Qwilleran pulled up a chair, characteristically of varnished oak and hard-seated.
"He's a handsome cat with an insatiable appetite. In another few years, I estimate, he'll be the size of a small pony."
"His mother and siblings are the same way, and yet they never put on weight. I wish I knew their secret. Are you down for the 'chase?"
"Yes, it's my first venture. I'm staying with the Bushlands."
"That should be pleasant. Bushy was the official photographer at my son's wedding. You should have come down with Polly. Everyone had a wonderful time. I've just received the album of wedding pictures. Would you like to see them?"
"Yes, I would," he said with convincing sincerity, although wedding pictures were second only to weddings on his list of things to avoid.
Mrs. Corcoran opened the album to a portrait of the happy couple at the altar, after the vows. "These are the kids, Donald and Heidi. Doesn't he look handsome? He's just out of law school and he has a position with Summers, Bent & Frickle. Heidi is a lovely girl, a dietician. Her father is a stockbroker and her mother is a psychiatrist. They go to our church.... And here they are with both sets of proud parents... And here are the attendants. The maid of honor caught the bouquet..."
Qwilleran murmured appropriate remarks as he politely viewed the candid shots of wedding guests: "Here's someone I know," he said, pointing to a man with ashen hair. "He's a reporter at the Moose County Something."
"Yes. Dave Landrum. One of Donald's golfing friends," she said.
And then Qwilleran caught a glimpse of Polly. She was wearing an electric blue dress he had never seen before, and she was dancing with a man who wore a red beard. She was looking entirely too happy. She had probably been imbibing champagne instead of her usual thimbleful of sherry. As the pages of the album turned, he watched with more interest. There she was again! This time she was sitting at a table with the same bearded man and having an animated conversation. He was wearing a green plaid sports coat that seemed inappropriate at a wedding reception.
"Who is the fellow with the beard?" Qwilleran asked casually, adding untruthfully, "He looks familiar."
"Oh, he's one of Donald's horsey friends," the librarian said. "I can't remember them all. Perhaps you noticed the beautiful horse farms on your way down here."
"Did the wedding festivities continue at the Palomino Paddock Sunday noon?" Qwilleran asked innocently.
"Heavens, no! We were all exhausted. The kids left on their honeymoon at nine o'clock, and the rest of us carried on like blithering fools until the bar closed. I'm glad I have no more offspring to marry off!"
Qwilleran said, "As a quiet change of pace perhaps you and Mr. Corcoran would drive up to Pickax and have dinner with Polly and me - some weekend when the autumn color is at its height."
"We'd be delighted! Polly has told us about your apple barn, and I'd love to see how my little Bootsie has grown. Do you think he'll remember me?"
Qwilleran walked back up the hill without noticing the architectural splendors of Main Street. He was thinking about the man with the red beard and plaid coat. Had he also taken Polly to Sunday brunch at the Paddock? Was he the mysterious Monday morning caller who phoned her office and gave her a guilty thrill? It was not that Qwilleran felt any jealousy; he was merely curious. Polly had conservative tastes, and here was the type she would keep at arm's length: bearded, flashily dressed, and... horsey!
Arriving at the Bushland house he met the photographer coming out of his darkroom.
"What d'you think of our town?" Bushy asked.
"Looks like a thriving community." "It's extra busy today - everybody getting ready for the 'chase."
"How much time do I have to clean up? I stopped at Cuttlebrink's on the way down, and I feel as if the dust of ages has settled on my person."
"I know what you mean. No hurry. People aren't coming till six, and you don't have to dress up. We've asked Kip and Moira MacDiarmid - he's editor of the Logger - and Vicki invited Fiona Stucker, the one who went up to Pickax to act in your play."
Qwilleran's moustache bristled with interest. "She did an excellent job," he said, "and I'll look forward to telling her so."
As he walked up the wide staircase to the second floor, he wondered what surprises the Siamese had devised for him. He was sure of one thing: They would have found their blue cushion on the chaise and would be taking their ease like visiting royalty.
That proved to be not quite true. They had come out of hiding, and their attitude was regal and aloof, but they were lounging in the middle of the canopy bed. It was remarkable how they always took possession of the best chair, the softest cushion, the warmest lap, and the exact center of a bed. Lori Bamba had told him that a person or object has an aura or field of energy, some more and some less. A cat, detecting the difference, moves in to take advantage of the vibrations. Lori had an explanation for everything.
As Qwilleran walked to the closet, stripping off his sweater, he stepped on something small and hard. Not completely hard. In fact, slightly squashy. He hesitated to look down, fearing what might be under his foot - a reaction based on past experience. Much to his relief it roved to be a jelly bean - a red one. There were fang larks in it. He should have known better than to leave the candy dish uncovered. Koko liked to sink his fangs in anything gummy or chewy. Checking the candy dish Qwilleran found that all the red jelly beans had been eliminated, and he found them scattered about the floor, camouflaged by the red Orientals. Something was at work in Koko's mind, although his intention was not clear. The Siamese watched from the bed as the man crawled about the room on his hands and knees. They watched the performance as if it were a freak show.
"You're the freaks in this family!" he scolded them. " "I should have left you at home."
After hiding the candy in the top drawer of the highboy, e showered and dressed and spent some time with his few book on horsemanship. Always thirsty for knowledge n any subject, he learned for the first time in his life the location of a horse's withers. He discovered that a horse as no collarbone, and a "stud" is an establishment where horses are bred. He looked at pictures of the Arabian, the Morgan, the Andalusian, the Pinto, and his favorite, the Clydesdale. Finally, at six o'clock he opened a can of crabmeat for the Siamese and walked downstairs to the foyer that was ablaze with jewel- toned sunlight pouring trough stained- glass windows.
The front parlor with its marble fireplace and sumptuous Victorian furnishings was stiffly formal. Bushy used it as a studio for posing brides and family groups in quaint settings. Now the photographer was in the back parlor preparing to mix drinks, and Vicki was in the adjoining dining room, putting finishing touches on the table.
"I'd like to ask one question," Qwilleran asked. "Why did the founding fathers build such large houses?"
"For one thing," Bushy said, "lumber was plentiful and labor was cheap."
"And they had lots of kids," Vicki added. "Usually there was at least one unmarried sister or widowed aunt or destitute cousin living with them. Also, when guests came for a visit, they stayed at least a month, because it took a week to get here by stagecoach and sailing ship. There were plenty of servants in those days."
"How are the cats doing?" Bushy asked.
"They've commandeered the bed, and I may have to spend the night on the window seat."
Vicki said, "Grummy is looking forward so much to meeting you, Qwill. She's a sweet old lady, just turned eighty-eight. When my parents retired to Arizona for Dad's health, Grummy deeded this house to Bushy and me, with no strings attached."
"How do you take care of such a big place?"
"I have part-time help. Once upon a time they had a housekeeper, cook, two maids, houseman, gardener, and a driver to take care of the horses and drive the family to church in the carriage."