Carol answered and said, "It's for you, Polly."
"Me?" she said in surprise and apprehension. Conversation at the breakfast table stopped as she talked in the next room. Returning, she looked grave as she said, "Qwill, I think you should take this call. It's Lynette. She's calling from your house."
He jumped up, threw his napkin on the chairseat, and hurried to the phone. "Yes, Lynette. What's the trouble?"
"I'm at your house, Mr. Qwilleran. I stopped to feed the cats on my way to church, but I can't find them! They usually come running for their food. I've searched all the rooms, but the power is off, you know, and it's hard to see inside the closets, even with a flashlight..."
He listened in silence, his mind hurtling from one dire possibility to another.
"But there's something else I should tell you, Mr. Qwilleran, although I don't know if it means anything. When I came over here early last evening, I drove to the carriage house first to feed Bootsie. It was dark, but I had a glimpse of a van parked behind the big house. I didn't remember seeing it before, and when I came downstairs a half hour later, it was gone. I didn't think much about it. Koko and Yum Yum gobbled their food and talked to me - "
"What kind of van?"
"Sort of a delivery van, I think, although I didn't pay that much attention - "
"I'm coming home," he interrupted. "I'll get there as fast as I can. I'll leave at once."
"Shall I wait here?"
"There's nothing more you can do. Go on to church. I'll be there in forty-five minutes." He returned to the table. "I've got to get out of here fast. Lynette can't find the cats, and she saw a strange vehicle in the yard. I won't stop to pack." He was headed for the stairs. "I'll just grab my parka and keys. Polly can drive home with you."
"Qwill!" Larry said sternly, following him to the stairway. "The road's closed! You can't get through! The highway is blocked by ten-foot drifts!"
"Could a snowmobile get through?"
"Nobody's got one. They're outlawed on the Point." Qwilleran pounded his moustache with his fist.
"Could a dogsled get through?"
"I'll call Nancy," Carol said. "She's staying with the
Exbridges."
"Tell her to hurry!"
Polly said anxiously, "What can have happened, Qwill?"
"I don't know, but I have a hunch that something's seriously wrong!"
"Nancy's on her way," Carol reported. "Luckily she was harnessing her team when I called."
They were all on the porch when the dogsled and eight flying huskies arrived. Qwilleran was in his parka with the hood pulled up.
Larry asked, "Can your dogs get through ten-foot drifts, Nancy?"
"We won't use the highway. We'll cross the bay on the ice. It'll be shorter anyway."
"Is that safe?" Polly asked.
"Sure. I've been ice-fishing on the bay all my life."
Qwilleran asked, "Where do we touch land on the other side?"
"At the state park."
"Someone should meet me there and drive me to Pickax... Larry, try to reach Nick Bamba. Second choice, Roger. Third choice, the sheriff... How long will it take, Nancy?"
She estimated an hour at the outside. Carol gave them thermos bottles of hot tea and coffee.
"Stay close to shore!" Larry shouted as they took off down an easement to the bay.
Qwilleran was sitting low in the basket on caribou skins as they skimmed across the ice at racing speed. The high winds had left hillocks of snow and wrecked shanties, but Nancy guided the team between obstacles with gruff commands. The shoreline behind them receded quickly.
"Where are we going?" Qwilleran shouted, mindful of Larry's advice.
"Taking a shortcut. There's an island out there," she called back. "It's reached by an ice bridge."
Leaving the shore behind, they encountered a strong wind sweeping across the lake from Canada, and they were grateful for their hot drinks when they stopped at the island to rest the dogs.
When they started out again, the wind changed to offshore and was not quite as cutting. They sped along through a world of white: ice under the runners, wintery sky overhead, shoreline in the distance. But soon they began to slow down, and Qwilleran could feel the runners cutting into the ice. The dogs seemed to find it hard going.
"It's softer than it should be," Nancy shouted. "It rained one day last week." She turned the team farther out into the lake where the surface was firm, but they were traveling farther from their destination.
Then Qwilleran saw a crack in the ice between the sled and the shore. "Nancy! Are we drifting? Are we being blown farther out?"
"Hang in there! We'll get around it!"
She headed the team even farther out, and soon they were climbing a hill of snow. She stopped the dogs with a command. "From here you can see what's happening. The north wind pushed the loose ice into shore, but the offshore breeze is breaking it up. Stand up! You can see the ice bridge."
Qwilleran peered across the bay and saw only more slush and more cracks. God! he thought... What am I doing here? Who is this girl? What does she know?
"Okay, let's take off!... Up!... Go!... haw!" He clenched his teeth and gripped the siderails as they zigzagged across the surface. Slowly the distant shore was coming closer. At last he could see the roof of the lodge at the state park... Then he could see a single car parked on the overlook... Then he could see a man waving. Nick Bamba!
"Am I glad to see you!" Qwilleran shouted. To Nancy he said, "Dammit, woman! You deserve a medal!"
She smiled. It was a remarkably sweet smile. "Where are you going from here, Nancy? You're not going back across the bay, I hope."
"No, I'll take the dogs home. It's only a few miles inland. I hope you find your cats all right."
"What happened?" Nick wanted to know. "What's going on here?"
"Start driving, and I'll tell you," Qwilleran said. "Drive fast!"
On the road to Pickax he summed up the situation: the missing cats, the strange van parked behind the house, the cat-sitter's frantic call to Purple Point. "I've been doing an unofficial investigation of some unscrupulous individuals, and it caused me to worry," he said. "I had to get home, but the highway is blockaded. When Nancy proposed crossing the bay on the ice, I was apprehensive. When we got into slush and started drifting out on an ice floe, I thought it was the end!"
"You didn't need to worry," Nick said. "That girl has a terrific reputation. She's a musher's musher!"
"Have you heard anything more about her father's murder?"
"Only that the state detectives are sure it wasn't a local vendetta. They think he was involved in something outside the county. The cause of death," he said, "was a gunshot to the head."
When they reached Goodwinter Boulevard, Nick parked in the street. "Let's not mess up any tire tracks in the driveway... The power's still out in Pickax, they said on the air, so take the flashlight that's under the seat. I've got a high-powered lantern in the trunk."
They walked to the side door under the porte cochere, where wind currents had swept the drive clear in one spot and piled up the snow in another.
Qwilleran said, "The tire tracks leading to the carriage house are Lynette's. They were made this morning after the blizzard. She saw the van in the rear last evening before the blizzard. If they broke into the house, it would be through the kitchen door." He was speaking in a controlled monotone that belied the anxiety he felt in the pit of his stomach.
"The van has been back again since last night," Nick said. "I'd guess it was here during the blizzard and left before the snow stopped."
Qwilleran unlocked the side door and automatically reached for a wall switch, but power had not been restored. The foyer with its dark paneling and dark parquet floor was like a cave except for one shaft of light slanting in from a circular window on the stair landing, and in the patch of warmth was a Siamese cat, huddled against the chill but otherwise unperturbed.