"Why don't you and Polly take the plunge at the same time? Share the expenses. That should appeal to your thrifty nature."
"The chance to save a few bucks is tempting, Arch, but Polly and I prefer singlehood. Besides, our respective cats would be incompatible... Have you broken the news to your kids?"
"Yeah, and right away they wanted to know how old she is. You know what they were thinking, that she'll outlive me and collect their inheritance."
"Nice offspring you begot," Qwilleran commented, half in sympathy and half in vindication. For years Riker had chided him for being childless. "Are they coming for the wedding?"
"If the airport stays open, but I doubt it. Fifty inches of snow are predicted before Christmas."
The two men talked about the forthcoming election (the incumbent mayor had a drinking problem) and the high cost of gasoline (when one lives 400 miles north of everywhere), and a good place for a honeymoon (not the New Pickax Hotel).
When coffee was served, Qwilleran brought up the subject that was bothering him. "You know, Arch, I can't understand why Mrs. Gage would choose to end her life."
"Old folks often pull up stakes and go to a sunny climate away from family and friends, and they discover the loneliness of old age. My father found it gets harder to make new friends as years go by. Mrs. Gage was eighty-eight, you know."
"What's eighty-eight in today's world? People of that age are running in marathons and winning swimming meets! Science is pushing the lifespan up to a hundred and ten."
"Not for me, please."
"Anyway, when Junior phones, ask him to call me at home."
The call from Junior came around six o'clock that evening. "Hey, Qwill, whaddaya think about all this? I can't believe Grandma Gage is gone! I thought she'd live forever."
"The idea of suicide is what puzzles me, Junior. Was that just a cop's guess?"
"No, it's official."
"Was there a suicide note?"
"She didn't leave any kind of explanation, but there was an empty bottle of sleeping pills by her bed, plus evidence that she'd been drinking. Her normal weight was under a hundred pounds, so it wouldn't take much to put her down, the doctor said."
"Did she drink? I thought she was a health nut."
"She always had a glass of Dubonnet before dinner, claiming it was nutritious. But who knows what she did after she started running with that retirement crowd in Florida? If you don't sow your wild oats when you're young, my dad told me, you'll do it when you're old."
"So what was the motive?"
"I wish I knew."
"Who found the body?"
"A neighbor. Around Monday noon. She'd been dead about sixteen hours. This woman called to pick her up for lunch. They were going to the mall."
"Have you talked with this neighbor?"
"Yes, she's a nice older woman. A widow."
"Yow!" said Koko, who was sitting on the desk and monitoring the call.
"Was that Koko?" Junior asked.
"Yes, he's always trying to line me up with a widow who'll make meatloaf like Mrs. Cobb's... So, what happens now, Junior?"
"I'm appointed as personal rep, and Pender Wilmot has told me what to do. She'd sold her condo and was living in a mobile home in a retirement complex called the Park of Pink Sunsets."
"Very Floridian," Qwilleran remarked.
"It's a top-of-the-line mobile home. She bought it furnished from the park management, and they'll buy it back, so I don't have that to worry about. I have to get some death certificates, round up her personal belongings, and ship the body to Pickax. She wanted to be buried in the Gage plot, Pender says."
"When do you expect to be home?"
"Before snow flies, I hope. Sooner the better. I don't care for this assignment."
"Let me know if you want a lift from the airport."
"My car's in the long-term garage, but thanks anyway, Qwill."
Qwilleran replaced the receiver slowly. No known motive! The news was a challenge to one who was tormented by unanswered questions and unsolved puzzles. He had known suicides motivated by guilt, depression, and fear of disgrace, but here was a healthy, spirited, active, well-to-do woman who simply decided to end it all.
"What happened?" he asked Koko, who was sitting on the desk, a self-appointed censor of incoming phone calls. The cat sat tall with his forelegs primly together and his tail curved flat on the desktop. At Qwilleran's question he shifted his feet nervously and blinked his eyes. Then, abruptly, he jerked his head toward the library door. In a blur of fur he was off the desk and out in the hallway. Qwilleran, alarmed by the sudden exit, followed almost as fast. The excitement was in the kitchen, where Yum Yum was already sniffing the bottom of the back door.
Koko's tail bushed, his ears swept back, his whiskers virtually disappeared, and a terrible growl came from the depths of his interior.
Qwilleran looked out the back window. It was dusk, but he could make out a large orange cat on the porch, crouched and swaying from side to side in a threatening way. The man banged on the door, yanked it open and yelled "Scat!" The intruder swooshed from the porch in a single streak and faded into the dusk. Yum Yum looked dreamily disappointed, and Koko bit her on the neck.
"Stop that!" Qwilleran commanded in a gruff voice that was totally ignored. Yum Yum appeared to be enjoying the abuse.
"Treat!" he shouted. It was the only guaranteed way to capture their immediate attention, and both cats scampered to the feeding station under the kitchen table, where they awaited their reward.
Returning to the library, Qwilleran phoned Lori Bamba,
his free-lance secretary in Mooseville, who not only
handled his correspondence but advised him on feline
problems. He described the recent scene.
"It's a male," Lori said. "He's a threat to Koko's territory. He's interested in Yum Yum."
"Both of mine are neutered," he reminded her. "It makes no difference. The visitor probably sprayed your back door."
"What! I won't stand for that!" Qwilleran stormed into the phone. "Isn't there some kind of protection against marauding animals, invading and vandalizing private property - an ordinance or whatever?"
"I don't think so. Do you have any idea where he lives?"
"When I chased him, he headed for the attorney's house next door. Well, thanks, Lori. Sorry to bother you. I'll see my own attorney about this tomorrow."
Blowing angrily into his moustache, Qwilleran strode through the main hall and glared out the front window, where autumn leaves smothered sidewalks, lawns, pavement, and the median. Then, smashing his fist in the palm of his hand, he returned to the library and phoned Osmond Hasselrich of Hasselrich Bennett & Barter. Only someone with the nerve of a veteran journalist would call the senior partner at home during the dinner hour, and only someone with Qwilleran's bankroll could get away with it. The elderly lawyer listened courteously as Qwilleran made his request concisely and firmly. "I want an appointment for tomorrow afternoon, Mr. Hasselrich, and I want to consult you personally. It's a matter of the utmost secrecy."
-4-
WHILE WAITING FOR his Wednesday afternoon appointment with Mr. Hasselrich, Qwilleran tuned in the WPKX weather report several times, hoping for an update -hoping to hear that dire atmospheric developments in the Yukon Territory or Hudson Bay would close in on Moose County, depositing eighteen inches of snow and closing the schools. No such luck! The meteorologist, who called himself Wetherby Goode, had a hearty, jovial manner that could make floods and tornadoes sound like fun, and on this occasion he was actually singing:
"Blow, blow, blow the leaves/ Gently in the street./ Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,/ Fall is such a treat!... Yes, folks, the mayor - who is running for re-election - has promised leaf pickup before Halloween. The vacuum truck will be operating east of Main Street on Friday and west of Main Street on Saturday. So lock up your cats and small dogs, folks!"