"Anyone hungry?" Lori asked.
It was sleep that everyone craved. The oil lamps were extinguished, and flashlights guided the survivors through the black rooms.
CHAPTER 18
No daylight filtered through the shuttered windows the day after the storm; even the Siamese didn't know it was breakfast time. Only the sound of the sheriff's helicopter assessing the damage and the sound of Nick removing shutters suggested that it was time to get up.
Lori offered Qwilleran hot coffee, cold cereal, and an orange from the fruit basket. "Look out the front door," she said. "You won't believe it."
The sun was shining; the flood waters were rapidly receding; and a workmanlike breeze was drying the drenched building and terrain.
"We were lucky." Lori said. "Wait'll you hear the eleven o'clock newscast!" The WPKX announcer said:
The worst storm in forty years has done its dirty work in Moose County. Beach homes and fisheries on the shore sustained minor damage, but the storm vented its greatest fury on the south end of Pear Island, commonly called Breakfast Island. The Pear Island Hotel was virtually leveled during the five-hour onslaught, which has been officially recorded as a northern hurricane. Winds up to a hundred miles an hour, plus a lake surge, made mincemeat of a structure that was completed less than two months ago. Uprooted trees of tremendous height fell on the flat-roofed building and adjoining strip malls. Sections of the boardwalk and piers were hurled into the wreckage. All personnel had been evacuated from the complex, and no casualties have been reported. The developers, XYZ Enterprises, could not be reached for comment at this hour, but observers estimate that the damage will be in the high millions. Elsewhere on the island, buildings that have survived almost a century of storms continued to withstand the elements with only minor damage.
Qwilleran asked Lori, "Has Ms. Cage been down?"
"No, but I took some tea upstairs. I was worried about her. She's so fragile for a young woman, and so thin! I'm a perfect fourteen, but she makes me feel fat. She's okay, but tired and a little stunned. Aren't we all? You can't use your shaver, Qwill, but you can take a pitcher of water upstairs for washing. I hear the cats yowling. Do you want to let them out?"
"Let them stay where they are. If I open the door, they'll stick their heads out, think about it for five minutes, and then go back in."
"I'll keep them company," said a small voice from the stairs. "We'll play dominoes." It was Liz, wearing another caftan.
Qwilleran helped Nick with the shutters and porch furniture, while Lori tackled the indoor cleanup as well as she could without water or electricity. Rain and sand had blown into the building through invisible cracks, along with black soot from the charred remains of Five Pips.
Nick said, "Did you hear about the hotel? That should tell you something about modern technology. They laugh at our four big tree trunks and birchbark siding, but we didn't blow away, did we? Sorry about the power and phones being out. If you want to go back to the mainland, say when. Any time."
"Well ..." said Qwilleran, thinking fast, "there's a lot of work here that I could help you with . .. and Polly's plane doesn't come in until tomorrow evening ... so why don't I stay until then? But you might ferry Ms. Cage over today. I'm sure she'd appreciate it. She's not accustomed to discomforts and inconveniences."
"Be glad to, and I can drive her to the airport, if she's flying out."
"Uh ... she hasn't quite decided. Just deliver her to the hotel in Mooseville. She can stay there a few days until she makes up her mind."
"Sure. Tell her to let me know when she wants to leave. Lori will be more comfortable, I know, if she doesn't have a guest to worry about while the place is such a mess."
Qwilleran found Liz on the porch, reading a book on the preservation of wetlands, and he was only too glad to relay Nick's offer.
"When are you leaving, Qwill?" she asked.
"Tomorrow evening."
"I'm in no hurry," she said. "Being here in the aftermath of a hurricane is rather exciting. I'd prefer to wait until tomorrow evening and save Mr. Bamba a trip. And since I'm going to Pickaxand you live thereperhaps you'll let me ride into the city with you."
"Well . . . yes ... of course," Qwilleran said, "but there's another consideration: It embarrasses Mrs. Bamba when she's unable to produce decent meals."
"Don't let her worry about that! I'm not particular about food. She's a lovely person, and I'm enjoying my stay. Koko and Yum Yum and I are quite compatible, and I'll keep them entertained while you're helping Mr. Bamba," Liz assured him.
She stayed. Qwilleran cleaned up the storm debris. Lori served canned beans and canned corned beef. Finally, at departure time on Friday, Qwilleran accompanied Liz to the Grand Island Club on foot, and they returned with a dogcart. The luggage was stowed in the dog box, and the two men and two cats perched high on the seat above, while Liz, wearing travel clothes and her Gauguin hat, took the driver's seat. At the last minute Lori ran out with a maroon velvet box. "A souvenir of your vacation, Qwill!"
Aboard the Double-Six it was a smooth voyage to the mainland on a lake that had been raging the previous night. At the municipal pier in Mooseville, Nick helped carry the luggage to Qwilleran's small four-door: two suitcases, typewriter, some cartons, the cat carrier, and the turkey roasterplus five pieces of luggage belonging to Liz. The uninvited guest was busy photographing the Double-Six and the seagulls on the waterfront.
"The cats and their commode go in the backseat," Qwilleran told Nick. Even so, the engineer's skill was required to fit everything into the trunk. Polly's luggage, they concluded, would have to go inside the car.
"Qwill, I don't know how to thank you," Nick said. "Sorry the weather was so lousy."
"I wish I could have come up with more answers, Nick, but I'm not through yet. I want to kick it around with Brodie when I get back to Pickax. I know you suspect troublemakers from Lockmaster, but I say the blame lies closer to home. Both the natives and the summer people resent the resort, and something tells me the crimes are being committed by a coalition. The sharpies from Down Below have the brains to organize a harassment campaign, and the islanders have the personnel to sneak around and poison the gumbo or plant a bomb. They're everywhere on the island, in low-level jobs where they can be virtually invisible."
"Gosh, you've really been thinking, Qwill."
"Tell you why I think the summer people are involved. They're angry enough to want to sue the resort, but it's a no-win case, and if they can't do it legally, they'll do it illegally. They're used to exercising their power, and they don't like to be thwarted." Qwilleran lowered his voice. "My immediate problem is: what to do with this woman!"
"Don't ask me. She's your woman!" Nick said with a grin.
"Like hell she is! She blew in with the hurricane, and I don't know what she expects ... Well, never mind, I'll figure something out."
The Double-Six chugged back to the island, and Qwilleran faced Liz squarely. "Are you sure you want to go to Pickax and not to this charming town of Mooseville with its quaint Northern Lights Hotel? There's a maritime museum and a mall in a fish cannery and a good little restaurant called the Nasty Pasty."
"No, I find Pickax City more appealing," she said.
Huffing unobtrusively into his moustache, Qwilleran opened the passenger door for her, "We have to stop at the airport to pick up my friend, who's coming in on the seven-thirty-five shuttle. And now that you're here, Liz, what are your plans?"