"The chief reason for this meeting, Mr. Qwilleran, is to discuss financial arrangements. Point One: Although the estate will not be settled for a year or more, we shall do everything in our power to expedite the probate. Meanwhile, our office will handle all expenses for household maintenance, employee wages, utilities, taxes, insurance, and the like. Invoices will come directly to us, obviating any inconvenience to you.
"Point Two: You have been good enough to sever ties with the Daily Fluxion and take up residence here immediately, and in so doing you have curtailed your income from that source. Accordingly we have arranged with the bank to provide a drawing account of several thousand a month until such time as the estate is settled — after which the monthly cash flow will be considerably greater. We can work out the terms of the drawing account with Mr. Fitch, the trust officer at the bank.
If you have need of a new car, he will arrange it. Is that agreeable, Mr. Qwilleran?" "It seems fair," he said casually.
"Point Three: Our office will arrange for landscape and maintenance services, but you will need a live-in housekeeper plus day help, and the choice of such personnel should be your own. Our secretary will be glad to send you applicants for these positions." Qwilleran sat facing the door, and he was surprised to see a cat walk past the library with perpendicular tail and purposeful step. Both animals had been penned in the kitchen, and yet Koko had easily opened a door and was exploring the premises.
"Point Four: The servants' quarters in the carriage house have been neglected and should be renovated — at the expense of the estate, of course. Would you be willing to work with our interior designer on the renovation?" "Uh… yes… that would be fine," said Qwilleran. He was taking a mental inventory of breakables in the house and expecting to hear a shattering crash at any moment.
"Do you have any questions, Mr. Qwilleran? Is there anything we can do for you?" "Yes, Miss Goodwinter," he said, wrenching his attention away from the impending catastrophe. "I would like to make my position clear. Point One: I have no desire for a lot of money. I don't want a yacht or private jet. I'm not interested in reading the fine print or watching the bottom line. All I wish is time to do some writing without too much interruption or annoyance." The attorney appeared cautiously incredulous.
"Point Two, Miss Goodwinter: When the estate is settled, I intend to establish a Klingenschoen Foundation to distribute the surplus income within Moose County. Organizations and individuals would be eligible to apply for grants, scholarships, business development loans — you know the kind of thing." "Oh, Mr. Qwilleran! How incredibly generous!" cried the attorney. "What a brilliant idea! I can hardly express what this will do for the morale and economic health of the county! And it will pacify the groups that had been promised bequests and then been disappointed. May we announce your proposal in the newspaper at once?" "Go ahead. I'll count on your office to work out the details. We might start with an Olympic-size swimming pool for the high school, and I know the marine history buffs want backing for an underwater preserve, and the public library hasn't had a new book since Gone with the Wind." "When Alex returns, your proposal will be the first item on our agenda. I'll telephone him in Washington tonight to break the good news." "That brings me to Point Three," Qwilleran said genially. "May I take you to lunch?" "Thank you, Mr. Qwilleran. I would enjoy it immensely, but unfortunately I have a previous luncheon engagement." The dimpling process had subsided abruptly.
"How about dinner some evening this week?" "I wish I could accept, but I'll be working late while Alex is out of town. Double work load, you know. Another time, perhaps." As she spoke, a snatch of music came from the drawing room — a few clear notes played on the antique piano.
"Who is that?" she inquired sharply.
"One of my feline companions," Qwilleran said with amusement. "That's just the white keys. Wait till he discovers the black ones." The attorney glanced at him askance. The sound had not surprised Qwilleran. He knew that Koko would never jump on the keyboard with a discordant crash. That approach was for ordinary cats. No, Koko would stand on his hind legs on the piano bench and stretch to reach the keys, pressing a few of them experimentally with a slender velvet paw. Having satisfied his curiosity, he would jump down and go on to his next investigation.
What Koko had played was a descending progression of four notes: G, C, E, G. Qwilleran knew the notes of the scale. As a boy he had practiced piano when he would have preferred batting practice. Now he recognized the tune as the opening phrase of "A Bicycle Built for Two." "That piano rendition leads me to Point Four," he said to the attorney. "The doors in this house are so old that they don't latch securely. I'd like to be able to confine the Siamese to the kitchen on occasion." "No problem at all, Mr. Qwilleran," she said. "We'll send Birch Trevelyan to do the necessary repairs. You will find him an excellent workman, but you must be patient. He would rather go fishing than work." "Another thing, Miss Goodwinter. I know Pickax considers it unfriendly to lock the back door, but this house is filled with valuables. Now that tourists are coming up here from Down Below, you never know who will prowl around and get ideas. You people in the country are entirely too trusting. The back door here has a lock but no key." "A new lock should be installed," she said. "Discuss it with Birch Trevelyan. Feel free to ask him about any problem that arises." Later Qwilleran wondered about her real reason for declining to dine. Most young women welcomed his invitations.
He preened his moustache at the recollection of past successes. Was Penelope maintaining professional distance from a client? His doctor was eager for his invitations; why not his attorney? He also wondered why she flicked her tongue across her lips whenever she mentioned Birch what's-his-name.
After she left, he found Koko in the dining room, sniffing the rabbits and pheasants carved in deep relief on the doors of the huge sideboard. Yum Yum had crept cautiously from the kitchen and was exploring the solarium with its small forest of rubber plants, cushioned wicker chairs, and panoramic view of birdlife.
Qwilleran himself went to inspect the fieldstone building that had once stabled horses and housed carriages. Now there were stalls for four automobiles. Besides his own small car and the Klingenschoen limousine there was a rusty bicycle with two flat tires, and there was a collection of garden implements completely foreign to an apartment dweller from the Concrete Belt.
Climbing the stairs to the loft, he found two apartments. In the days when servants were plentiful, these rooms would have been occupied by two couples-perhaps butler and cook, housekeeper and chauffeur. In the first apartment the drab walls and shabby furniture made a sorry contrast with the grandeur of the main house… But the second apartment!
The second apartment burst upon the senses like an explosion. The walls and ceiling were covered with graffiti in every color available in a spray can. Giant flowers that looked like daisies were sprayed on every surface, intertwined with hearts, initials, and references to "LUV." There was so much personality expressed in this tawdry room that Qwilleran half expected to meet the former occupant coming out of the shower. What would she look like? "Dizzy blonde" was the phrase that came instantly to mind, but he dismissed it as archaic. No doubt she dyed her hair green and wore hard-edge makeup. On second thought, it was difficult to imagine green hair in Pickax, and certainly not on a housemaid at the K mansion.
How could anyone live in such a cocoon of wild pattern? Still, there was artistry in its execution. The motifs were organized as thoughtfully as a paisley shawl or Oriental rug.