Qwilleran had left his old watch and some loose change on the dresser in the bunkroom, and they were still there. He shrugged.
When he called to his friends, Yum Yum came running from the guest room, but Koko was too busily engaged to respond. He was perched on the moose head, fussing and talking to himself in small musical grunts that originated deep in his snowy chest.
"What are you doing up there?" Qwilleran demanded.
Koko was shifting position on the antlers, standing on his hind legs and reaching up with a front paw as if searching for a toehold. The moose head was mounted on a varnished wooden plaque that was hung 'on the uneven log wall. Koko was trying to thrust his paw into one of the crevices behind the plaque. After some experimental footwork he finally braced himself well enough to reach the aperture. His paw ventured warily into the opening. Something rattled inside. Koko tried harder, stretched longer, still muttering to himself.
Qwilleran walked closer, and when the prize fell out of the crevice and bounced off the antler, he caught it. "What's this? A cassette!" It was a blank tape that had been used for home-recording. Side A was inscribed 1930 Favorites in what appeared to be Aunt Fanny's handwriting. Side B was labeled More 1930 Favorites. There was no dust on the clear plastic case.
Qwilleran took the cassette to the stereo and removed the Brahms concerto that had been in the player ever since he arrived. "Wait a minute," he said aloud. "This is not the way I left it." The cassette had been reversed, and the flip side, offering Beethoven, was faceup.
Koko's trophy produced bouncy music: renditions of My Blue Heaven, Exactly Like You, and others of the period, all with the dubious fidelity of old 78s. It was a strange collection to hide behind a moose head.
Qwilleran finished listening to Side A and then flipped it over. There was more of the same. Then half- way through Little White Lies a voice interrupted — an unprofessional voice — an ordinary man's voice, but forceful. After a brief and surprising message, the music resumed. He rewound the cassette and played it again.
The demanding voice cut in: "Now hear this, my friend. You get busy or you'll be sorry! You know what I'll do! You gotta bring up more stuff. I can't payoff if you don't come up with the loot. And we've gotta make some changes. Things are gettin' hot. You come and see me Saturday, you hear? I'll be at the boat dock after supper." The tape had been used recently. It was only the day before that Koko had stepped on the buttons and played the Brahms. Someone had been there in the meantime and had either taped the message or listened to it, afterwards replacing the Brahms concerto upside- down. Someone had also stolen a gold watch and a gold pen, but that had happened earlier.
Unidentified visitors were walking in and out of the cabin in the casual way that Aunt Fanny found so neighborly.
Someone had undoubtedly climbed on a bar stool to reach the moose head, and Qwilleran checked the four pine stools for footprints, but the varnished surfaces were clean.
Koko was watching intently as Qwilleran tucked the cassette into a dresser drawer.
"Koko," the man said, I don't like this open-door policy. People are using the place like a bus terminal. We've got to find a locksmith… And if you are ever in danger, or if Yum Yum is in danger you know what to do." Koko blinked his eyes slowly and wisely.
6
Mooseville, Friday
Dear Arch, I'm too tight to buy you an anniversary card, but here's wishing you and your beautiful bride a happy twenty-fourth and many more to come. It seems only yesterday that you dropped the wedding ring and I lost your honeymoon tickets.
Well, since coming to Mooseville I've discovered that all civilization is divided into two parts: Up Here and Down Below. We have friendly people up here who read the Fluxion — also mysterious incidents that they try to cover up.
Yesterday I went fishing and hooked something that looked like a human body.
When I reported it to the sheriff's office, no one seemed particularly concerned. I know it wasn't an accidental drowning. I have reason to believe it was homicide — manslaughter at least. I keep wondering: Who was that guy in the lake? Why was he there? Who tossed him in?
I got into some poison ivy, but I'm okay now. And early this morning I thought someone was stealing my tires, but it was a seagull making a noise like a car-jack.
The eateries up here are so-so. For a restaurant reviewer it's like being sent to Siberia.
Qwill P.S. Koko has some new tricks-answering the phone and playing the stereo. In a few years he'll be working for NASA.
The fog was lifting. From the windows of the cabin it was possible to see nearby trees and the burial place of the septic tank. Although Old Sam had filled the depression and leveled it neatly, the cats had resumed their previous occupation of staring in that direction.
When the telephone rang on Friday morning Koko leaped from the windowsill and raced to the bar. Qwilleran was close behind but not fast enough to prevent him from dislodging the receiver. It fell to the bar top with a crash.
The man seized it. "Hello? Hello?" "Oh, there you are," said the gravel voice from Pickax. "I was worried about you, dear. I called yesterday and the phone made the most unusual noises. When I called back I got a busy signal. I finally told the operator to cut in, and she said the phone was off the hook, so I sent Tom out there to investigate. He said the receiver was lying on the bar — and no one was home. You should be more careful, dear. I suppose you're pre- occupied with your book. How is it progressing? Are you still…" "Aunt Fanny!" "Yes, dear?" "I spent the day in town. and my cat knocked the receiver off. It's a bad habit he's developed. I'm sorry about it. I'll start keeping the phone in the kitchen cupboard. if the cord will reach." "Be sure to close the windows whenever you go out, dear. A squall can come up suddenly and deluge the place. How many chapters of the book have you written? Do you know when it will be published? Tom says the big jack pine has been cut down. He'll be out there tomorrow with a log-splitter. Have you noticed the canoe under the porch? The paddles are in the toolshed. Don't go out in rough weather, dear, and be sure to stay close to shore.
Now I won't talk any more because I know you want to get back to your writing. Some day you can write my life story, and we'll both make a fortune."
Wearing his orange cap, of which he was getting inordinately fond, Qwilleran drove to Mooseville to mail the letter to Arch. At the post office he sniffed warily but detected only fresh floor wax.
His next stop was the Cannery Mall, where he decided the aroma of smoked fish was not entirely unpleasant after all. At the medical clinic the young doctor was sitting at the reception desk, reading a gourmet magazine. He was right about her green eyes; they sparkled with youth and health and humor.
"Remember me?" he began, doffing his cap. "I'm the patient with the Cemetery Syndrome." "Glad to see you're not as grouchy as you were yesterday." "The shot took effect immediately. Do you get many cases like mine?" "Oh, yes," she said. "Ivy poisoning, second-degree sunburn, infected heel blisters, rabid squirrel bites — all the usual vacation delights." "Any drownings?" "The police emergency squad takes care of those. I hope you're not planning to fall in the lake. It's so cold that anyone who falls overboard goes down once and never comes up.