Finally No.9 whistled at the grade crossings of Sawdust City, and the historic ride ended with a great hissing of steam. The valets in red jumpsuits ran for the parked cars, and the passengers drove back to Pickax, Mooseville, West Middle Hummock, and Purple Point. Qwilleran drove Polly home to Goodwinter Boulevard, now cluttered with paving equipment, piles of lumber, and other signs of campus renovation.
Polly said, "This has been a delightful afternoon, dear."
"Glad you enjoyed it. You look particularly attractive today."
"Thank you. I'm feeling more relaxed now that work on the house has actually started. It bothers me, though, that I can't understand the architect's plans with their abbreviations and arcane symbols. I'd appreciate it if you'd come up and look at the blueprints."
When Qwilleran finally left Polly's apartment, it was eleven p.m. and time for the nightly news. He tuned in the car radio in time to hear the WPKX announcer say, "... paid $500 a ticket to ride behind the historic No.9 steam locomotive on the SC&L Line, netting the Moose County Community College more than $16,000 for scholarships. Popular-priced excursions on the new Party Train will be announced, according to spokesperson Dwight Somers.... In local baseball, Lockmaster walloped Pickax nine to four, with the Safecrackers hitting two homers, one with bases loaded.... Next, the weather, after this late bulletin from Sawdust City: A surprise move by the state banking commission has padlocked the Lumbertown Credit Union, pending a state audit. No further details are available at this time."
-4-
The morning after the train ride and the afterglow at Polly's apartment, nothing disturbed Qwilleran's deep sleep until the telephone rang at nine o'clock. He had slept through the yowling demands coming from the top balcony; he had slept through the rumble of the cement-mixing truck down the lane. He thought it was predawn when he said his sleepy hello into the bedside phone.
"What's the matter? Aren't you up yet?" Arch Riker shouted at him. "All hell's breaking loose! Didn't you hear the news from Sawdust City?"
"Only on the radio last night," Qwillcran replied with a lack of energy or interest. "Any more news?"
"Only that Floyd Trevelyan can't be reached for clarification. It sounds like a bust! It must be a major case to warrant surprise action like this - on a Sunday, for Pete's sake!"
Always grouchy before his first cup of coffee, Qwilleran replied with irritable sarcasm, "I can imagine a SWAT team of bookkeepers in business suits and knit ties, armed with portable computers, parachuting down on the Lumbertown office and kicking in the doors."
"You're not taking this seriously," the publisher rebuked him. "Consider the timing! It happened while the evening excursion was in progress. The Capitol gang evidently knew the schedule of the Party Train."
"Thanks to Dwight Somers's hype, everyone in three states knew the schedule."
"Anyway, we"ll soon find out what it's all about. Junior is contacting the state banking commission, and Roger's on his way to Sawdust City, via Trevelyan's home in West Middle Hummock. We'll have a story for the front page, and if my hunches are right, it'll bump the Party Train to page three.... Talk to you later."
Now that Qwilleran was awake, more or less, he pressed the Start button on the coffee maker and shuffled up the ramp to release the Siamese from their loft. As soon as he opened their door, they shot out of the room like feline cannonballs and streaked down to the kitchen. Qwilleran followed obediently.
"Yow-ow-ow!" Koko howled upon arriving at the feeding station and finding the plate empty.
"N-n-now!" echoed Yum Yum.
As Qwilleran opened a can of red salmon, crushed the bones with a fork, removed the black skin, and arranged it on two plates, he thought, Cats don't fight for their rights; they take them for granted. They have a right to be fed, watered, stroked on demand, and supplied with a lap and a clean commode... and if they don't get their rights, they quietly commit certain acts of civil disobedience.... Tyrants!
The two gobbling heads were so intent on their salmon that even the loud bell of the kitchen phone failed to disturb them.
This time the call was from Polly. "Qwill, did you hear about the state audit in Sawdust City? What do you think of the timing?"
"It looks fishy," he said, having gulped his first cup of coffee and geared up his usual cynicism. "Any crank can call the hotline to the state auditor's office and blow the whistle on a state- regulated institution. One of the universities was investigated for misuse of funds, you remember, and it was a false alarm - the work of an anonymous tipster. In Trevelyan's case, the tip could be a spiteful hoax perpetrated by a customer who was refused a loan."
"That's terrible!" she said.
"In a way," he said, "it's better to embarrass the management than to barge into the office with a semiautomatic and wipe out innocent depositors."
"Oh, Qwill! Things like that don't happen up here."
"Times are changing," he said ominously. There was a pause on the line before she said softly, "I slept beautifully last night. It was a wonderfully relaxing day and evening - just what I needed. I've been worrying too much about my house."
"No need to worry, Polly. I'll keep an eye on the action at the end of the trail - when I go down to the mailbox - and I'll keep you informed."
"Thank you, dear. A bient“t!"
"A bient“t."
Qwilleran poured another mug of the blockbuster brew he called coffee and sat down at the telephone desk to call a number in Indian Village. "Dwight, this is Qwill," he said soberly.
"Oh, God! Oh, God!" the publicity man wailed. "What the hell's going on? I didn't hear the news until this morning, on the air. I called Floyd's number in West Middle Hummock, but he wasn't home."
"Who answered?"
"His wife. She sounded as if she didn't know anything had happened, and I didn't want to be the messenger bringing bad news."
"I didn't meet his wife when I was there."
"She usually stays in her room, confined to a wheelchair. I don't know exactly what her problem is, but it's one of those new diseases with a multisyllabic name and no known cure. What a shame! All that money, and she can't enjoy it."
"Hmmm," Qwilleran murmured with a mixture of sympathy and curiosity. "So what happened? Could she tell you where he was or when he'd be back?"
"Well, she's quite frail and speaks in a weak voice that's hard to understand, but I gathered that he came home last night and went out again. Just between you and me, I think it's not unusual for him to stay out all night. Anyway, the nurse took the phone away from Mrs. T and told me not to upset her patient. So I asked to speak to the daughter, but she wasn't home either. The way it works: A nurse comes every morning, a companion every afternoon, and the daughter stays with her mother overnight."
"Sad situation," Qwilleran said. "Do you know anything about matters in Sawdust City?"
"No more than you do. You know, Qwill, I worked my tail off, getting that show on the road yesterday - "
"And you did a brilliant job, Dwight. Everything was perfectly coordinated."
"And then this bomb dropped! Talk about suspicious timing! It couldn't be purely coincidental."
"Is Floyd mixed up in politics?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Has he made any enemies in the state bureaucracy? Did he support the wrong candidate for the legislature?"
"Not that I know of. Maybe he distributed a little judicious graft here and there; he had no trouble getting a liquor license for the train, you know. But no. He's bored with politics. If it doesn't have steel wheels and run on steel tracks, he's not interested."