Qwilleran asked casually, "I imagine you and your husband were shocked by Hawkinfield's murder. Where were you when you heard the news?"
"Let me see ... It was Father's Day. I gave Wilson a present and took him to dinner at the golf club. As soon as we walked into the dining room, the hostess broke the news, and we were so distressed we turned around and went home. J.J. had been my employer and friend for twenty-five years, and he was so good to Wilson after we were married!" Ms. Wix removed her hat and mopped her brow with a tissue. "Wilson was one of the pallbearers, and he was supposed to be a state's witness at the trial, but before he could testify, he collapsedright there in the courtroomand died on the way to the hospital."
"Were you there?"
"No. It was all over by the time they notified me. A terrible shock! I was under a doctor's care for three days." She was now fanning herself with a brochure from her handbag.
"You say Wilson was supposed to testify for the prosecution. Do you know the nature of his testimony?"
"I think it was about death threats," she said, gasping a little. "I'm not sure. He didn't want to talk about it. It was all very upsetting to both of us."
"You mean threats that Forest Beechum had made?"
"I think so ... yes ... I didn't want to know about it."
"You don't know if they were verbal or written?"
"May I have a glass of water . . . cold?"
While Qwilleran was adding ice cubes to the glass, the Siamese, who had finished napping upstairs, sauntered into the kitchen in search of crumbs. Moving in a ballet of undulating bodies and inter-twining tails, they performed their complex choreography around chair legs and table legs.
"You have . . . three of them?" she asked between sips of water.
"Only two, Koko and Yum Yum."
"I believe . . . I'm seeing double," she said.
"Does the cold water help?" he asked anxiously.
"This coffee ... I'd better go home." She stood up and quickly sat down again, her face alarmingly flushed. There were droplets of moisture on her brow and chin.
"Are you sure you're all right? Do you want to lie down? Try eating a cookie."
"Just let me ... get a breath of fresh air," she said. "Where's my hat?" She clapped it on her head at a careless angle, and he assisted her from the kitchen to the veranda as well as he could, considering his own unstable condition. What could he do? To drive her home would be an impossibility. She might have to stay. He might have to call a doctor.
Slowly they moved around the long veranda, Qwilleran limping and leaning on his staff, Vonda walking unsteadily and leaning on Qwilleran. In the past he had served liquor to guests who had shown an adverse reaction, but this was the first time it had happened with coffee. He should have served her fruit juice.
By the time they arrived at the front of the house and at the top of the twenty-five steps, Ms. Wix was breathing normally. Her flush had faded, and she seemed to be in control, even to the extent of straightening her hat.
"I'm all right now," she said, inhaling deeply. "Forgive me for my little spell of nerves."
"No need to apologize," he said. "It was my fault for serving such strong coffee. Are you sure you can drive?" She was searching for car keys in her handbag.
"Oh, yes, I'm perfectly all right now, and I know this road very well."
He watched her drive away. It had stopped raining, and she had forgotten her umbrellaher scarf, too, he later discovered. Returning them would be a good opportunity to ask a few more questions, he thought as he massaged his moustache.
Qwilleran sequestered the cats in the kitchen in preparation for the doctor's visit. Otherwise they would sense the hospital connection and go flying to the farthest corner of the house. As he climbed upstairs awkwardly to shave and dress, he wondered which of the two doctors would respond. He rather hoped for Inez; a woman might have a more comforting way with the sensitive and high-strung Yum Yum. He also wondered if he should consider reducing his consumption of coffee. Polly had urged him to temper its potency, but the sudden demise of Wilson Wix brought the message home.
It was John Wickes who arrived at five-fifteen, a serious-looking man with large eyeglasses and a thoughtful way of speaking. "Having a little trouble?" he asked soothingly.
Qwilleran described Yum Yum's latest aberration.
"Where is she?"
"They're both locked up in the kitchen. Follow me."
They found the Siamese on the kitchen table, guarding the remains of the Chocolate Whoppersa mound of nuts and chocolate bits. Everything else had been devoured.
When the little black bag appeared, however, Yum Yum rose vertically in space and landed on top of a kitchen cabinet. Koko, knowing instinctively that the thermometer and needle were not for him, moved not a whisker.
"Leave her alone," Wickes said quietly. "She'll come down when she's ready."
"Then pull up a chair and let's have some five o'clock refreshment," Qwilleran suggested. "Whiskey? Wine?"
"A little scotch, I think. It's been a busy day: vacationers walking in with sick cats and dogs, the usual patients for vaccinations, ear crops, spaying, etc. . . . plus surgical emergencies. Inez did a caesarean on a pregnant cat today, and I had to do a sex change on a male because of blockage. So ... yes, I'll have a little scotchagainst the weather."
"Do you always have this much rain in the Potatoes?"
"No, it's very unusual and a little frightening," the doctor said, maintaining his unruffled tone of voice. "The river is running so high we've had to sandbag the clinic property, and here on the mountain I'm worried about Lake Batata. It was man-made by damming the Batata Falls, and if the heavy downpour continues, it could burst its bounds and flood the mountainside. Inez and I are ready to evacuate if necessary."
His matter-of-fact comment led Qwilleran to ask, "Are you serious about this, John?"
"Dead serious."
"Who converted the waterfall into a lake?"
"Hawkinfield, about ten or fifteen years ago."
"Did he get permission?"
"I doubt whether he thought it necessary."
"How well did you know him?"
"I bought my lot from him and took care of his dogs. Beyond that I didn't care to go."
Qwilleran said, "I suppose Lucy was one of them."
"The Doberman? She was the last of his dogs. Has she been hanging around?"
"Once she brought me home when I was lost in the woods, for which I was grateful, and another time she came begging for food, although she's as big as a barrel."
"Lucy was always obese. 1 tried to convince Hawkin-field that he was hurting his dog by overfeeding, but it was useless to try to tell him anything, and it was never wise to oppose him too strongly. He had ways of retaliating."
"Where were you and Inez when you heard about the murder?"
"Where were we?" he mused. "We were spending Father's Day in the valley with our sons and their families. Someone phoned us the news, and it wasn't greeted with much sorrow. John Jr. is the gadfly on the board of education, and my younger son runs the county animal shelter. Hawkinfield persecuted both of them in editorials because they wouldn't dance to his tune. The man was unhinged, but he had power. That's the worst kind."
"I assume you'jre a native Spud," Qwilleran said.
"I was born in the valley, but we were all Taters originally. My forebears drifted down out of the mountains and adapted to valley environmentand valley mentality." He drained his glass.
Since Yum Yum showed no intention of deserting her perch, Qwilleran poured again. "Vonda Wix gave me a brief rundown on the genealogy of your family."
"Yes, no matter how you spell it, we all stem from a prolific old stud in the fifteenth century. One of his de-scendents settled here in the early nineteenth and operated a grist mill, chiefly to grind corn for the moonshiners. Making homemade whiskey was traditional among the pioneers as part of family medicine, you know. There's still a little 'midnight farming' being done on Little Potato."