutz."
"Interesting if true," said Qwilleran, making light of the gossip. "What's the latest on the weather?"
"Heavy frost tonight. Snow on the way."
On the trip back to Pickax Qwilleran drove through farming country, where the bright headlights of tractors in the fields meant that farmers were working around the clock to beat the frost. He felt a twinge of remorse. If he had acted sooner, the Klingenschoen clout might have saved Gil Inchpot's crop.
He was carrying a sample of booze burger for the Siamese. "After my faux pas this morning," he told them, "I owe you one." Later, the three of them were in the library, reading Robinson Crusoe, when the sharp ring of the telephone made all of them jump. Qwilleran guessed it would be Junior, announcing that Jody had given birth; or it would be Polly, inquiring about the show in Brrr; or it would be Arch Riker, saying that Breze was suing the paper because the other candidates sounded better than he did.
"Hello?" he said, ready for anything.
"Mr. Qwilleran," said a breathless voice, "Gary gave me your number. I hope you don't mind."
"That's all right."
"I discovered something when I got to Pop's house, and I notified the police, but I wanted to tell you because you've been so kind and so interested."
"What was it, Nancy?"
"When I got to the farm, I cut my hand on the mailbox pretty bad, so I went indoors for some antiseptic and a bandage. And in a medicine cabinet I saw Pop's dentures in a glass of water. He would never leave home without his dentures!"
Qwilleran combed his moustache with his fingertips as he thought of the partial denture in the desk drawer. He glanced at the Siamese. Yum Yum was pedicuring her left hind foot; Koko was sitting there looking wise.
-9-
THERE WAS HEAVY frost in Moose County that night. The tumble-down hamlet of Wildcat, the quaint resort town of Mooseville, the affluent estates of West Middle Hummock, the condominiums in Indian Village, the vacation homes in Purple Point, the stone canyons of downtown Pickax, the mansions of Goodwinter Boulevard, the abandoned mineshafts, the airport... all looked mystically hoary in the first morning light.
Qwilleran felt moody as he drank his morning coffee. There was the usual letdown after the excitement and; challenge of doing a show, plus a gnawing regret about the Inchpot crop. Hundreds of acres of potatoes had been lost - after being scientifically planted, fertilized, weeded, sprayed, and prayed over. And now, after hearing Nancy's grim news about the dentures, Qwilleran felt real concern about Gil Inchpot himself.
He was somewhat gladdened, therefore, when Lori Bamba called to ask if her husband could deliver some letters and checks for signing. Nick Bamba was an engineer at the state prison; he shared Qwilleran's interest in crime and the mystery that often surrounds it. Whenever Qwilleran mentioned his suspicions and hunches to his friends, Polly remonstrated and Riker taunted him, but Nick always took him seriously.
He was a young man with alert black eyes that observed everything. "Someone ran a truck over your curb," he said upon arrival.
"Those blasted leaf blowers! They're a slap-happy crew!" Qwilleran complained. "Did you vote this morning?"
"I was first in line. There was a good turnout in Mooseville because of the millage issue. The voters don't get excited about the candidates; one's no better than another. But propose increased millage, and they're all at the polls to vote no. Why don't you run for county office, Qwill? You could make waves."
"I'd rather see Koko's name on the ballot... Will you have coffee or hot cider?"
"I'll try the cider." Nick handed over a folder of correspondence. "Lori says you're getting a lot of fan mail since your 'Big Burning' preview. The Mooseville Chamber of Commerce wants to book the show after the holidays."