Dwight interrupted their tete-a-tete with a question. “What do you think about Moose County, Barry?”
“It’s great! Absolutely great!”
“Do you have any questions to ask Qwill’s panel of Pickax pundits?”
“Yes! My brother and his wife are planning to move up here and wondering where to live. Any suggestions?”
“If they want a roomy old-fashioned house, Pleasant Street has some beauties, and they’re within walking distance of everything. If they’re interested in an apartment or condo, I recommend Indian Village. It’s in a wooded area, a short drive from town. I live there.”
“I live there,” said Hixie.
“I live there,” Polly chimed in, “and so does Qwill in the winter. There are walking paths along the river and a clubhouse.”
“Sounds great!” Barry said. “My sister-in-law is an artist, and she asked about the art climate around here.”
Qwilleran answered that question. “We have a new art center for exhibitions, classes, workshops, and lectures. What is her special interest?”
“Batik.”
Polly said, “No one in this area does batik. Maybe she would teach a class.”
“Great! She likes to teach.”
After dinner all but Barry declined Qwilleran’s invitation to have a nightcap at the barn. The innkeeper said he had to pick up his library book and the framed picture of the old hotel. Barry said he had had enough champagne but would like some bottled water. Qwilleran poured Squunk water and introduced him to yet another Moose County specialty.
“What’s that on the rug?” the visitor asked.
“A Brazil nut!” Qwilleran exclaimed. “Very odd! The cats are never interested in nuts!”
They sat in the lounge area with their mineral water, and Barry said, “I had a great time tonight! Good food. Great people. Hixie is an interesting woman. How long have you known her?”
“A long time. We met Down Below. I was instrumental in bringing her here; there was a job opening, and she wanted a career change. She has clever ideas and boundless enthusiasm.”
“Is she single? Divorced? Any attachments?”
“She was never married, but I don’t know about her present status. She and Dwight have apartments in the same building in Indian Village and frequently attend functions together, but that doesn’t mean anything.”
“If I invited her to dinner, what would be a good restaurant, other than the Mackintosh Room and the Old Stone Mill?”
“Tipsy’s Tavern in Kennebeck,” Qwilleran suggested. “It’s a roadhouse in a log cabin, established in the 1930s. Good steak and fish.”
“Who’s Tipsy?”
“That was the name of the original owner’s cat, and her portrait, painted in oils, hangs in the main dining room. A few years ago there was fierce controversy about the color of Tipsy’s feet. Some said black; some said white… That’s Moose County for you!”
After the innkeeper had left, Qwilleran scouted the premises for more Brazil nuts and found three with fang marks. Koko liked oily foods, yet there was no sign of nibbling…. Where was that cat? There were sounds of slurping. Koko was on the coffee table, licking snapshots.
“NO!” Qwilleran thundered, and Koko fled the scene of the crime. He had a passion for licking the surface of photographs, and his saliva and rough tongue left ugly splotches. Several prints of the Scottish Gathering were ruined.
It’s my fault, Qwilleran thought; I should have put them away. He gave the cats their bedtime snack and escorted them to their quarters on the top balcony. He himself retired to his studio on the first balcony and read from Domestic Manners of the Americans. It was good but not good enough to keep him awake, and he was dozing in his chair when the telephone jolted him awake. His watch said almost two o’clock, so it was obviously a wrong number.
He grabbed the handset and snapped a gruff “Yes?”
“Mr. Q, you’ll hate me for calling so late.” It was Lenny Inchpot, and his voice was heavy with emotion.
Qwilleran felt an uneasiness on his upper lip. “Something wrong?”
“Bad trouble!”
“What happened?”
“I can’t tell you on the phone.”
“Where are you?”
“At the all-night gas station.”
“Come on over. Do you remember how to get here?”
“I remember.” Lenny had once delivered a take-out meal from Lois’s Luncheonette.
Qwilleran threw the switch that lighted the exterior and went down the ramp to wait. Soon the headlights of a pickup came bobbing through the wooded trail.
He went out to meet it. “Are you okay, Lenny?”
“Shook up, that’s all. Oh, God! You won’t believe it, Mr. Q!”
“You look pale. Would you like a brandy? Coffee? Food?”
“I don’t feel like anything, to tell the truth.” In the barn he dropped into a big chair.
“First tell me if Boze reported tonight,” Qwilleran said.
Lenny shook his head soberly. “When I finished at midnight, I gave him fifteen minutes and then reported to the manager before heading for home. Employees park in the back lot, which hasn’t been paved or lighted yet, so I didn’t notice the truck parked next to mine, until a squeaky voice said, ‘Hey! Len!’ I froze! He called again, and I beamed my flashlight in the cab. It was Boze at the wheel. He told me to get in.”
“What was your reaction?”
“Relief! I wasn’t angry or anything just relieved to find him alive. I jumped in beside him, punched his shoulder, and called him a dirty dog. He didn’t say anything just turned on the ignition. Boze never says much. I noticed he was wearing the same T-shirt he wore to toss the caber and the gold medal around his neck. He looked as if he’d been living in the woods. He’s more at home in a cave, you know, than a room with a bed. We were driving toward Chipmunk. There’s a bar there that he likes, and I thought we’d talk over a beer, but he turned off on a dirt road, parked under some trees, and turned off the headlights.”
“And still he didn’t talk?”
“Not a word. It was spooky back there really dark. Then he turned to me and said, ‘Did it get in the paper?’… Well, I told him about the splash on the front page, the big headline, the terrific photos! He smiled his dumb smile. I told him we’d been worried when he didn’t show up two nights in a row. That’s when he said, ‘I got another job.’ POW! Just like that! It really burned me up, Mr. Q! I’d gone out on a limb to get him into the inn. For Boze to quit without a word was a slap in the face. But I had to be careful. He’s touchy. Also big! So I asked him casually what kind of work, and he said he was going to be a bodyguard! Nobody around here ever needed a bodyguard!”
“But stop and think, Lenny. The new gambling casino in Bixby might need a bouncer. The owners might have been at the Highland Games, scouting.”
“Yeah… well… you haven’t heard the worst. Before I could think what to say, he blurted out, ‘I’m gonna go to Rio. On an airplane. Lotsa fun down there. Easy work. Beaches and carnivals. All that.’ Honestly, Mr. Q, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.”
Qwilleran stroked his moustache. The possibilities were racing through his mind.
Lenny was saying, “I really thought he was cracking up. So I asked some simple-minded questions, like, when he was flying to Brazil. He said, ‘Soon as she sends me the ticket. She’s nice. We’re gonna have fun. She likes me. I helped her out. Took care of the old guy. Drove her to the airport when I got through work. She told me not to tell anybody. They wouldn’t understand.’… Oh God! What was he saying? That he killed the jeweler?” Lenny stopped to gulp.