Timmie spoke up. "Oh Jay weighs twenty pounds."
The pastor said, "Whenever I sneeze, my Whisker-Belle makes a sound as if she's blessing me."
"When I was a little girl taking piano lessons," June Halliburton put in, "our cat howled every time I hit a wrong note."
"Oh Jay has fleas," said the sociable Wilmot scion.
Qwilleran caught the attorney's eye, and the two men drifted into the library. Wilmot said, "This is the first wedding I've ever attended where the sole topic of conversation was cats."
"You could do worse," Qwilleran remarked. "My wife says you called me."
"Yes, it's probably none of my business, but I've been researching a piece on Euphonia Gage, and a few facts about the Park of Pink Sunsets have aroused my suspicion."
"Their cavalier repurchase policy is enough to give one pause," Wilmot said.
"Right! That was the first clue. Then Junior told me about Euphonia's new will, cutting out her relatives. It was written for her by an in-house lawyer who charges surprisingly low fees." Wilmot nodded soberly.
"There's more," said Qwilleran. "They have an associate who helps residents unload their valuables - and rips them off. One ostensibly wealthy woman was offered a lock-box in the office safe for financial documents and unreported cash. Who knows if they have extra keys to those boxes? Shall I continue?"
"By all means."
"The woman I mentioned has sent me snapshots that include the operators of the park, a couple who are chummily called Betty and Claude. Now here's a curious fact: On the weekend Euphonia died, Betty and Claude were in Pickax, attending the preview of 'The Big Burning.' Hixie Rice and I thought they were gate-crashers from Lockmaster, but they were evidently casing the place; shortly after, a dealer Down Below approached Junior about stripping the mansion of architectural features."
"Junior told me about that," said the attorney. "The dealer indicated that Mrs. Gage was negotiating a deal before she died."
"I could go on with this," Qwilleran said, "but we're supposed to be celebrating my boss's wedding."
"Let's live with this over the weekend and then get together downtown - " He was interrupted by hubbub outdoors. "Sounds like a pack of wolves out there!"
It was a pack of huskies. Nancy Fincher and her dogteam had arrived to transport the newlyweds to the honeymoon cottage that Don Exbridge was lending them. Arch and Mildred were changing clothes, Carol
said. The guests bundled into their own wraps and went out on the porch to admire the dogs and the Christmas lights. It was dark, and every cottage on both sides of the road was outlined with strings of white lights.
"A magic village!" Polly said.
The bride and groom reappeared in togs suitable for an arctic expedition and were whisked away, huddled in the basket of the sled. With Nancy riding the runners, they sped down the avenue of snow through a confetti of tiny lights, while cottagers waved and cheered and threw poorly aimed snowballs.
Then the wedding guests departed for their own cottages or the mainland, and the two remaining couples had a light supper in front of the fireplace.
"Hixie arranged for the dog-sledding," Carol said. "Nancy will be here for the next two days, taking kids for rides."
"Adults, too," Larry added. "How about you, Qwill?"
"No, thanks."
The evening passed pleasantly. From speakers on the balcony came recorded carols played on antique music boxes and great cathedral organs. At Qwilleran's request, Larry read a passage from Dickens's Christmas Carol - the description of the Cratchits' Christmas dinner. 'There never was such a goose!" Then gifts were opened.
Polly was thrilled with the opals. She gave Qwilleran a twenty-seven-volume set of Shakespeare's plays and sonnets. They were leather-bound and old.
"Wait till my bibliocat sniffs these!" he said with detectable pride. He gave the Lanspeaks a pair of brass candlesticks, Dutch baroque.
The next morning began with wake-up music that Wagner had composed as a Christmas gift for his wife, and Carol prepared eggs Benedict for breakfast. It had snowed lightly, and Timmie Wilmot, with a broom over his shoulder, rang the doorbell.
"Sweep your porch?" he asked.
"All right, but be sure you do a good job," Larry admonished him. To the others he explained, "Timmie's parents want to develop his work ethic."
The snowy landscape was bright with winter sunshine, and the frozen bay was dotted with the small shanties of ice fishermen. All day the telephone jangled with holiday greetings from distant places, and the dogsled could be seen flying up and down the white canyon. After Christmas dinner - Cornish hen and plum pudding - Polly took a nap and Carol wrote thank-you notes, while Larry tinkered with his new model-building kit.
Later, they walked to an open house at the Exbridge cottage. Nancy Fincher was there, their guest for the weekend. "When are you going to run the article on dog-sledding?" she asked Qwilleran.
"As soon as the race dates are announced."
"Would you like to take a ride tomorrow?"
"I've had a ride!" he said testily.
"But the parade wasn't the real thing."
"It was real enough for me!" He remembered the discomfort of the costume and the horror of climbing the ladder while it ripped at the seams. He also remembered a conversation with Nancy. "What was the date of the parade?" he now asked her.
Her answer was prompt. "November 27."
"Are you sure?"
"I know, because it was my mother's birthday."
Qwilleran's impulse was to telephone Junior immediately, but other guests were demanding his attention. Conversation was animated until someone announced, "It's snowing, you guys! And the wind's rising! It looks like a blizzard's cooking!"
The guests said hasty farewells, and Larry guided his party home through the swirling flakes. Polly said, "I'm thankful we don't have to drive back to Pickax tonight. Crossing the Flats in a blizzard must be a horrendous experience!"
Back at the cottage Larry tuned in the weather forecast: "Snow ending by midnight. High winds continuing, gusting up to sixty miles an hour."
''If there's drifting on the Flats and the highway is buried, we'll be trapped," Carol said cheerfully, "but that's the excitement of weekending on the Point. You may have to stay longer than you intended... Dominoes, anyone?"
The wind howled around the cottage, making Polly nervous, and Carol sent her to bed with aspirin and earplugs. Soon she retired herself, leaving the two men sprawled in front of the fire.
Qwilleran said to Larry, "You manipulate that fireplace damper like a cellist playing Brahms."
"With this kind of wind, you have to know your stuff. Do you use the fireplaces where you're living?"
"With those old chimneys? Not a chance!" Larry said, "I heard about Euphonia's will. Cutting off her own flesh and blood was bad enough, but throwing her fortune away at the racetrack was a crime! To be eighty-eight and suddenly broke must be tough to take. Is that why she ended it all?"
"I don't know," Qwilleran said. "They've had other suicides in the Park of Pink Sunsets."
"The name alone would drive me over the edge," Larry said. "How about a hot drink before we turn in?"
The morning after the blizzard the snowscape was smoothly sculptured by the wind, but the day was bright, and the air was so clear it was possible to hear the churchbells on the mainland.
During breakfast Larry tuned in WPKX, and Wetherby Goode said, "Well, folks, December has been mild, but last night's blizzard made up for lost time. The ice fishermen have lost their shanties. The entire westside of Pickax is blacked out. And the Purple Point Road is blockaded by ten-foot snow drifts. The plows won't be out till Monday morning, because the crews get double-time for Sundays, so you holiday-makers on the Point will have to go on drinking eggnog for another twenty-four hours. Today's forecast: mild temperatures, clear skies, variable winds - " The announcement was interrupted by the telephone.