"Wow! When it breaks," Junior said, "let's keep it exclusive with the Moose County Something!"
-14-
GRADUALLY MOOSE COUNTY struggled out from under the snow, as armies of volunteers swarmed over the neighborhoods, tunneling through to buried buildings. The snowdrifts never diminished, only shifted from one location to another, with one more inch of snow falling every day. WPKX now aired the lighter side of the news:
"Sig Olsen, a farmer near Sawdust City, had his chicken coop wrecked by the storm, and a loose board sailed through his kitchen window. He didn't know it until morning, when he got up and found his whole flock roosting around the wood-burning stove."
Qwilleran finally reached Hixie by phone. "Your line's constantly busy," he complained.
"I'm working on logistics for the Christmas parade," she explained. "The Something is cosponsoring it with Lanspeak's Department Store."
"Are you comfortable where you're staying?"
"Mais oui! Madame Herbert is a joli coeur! Did you do the three shows I scheduled before the Big Snow? I thought the one at the Senior Care Facility might be amusing."
"Hilarious!" Qwilleran said dryly. "I played for fifty wheelchairs and two gurneys. They were attentive, but the assorted bodily noises in the audience were a new experience. After the show the attendants passed out bananas, and I circulated among the old-timers to hear their comments. They all handed me their banana peels."
"You're so adaptable, Qwill! Je t'adore!" she said. He huffed into his moustache. "What are you planning for Thanksgiving?"
"Dr. Herbert is coming down from Brrr with some friends, and Madame is doing stuffed quail with apricot coulis. What about you?"
"Polly is roasting a turkey, and Arch and Mildred will join us."
When he hung up, both cats reported to the library, having heard the word "turkey."
"Sorry. False alarm," he said.
Koko, returning to work after the storm, was no longer collecting emery boards, teabags, pieces of salt-water taffy, and other domestic trivia. He was excavating the library closet and leaving a paper trail of postcards, newspaper clippings, envelopes with foreign stamps, and such. One was a yellowed clipping from the Pickax Picayune, the antiquated predecessor of the Moose County Something. It was a column headed "Marriages," and one of the listings attracted Qwilleran's attention:
LENA FOOTE, DAUGHTER OF
MR. AND MRS. ARNOLD FOOTE OF LOCKMASTER,
TO GILBERT INCHPOT OF BRRR, OCT. 18.
The year 1961 had been inked in the margin. That date would be about right, Qwilleran figured, guessing at Nancy's age. Lena Foote was her mother and also Euphonia's longtime housekeeper. Apparently she was already employed in the Gage household before her marriage. What had Euphonia given the coupIe for a wedding present? A wooden nutcracker? He put the clipping in an envelope addressed to Nancy, adding thanks for her assistance with the three shows and mentioning that there might be more bookings after the holidays.
On the sixth day following the Big Snow Qwilleran was able to mail his letter. He also arranged to meet Junior for lunch at Lois's; he wanted to deliver the gold ring and two other items of interest that Koko had unearthed.
When it was time to leave for lunch, however, the jeweler's box was missing, and the desk drawer was ajar. "Drat those cats!" Qwilleran said aloud. He knew it was Yum Yum's fine Siamese paw that had opened the drawer, but he suspected it was Koko who assigned her the nefarious little task, like a feline Fagin. There was no time to search fifteen rooms and fifty closets; he hustled off to Lois's, where Junior was waiting in a booth.
The editor's first words were, "Did you remember to bring Grandpa's ring?"
"Dammit! I forgot it!" said Qwilleran, an expert at extemporaneous fibs.
"Today's special," Lois announced as she slapped two soiled menu cards on the table. "Bean soup and ham sandwich."
"Give us a minute to decide," Qwilleran said, "but you can bring us some coffee."
From an inner pocket of his jacket he produced a folded sheet of paper, ivory with age and turning brown at the creases. "Do you recognize this writing, Junior?"
"That's Grandma's!"
"It's the anonymous poem in her memorial program - the one about lovelorn butterflies."
Junior scanned the verses with the lightning speed of an experienced editor. "Do you suppose she wrote this?"
"Well, it wasn't Keats or Wordsworth. I think your sedate little grandmother had a passionate past."
"Could be. Jody always thought she had something to hide. How do women know these things?"
Lois returned with the coffee. "You guys decide what you want?"
"Not yet," said Junior. "Give us another couple of seconds."
Next, Qwilleran handed him an old envelope postmarked Lockmaster, 1929. The letter inside was addressed to "My dearest darling Cynara."
"Oh, God! Do I have to read it?" Junior whined. "Other people's love letters always sound so corny."
"Read it!" Qwilleran ordered.
Nov. 17, 1929
My dearest darling Cynara -
Last night I climbed to the roof of the horse barn - and
looked across to where you live - thirty miles - but I can
still feel you - taste you - smell your skin - fresh as
violets - After sixteen months of heaven - it's hell to be
without you - tossing and turning all night - dreaming of
you - I want to climb to the top of the silo - and jump
down on the rocks - but it would kill my mother - and hurt
you - and you've suffered enough for my sake - And so -
my own heart's darling - I'm going away - for good - and I
beg you to forget me - I'm returning the ring - and
thinking that maybe - some day - we'll meet in
sweetness and in light - but for now - promise to forget -
Goodbye - my Cynara -
The signature was simply "W." When Junior finished reading it, he said, "It turns my stomach."
"The content or the punctuation?" Qwilleran asked.
"How could Grandma fall for such rot?"
"She was young in 1929."
"In 1929 Grandpa was in prison. She couldn't face the scandal in Pickax, so she went to stay in Lockmaster for two years - on somebody's farm. It looks as if it turned out to be fun and games."
Qwilleran said, "This horse farmer was obviously the other butterfly in the poem. She put her memories in the closet and finally paraded them at her memorial bash: Love's long since cancelled woes... I must not think of thee... Wouldn't it be a poetic coincidence if her admirer in Florida turned out to be W? But if that were the case, why would she overdose?"
"Do you know anything about him?"
"Only that he has a magnificent head of white hair and plays the violin."
Lois advanced on their booth with hands on hips. "Are you young punks gonna order? Or do you want to pay rent for the booth?"
Both men ordered the special, and Junior said, "Grandpa got out of prison in time for the stock market crash, my mother used to say."
"That was the month before this letter was written."
"You're not putting Grandma's love life in your, profile, are you, Qwill?"
"Why not?"
There was a thoughtful pause as family loyalty battled with professional principle. Then Junior said, "I guess you're right. Why not? The Gages are all dead. Where is Koko finding these choice items all of a sudden?"
Pompously Qwilleran said, "I cannot tell a lie. I picked the lock of the library closet. There are tons of papers in there. Also an empty safe. One thing Koko found was an announcement in the Picayune of Gil Inchpot's marriage