It was Hixie. "I hate to bother you, Qwill. Are you in the middle of dinner?"
"That's all right. We've finished."
"Carol Lanspeak just called. We have a problem." "What kind of problem?"
"Larry was scheduled to play Santa in the parade on Saturday, and he's on the verge of pneumonia," Hixie said anxiously. "Carol and I wondered if you would substitute."
"You're not serious."
"I'm not only serious, I'm desperate! When Carol gave me the news, my foot started to throb again."
Scowling and huffing into his moustache, Qwilleran
was alarmingly silent.
"Qwill, have you fainted? I know it's not your choice of role, but - "
"What would it entail?" he asked in a grouchy monotone.
"First of all, you'll have to try on Larry's Santa suit. It's in the costume department at the theatre."
"I suppose you know," he reminded her, "that Larry is three sizes smaller and three inches shorter than I am."
"But Carol says the suit is cut roomy - to accommodate the padding, you know - and Wally's mother could alter the length of sleeves and pants. We don't need to worry about the beard and wig; one size fits all."
"And what happens on Saturday?"
"You get into costume at the theatre, and Carol drives you to the Dimsdale Diner, where the parade units will assemble. The parade proceeds south on Pickax Road to Main Street, where the mayor gives you the official greeting."
"And what am I supposed to be doing?"
"Just wave at people and act jolly."
"I won't feel jolly," he grumbled, "but I'll try to make an adjustment... I'm doing this only for your foot, Hixie... ma cherie," he added tartly.
When Qwilleran returned to the dinner table, the others regarded him with concern.
"I need another piece of pie," he said.
Later, when he returned from Polly's apartment with a generous serving of the bird, he was met by two excited Siamese. "Ho ho ho" he boomed with simulated jollity. They fled from the room.
"I beg your royal pardons," he apologized. "I was practicing. Would you entertain the concept of turkey for dinner?"
While they devoured the plateful of light meat and dark meat with studious concentration and enraptured tails, he collected the loot under the kitchen table: an inner sole, a silver toothpick in a leather sheath, a tortoiseshell napkin ring, and... the jeweler's box that they had pilfered from the desk drawer. "You rascals!" he scolded affectionately. "Where did you have it hidden?" In the library he examined the ring once more. It was now clear that the initials entwined on the crown were W and E. There was also an intimate inscription inside the band, with the initials ERG and WBK. Then Koko leaped to the desktop and showed unusual interest in the gold memento, touching it gingerly as if it might bite. Qwilleran tamped his moustache as he questioned the cat's reaction. Was he simply attracted to a small shiny object? Or did he detect hidden significance in the ring? If the latter, it would be something more topical than the illicit affair in Lockmaster, circa 1929. But what? Koko could sense more with his whiskers than most humans could construe with their brains. Unfortunately, he had an oblique way of communicating, and Qwilleran was not always smart enough to read him.
Ring... gold ring... horse farmer... E and W... wasn't ERG a unit of energy? It seemed nonsensical, and in years gone by Qwilleran would have scoffed at such speculation, but life with Kao K'o Kung had taught him to pay attention, even though he sometimes felt like a fool.
-15-
THE DAY AFTER Thanksgiving Qwilleran was still pondering the significance of the signet ring when he went downtown to the newspaper to hand in his copy.
Before leaving the house he took a roll call, as he always did. Yum Yum with graceful tail was rubbing against his ankles, and he picked her up to whisper comforting sentiments in her twitching ear. Koko was in the library closet, sitting tall and solemn in the open safe like some mythic oracle with all the answers.
Qwilleran started out to walk downtown, but the footing was precarious; the daily snowfall was packing down and turning sidewalks into minor glaciers. He drove to the newspaper office.
Junior greeted him in high spirit. "Hixie tells me you're going to be our Santa Claus! You'll be terrific! And you'll have a good time!"
"I don't know about that, but I'll give it my best shot," he replied as he handed Junior the jeweler's box.
"My grandfather's ring!"
"Guess again! Look inside the band."
"Wow!" said Junior when he read the inscription. "So WBK is the horse farmer who wanted to jump off the silo!"
"It would be interesting to know if Euphonia's recent boyfriend in Florida spells his name with a K. I thought it was C-r-o-c-u-s. I'll have to check it out."
"I haven't told you the latest," said Junior. "In probating Grandma's estate we're having trouble finding enough assets to warrant contesting the will. The bank records show huge cash deposits at the time she liquidated everything. After that there were sizable withdrawals, as if she'd invested in securities, although she didn't play the stock market. She liked something safe. But we don't find any financial documents."
"Some old people are afraid of banks," Qwilleran said. "She may have hidden them. They may be in the library closet."
"Naw, she told me to burn everything in that closet."
"Or... you may not be aware of this, Junior, but Gil Inchpot spent heavily on farm improvements in the last two or three years, and no one knows where he got the money. Did Euphonia lend it to him on the strength of her affection for Lena?"
"Hey! That makes sense!" said Junior. "Some time back, Inchpot called me here at the office, asking for her address in Florida. He owed her some money and wanted to repay the loan."
"You gave him her address?"
"Sure. But if he paid her, what the devil happened to the dough! She couldn't have lost it all at the race track! Or could she?"
"When she decided to bequeath a health spa to the park, Junior, didn't she know her fortune was dwindling? Or did that happen after she wrote her new will?"
"Well, I don't know, but Wilmot hasn't given up yet. He has more possibilities to explore, but it takes time." Qwilleran smoothed his moustache. "More and more I think the operation Down Below is shady - if not downright crepuscular. How about the lawyer who writes cheap wills? He could be in on it. How about the dealer who liquidated Euphonia's treasures? Does anyone know who he is or what he paid for the stuff?"
He could have robbed her blind!"
"Wow!" said Junior. "Maybe I should put a bug in Wilmot's ear."
"Not yet. Wait until I have more evidence." Qwilleran started to leave. "It just might be a well-organized crime ring!"
"Don't go, Qwill. This is getting good!"
"I have an appointment to try on my Santa Clause suit. We'll talk later."
En route to the theatre Qwilleran realized that his attitude toward the Christmas parade was mellowing. He could visualize himself riding in a sleigh behind a horse decked out in jingle bells. Sleighs were often seen on the unsalted streets of Pickax. The experience might make a good topic for his column.
At the K Theatre Carol Lanspeak and the seamstress were waiting for him, and Carol said, "We really appreciate your cooperation in the emergency, Qwill. Larry says he'll treat you to dinner at the Palomino Paddock, if he lives. Try on the pants first."
Qwilleran squeezed into the red breeches. "They're a good length for clam digging," he said.
Mrs. Toddwhistle, who worked on costumes for the Theatre Club, said, "I have some red fabric, and I can add about six inches to the length - also a stirrup to keep them down in your boots."
Carol looked critically at his yellow duck boots. "You should have black. What size do you wear? I'll bring a pair from the store."