The Exbridge & Cobb antique shop on Main Street was a class act. The clean windows, the gold lettering on the glass, the polished mahogany and brass on display - all sparkled in the afternoon sun, thanks to the ministrations of Mr. O'Dell and Mrs. Fulgrove.
When Qwilleran walked in, Susan turned, expecting a customer, but the proprietorial smile turned to dismay when she saw him. "Oh, Qwill!" she agonized. "Have you heard the news? They're hunting for Dennis, and he's gone!"
"Don't be alarmed," he said with diminished confidence. "He's on his way Down Below to see his family. I saw you two leaving the party together. What happened after that, if you don't mind my asking?"
"He walked me to my car, which was at the far end of the lane, and then returned to his van. He didn't say a word about going to St. Louis."
"Will you take offense if I ask you something personal?"
"We-e-ell..." she hesitated.
"What were you and Dennis giggling about when you left the barn?"
"Giggling?"
"You were enjoying some private joke. I'm not prying into your affairs, but it might give a clue to his next move."
"Oh," she said, recollecting the episode. "It was nothing. It was about one of the Old Lady's lines to Anne Boleyn. She says, And you, a very fresh fish, have your mouth filled before you open it. On the last night, I said it with a certain significant emphasis. Someone in the audience guffawed, and Fran glared at me murderously. I'd give anything to know who laughed."
"Hmff," Qwilleran said. "I didn't come here to quiz you, Susan. I came to ask about the Barn Tour. Is everything under control?"
"There's one problem, Qwill. Dennis was going to give me some facts about the remodeling, to help the guides answer questions. What shall we do?"
"I'll type something out for you. Who are the guides?"
"Members of the library board and a few volunteers."
"How many visitors do you expect?"
"We've printed five hundred tickets, and they're selling well. The ad runs tomorrow, and we're taking a few radio spots."
"I'm leaving town Friday for the weekend. Why don't you come over Thursday morning before you open your shop? You can pick up the key to the barn and see that everything's in order. And don't worry about Dennis, Susan. I'm confident that it'll straighten out alright."
Qwilleran believed what he was saying, more or less, until he later met Hixie Rice coming out of the bank. "I've been trying to reach you, Qwill!" she cried. "I was in Mooseville this morning, calling on customers, and I saw Dennis's van! I was driving east on the lakeshore road. He was just ahead of me, and he turned into your property. "Don't you have a letter K on a post at the entrance to your log cabin?"
Qwilleran nodded solemnly. "When he made the left turn, I saw him clearly, hunched over the steering wheel. He looked ghastly! Does he have a key to your cabin?"
"No, he returned it. I let him use the cabin last month when he was rehearsing. He wanted to learn his lines while walking on the secluded beach."
"What should we do?"
"I'll drive out there to see what's happening."
"Be careful, Qwill," she warned. "If he's cracked up - and if he has a gun - and if he's killed once - "
"Dennis doesn't own a gun, Hixie. In fact, he's anti-gun. But something's happened to him. I'll get my car and drive out to Mooseville."
"I'll drive you. My car's right here. I hope you don't mind riding in a piece of junk; it's a loaner."
The route to Mooseville, thirty miles away, was fairly straight, and they far exceeded the speed limit. There was little traffic at this time of year - after the tourist season and before the hunting season. The highway passed through a desolate landscape ravaged by early lumbering and mining operations. Although the sun was shining, the scene was bleak, and so was the conversation.
Qwilleran said, "If he's in trouble, why didn't he confide in me? I thought we were good friends."
"Me too. I was thinking of quitting the Something and going into partnership with him. I could line up contracts and get publicity."
When they reached the lakeshore, the vacation cottages on the beach had an air of desertion. Qwilleran said, "It's around the next curve. Slow down."
"I'm getting nervous," said Hixie.
The letter K on a post marked the entrance to the Klingenschoen property, and the private drive led through patches of woods and over a succession of dunes until it emerged in a clearing.
"There's no one here!" Qwilleran said. "This is where he'd have to park."
They found tire tracks in the soft earth, however, and on the beach at the foot of the dune there were footprints. Sand and surf had not yet disguised the traces. The cabin itself, closed for the season, was undisturbed.
"If he's been on the run, he's been sleeping in his van," Qwilleran said. "How well do you know the manager at Indian Village?"
"We have a good rapport, and she's high on my Christmas list."
"Could you get the key to Dennis's apartment?"
"I could think of something... I could say that he's out of town and called me to send him papers from his desk."
"Good enough."
In Indian Village there were eight apartments in each two-story building, with a central hall serving them all. Hixie admitted Qwilleran into her own apartment and then went to see the manager. She returned with the key.
"It's my contention," Qwilleran told her, "that Dennis returned from the party early Sunday morning and either found a message on his answering machine or found something in his Saturday mail that caused him to take off in a hurry. It would have to be serious business to make him hide out in his van - a threat perhaps."
Entering Dennis's apartment with caution and stealth, they went directly to the desk. It was cluttered with papers in connection with the barn remodeling. There was a pink or yellow order form for every can of paint and every pound of nails that went into the job. The only sign of recent mail delivery was an unopened telephone bill. Then Qwilleran pressed the button of the answering machine.
When he heard the first message, he reached for the pocket-size recorder that was always in his jacket along with his keys.
"We've got to tape this," he said. "I want to play it for Brodie. But don't say a word about this to anyone, Hixie. Let's get back to town."
Hixie drove to the theatre parking lot, and Qwilleran walked the rest of the way home - through the iron gate, through the woods. Approaching the barn, he could see a van parked at the back door- Dennis's van - and he quickened his step, torn between relief and apprehension.
The back door was unlocked, as he expected; Dennis knew where to find the key. Walking into the kitchen Qwilleran shouted a cheerful, "Hello! Anybody here?" The only response was a wild shrieking and gutteral howling from the top balcony. He had locked the Siamese in their loft that morning, troubled as he was by his gnawing sense of foreboding. The cacophony from the loft made his blood run cold, and an awareness of death made him catch his breath. He moved toward the center of the building and slowly, systematically, surveyed the cavernous interior.
The afternoon sun was slanting through the high windows on the west, making triangles on the rugs, walls, and white fireplace cube, and across one triangle of sunlight there was a vertical shadow - the shadow of a body hanging from a beam overhead.
-6-
Dennis Hough - creator of the spectacular barn renovation and darling of the Theatre Club - had let himself into the apple barn Tuesday afternoon, using the hidden key. Then he climbed to the upper balcony, threw a rope over a beam, and jumped from the railing.
Brodie himself responded when Qwilleran made his grisly discovery and called the police. The chief strode into the barn saying, "What did I tell you? What did I tell you? This is the man who killed VanBrook. He couldn't live with himself!"