“That’s what I thought. I’ve always been curious about Delacamp’s cash transactions… Don’t forget: the genealogy club meets Wednesday night, and you’re invited.”
It was late evening the hour when Qwilleran had often phoned Andrew Brodie at home. The chief answered brusquely.
“It’s a long time between drinks, Andy, and I happen to have some double-malt.”
“Be right there.” A few minutes later he tramped into the barn, looking grouchy.
Qwilleran said with enthusiasm, “Andy, I saw the pibroch for the first time today, and I want to tell you it’s a transcendental experience!”
“Whatever that means.”
“You were superb! Polly was with me, and she said your performance put her under a spell.”
Brodie grunted. He was not accustomed to compliments.
“Was your wife there?”
“Nah. She’s seen it a hundred times.”
“How about your grandchildren?”
“Nah. They’re not into that stuff.”
“It must give you satisfaction to play music that gives people deep feelings.”
“Nah. It’s just something I do.” Brodie flung the suggestion away with an impatient gesture.
“Who was the man with a video recorder?”
“Some fella from the Scottish Museum in Lockmaster. Thinks they can sell ‘em. But it won’t work with the pibroch. There has to be a direct connection between the piper and the listener.”
“Exactly what I was trying to say,” Qwilleran told him. “Take a seat and pour yourself a drink.”
His guest dropped into one of the new barstools. “Nice stool!” He glanced around the barn. “Where’s your smart cat?”
“On top of the fireplace, watching you. Don’t make a false move.”
There was a thump as Koko jumped down to the surface of the library table, making the visitor wince instinctively, but Koko merely began dragging yellow pencils from the pencil holder.
Qwilleran explained, “He likes to sink his fangs in the soft wood of a pencil. I did the same thing when I was a kid, learning to write. I chewed every pencil. Arch Riker, my seatmate, wrote with his left ear down on the desk and his right hand moving the pencil four inches from his nose. The teacher thought we were a couple of weirdos.”
Brodie chuckled. “It seems to me you turned out all right. Both of you! The worst I ever did was to try lickin’ frozen railway tracks. Almost lost a tongue.”
“Lucky you didn’t lose an entire head!” Qwilleran pushed the nut bowl toward him. “Try these. Absolutely fresh!”
“What are the big ones? They’re big as horse chestnuts!”
“Brazil nuts. We never had them up here until the Sip ‘n’ Nibble Shop opened. Good, aren’t they?… I didn’t see you at the games yesterday.”
“Had to take my wife shopping.”
“When Boze Campbell tossed a perfect caber, three out of three, it was a historic moment in Moose County. It’ll be all over the paper tomorrow. He’s a desk clerk at the inn, you know.”
“I know. He was on duty at the time of the homicide, and all he noticed was the elevator going up and down. He’s a good athlete but not smart. What can you expect? He was born with two strikes against him.”
“He was an orphan, I hear.”
“A foundling!” said Brodie. “And I’m the one that found him!”
“Is that so?”
“Yep. Twenty-five years ago when I was working for the sheriff. There was an old shack on Chipmunk Road that we had orders to keep an eye on. Kids used to hang out there. One night before Halloween I was on patrol and stopped to check it out. It was a fire hazard, what with oil lamps, candles, and smokin’. I saw no cars parked, no lights inside, but I heard a baby cryin’. I knew it wasn’t some kind of bird or animal. I went in with my flashlight, and there on an old broken-down table was a soup carton with this little red thing no bigger’n a skinned squirrel, and it was yellin’ its head off! There was no note no clue nothin’! I rushed it to old Dr. Goodwinter’s house remember him? and got him out of bed. The mother was never identified.”
“How did he get named John Campbell? That’s a prominent name around here.”
“Social Services took over, and at first he was just John Doe, but nobody wanted to adopt him and give him a name, so they took the one off the soup carton.” Brodie stopped for a chuckle. “He was a ward of the county after that, kicked around a whole string of foster homes. I kept track of him, sort of like a godfather. I saw him grow big, drop out of school, go back to play football.”
“Lois Inchpot took an interest in him.”
“Yeah, she’s a good woman tough but goodhearted. When Boze started classes at MCCC and workin’ the desk at the inn, you could’ve knocked me over with a feather. That fella has the strength and skill of a backwoodsman.”
Qwilleran said, “It would make a good headline if his mother came forward now that he’s a hero.”
“Nah, she’d never do it. Too many unknowns! How would her son react? How would the taxpayers react, after supporting him all these years? Would she have to answer charges of infant abandonment? What kind of life is she living now?… Nah, she’ll let sleeping dogs lie, so forget your headline.”
“Pour another drink, Andy, and I’ll get out some cheese.”
Qwilleran’s visitor was loosening up, and it was time to change the subject. “What do you think about the strange case at the inn, Andy? Too bad it happened on the heels of the grand opening.”
“Yeah… well… when you operate like that guy, you’re just a murder waiting to happen. We can’t release details till the SBI gives us the go-ahead, but between you and me it’s not a local crime. The killer drove up from Down Below, did the job, picked up the accomplice posing as the victim’s niece, and drove her back where she came from. Strange thing, they left the jewel cases here but apparently took the cash and there must’ve been plenty of that, considering the purchases made Thursday. Some customers said they gave him amounts up into six figures. Doesn’t take many of those to make a million.”
“Why would they leave the jewels?” Qwilleran asked.
“They’re a lot harder to fence if you don’t have the right connection. We haven’t been able to open the cases yet. They’re tricky. Have you seen them?”
“Uh… no.”
“The local locksmith said he couldn’t open ‘em without an ax. The Bixby guy didn’t have any more success, so they’re flying up an expert from Down Below.”
“There was a rumor the girl was kidnapped. Her clothes were still in the room, and the rental car was in the lot.”
“All part of the scam. The strange thing, though, was the towels.”
“Towels?” Qwilleran smoothed his moustache.
“Yep. All the towels were gone from both bathrooms bath towels, face towels, everything. Instead of jewel thieves, we’ve got towel thieves!”
Archly, Qwilleran remarked that Moose County liked to be different.
“Yow!” came a comment from the top of the fireplace cube where Koko had returned after his game with the pencils.
“I see your smart cat has to put in his two cents’ worth,” Brodie observed.
“My smart cat, as you call him, unrolled two full rolls of paper toweling last night and draped it around the kitchen as if he was trying to tell me something.”
Brodie, not known for hearty laughing, laughed until he almost choked. Qwilleran handed him a glass of water. “It would help,” the chief said, “if Old Gumshoe here would tell us something we don’t know already.”
“Such as?” Qwilleran asked lightly.
“Who’s the girl? She registered at the inn as Pamela North. An alias, of course. She probably has several, now that IDs are a dime a dozen.” He lowered his voice. “This is strictly off the record, of course, but the SBI has found a pattern in her M.O.”