The other guests were sent back to bed, but Qwilleran stayed and helped serve coffee and sandwiches to the sooty-faced volunteers, who reported to the inn in shifts to take a breather. Some would stay on duty all night, watching for hot spots. He talked to the chief and then phoned the night desk of the Moose County Something.
"Reporting fire at Pear Island resort. Discovered at one-fifty-five A.M. Confined to one cottage at Domino Inn on West Beach Road. Occupant removed by volunteer rescue squad and airlifted to mainland. Check Pickax hospital for condition. Adult female. Check sheriff for release of name. Got it? ... Ten volunteer firefighters, one tanker, and one pumper responded. No injuries. Water pumped from lake. Calm atmosphere averted forest fire and damage to other buildings. Probable cause of fire: smoking in bed, according to fire chief. Got it? ... Okay, now listen here: If the victim dies, police will withhold her name temporarily, but I can tell you that she was Dr. June Halliburton, head of music for Moose County schools. Check Lyle Compton for bio. She was also summer director of entertainment for the Pear Island Hotel. Check Don Exbridge of XYZ Enterprises for comments ... Okay?"
As he hung up, Qwilleran said to himself, Lyle will be shocked! So will Dwight. So will the Rikers. And there goes Derek's job as assistant directorif such a job ever existed.
Lori was finally persuaded to get some rest, but Qwilleran was still manning the coffeemaker at six A.M., when the news was broadcast by WPKX:
"A fire in a cottage on Pear Island claimed the life of one person early this morning. Volunteer firefighters responded to the alarm and were able to contain the blaze that originated in a smoldering mattress. Cause of death was asphyxiation resulting from smoke inhalation. The victim, an adult female from the Pickax area, was airlifted from the island by sheriff's helicopter but was dead on arrival at Pickax General Hospital. The name is withheld pending notification of relatives."
After a few hours of sleep Qwilleran was roused by the yowling of two Siamese, who wanted their breakfast, fire or no fire. He ventured down the lane and salvaged a can of red salmon from Four Pips. The family in Two Pips was packing up and leaving, and most of the guests in the inn were checking out. They said the continuous thunder made them nervous. According to weather reports, the storm would reach Moose County and environs in twenty-four hours.
A pale and weary Lori was serving scrambled eggs and toast, that was all, and when Qwilleran inquired about Nick, she said, "He took the kids and cats to the mainland at eight o'clock this morning. He's dropping them at his mother's housenine cats, including the new kittens. Then he'll come right back. There's a lot of cleanup to do, as well as securing everything against the storm. High winds and thunderstorms are predicted. That means shuttering windows and removing anything that could blow away."
"I'll help, if someone will tell me what to do."
"First, you might bring all your belongings from Four Pips," she said. "And now that our cats have gone, yours can have the run of the inn."
"But not until I can supervise them," Qwilleran stipulated.
There was no fire damage at Four Pips, but the acrid smell of smoke and a mustiness from the drenching of the roof had permeated everything, including his clothing. Once more he bundled shirts, pants, and socks into pillow cases and carried them to the Vacation Helpers.
Wordlessly he tossed the bundles on the reception table.
"Oh, no! Not again!" said Shelley.
"How fast can you have it ready?"
"Two hours. Is it smoke damage? I heard about the fire. Too bad about the woman who died. Did you know her? Was she young?" In a high state of excitement induced by the approaching storm, Shelley talked nonstop, asking questions without waiting for answers. "Did you hear the storm warning on the radio? Did you see the ladders out in front? Some of our roomers are shuttering the windows. Mr. Ex wants all hotel employees to leave the island, but some of us are going to ride it out. We'll have plenty of beer and meatloaf sandwiches, and we'll have a ball! They predict gale winds or worse, but this building is good and solid. If there's high water, it'll be bad for the hotel. We're on a higher elevation, so I don't worry, do you? Have you ever gone through a hurricane?"
On the way out, Qwilleran encountered Derek Cuttle-brink, leaving with a duffelbag, and he asked the young man, "Are you one of the rats deserting a sinking ship?"
"Yeah ... well ... I'm laid offfor how long, I don't knowso I might as well go home and see my girl. How d'you like this thunder? It hasn't stopped since yesterday noon. It spooks me!"
"The ancient gods of the island are having a bowling tournament," Qwilleran said, adding in a lower voice, "Did Merrio come up with any more information? Let's walk down to the beach."
They sat on the steps leading down to the abandoned beach, and Derek said, "I don't know if this has anything to do with the Chicken Stink or not. That's what they call the food poisoning behind the chef's back," he explained with a grin. "But here goes: The hotel doesn't buy all its food from the mainland. Some of the islanders bring the chef fresh fish, goat cheese, and rabbit, but no chicken."
"Do they simply walk into the kitchen and peddle their goods?"
"They used to, but now the back door is kept locked, and vendors have to be on the chef's list. But when the hotel first opened, Merrio remembers a man who used to bring fresh herbs to sell. The chef was glad to get them. He's French, you know, and they always make a big thing of fresh herbs. Fresh or dry, I don't see that it makes any difference."
A connection flashed across Qwilleran's mind: Does the chef know Noisette? Are they a couple? Is that why she's here? Is that why she has a suite at a secluded inn? Is the chef paying for it? Was it the chef drinking with her in the Buccaneer Den on Sunday night?
"So how'm I doin'?" Derek asked.
"Mission accomplished. Next assignment: Kamchatka." He handed Derek some folded bills. "Now you'd better get in line for the ferry."
Qwilleran helped Nick carry the hurricane shutters out of the basement, and then he helped carry the porch furniture indoors. By that time his laundry would be finished, and he walked up to Vacation Helpers. Shelley had two neat packages of folded clothing waiting for him, plus a foil-wrapped brick of something that looked all too familiar.
She said, "This is your Thursday meatloaf, just out of the oven. Would you like to take it with you? It may not be as good as before, because it's all-beef. Do you mind? Midge's regular recipe calls for two parts beef and one part rabbit, but she couldn't get any rabbit meat today."
"I can live with that," Qwilleran said agreeably.
He had a hunch, and it proved to be correct. As soon as he returned to" his suite at the inn, he gave the Siamese a taste of rabbitless meatloaf, and they gobbled it, yowling for more.
"Cats!" he said in exasperation. "Who can understand them?"
They were adjusting to their new environment readily. It was the bridal suite. The furniture was new, the chairs luxuriously cushiony, the colors soft. There was none of the overscaled, bargain-priced fabric that decorated the rest of the inn. There were too many knickknacks for Qwilleran's taste, and the pictures on the wall were Victorian Romantic; he removed two of them over the sofa and substituted the gilded leather masks. He had also brought the maroon velvet box from Four Pips.
"How would you guys like to play the numbers?" he asked.
Koko was in good form. The first dominoes he swished off the table spelled gale. Next came one of his favorites: lake, which could be shuffled to spell leak.