The office was a small space under the stairs, equipped with desk, filing cabinet, and two institutional chairs. Perched primly on one of the hard seats was Doris Hawley. She jumped to her feet.
“Mrs. Hawley! What a surprise!” he said. “I’m sorry - “
“No need to feel sorry. I’ve been wondering about you… Let’s sit down. I’m still weak in the knees after seeing your mother-in-law’s gift.” He waved the roll of linen.
“This was the only way I could think of - to talk to you without being seen… Do you mind if I close the door?”
“I’ll close it … But why the secrecy, Mrs. Hawley?”
Her face made it clear that it was far from a happy secret. “They don’t want us to talk to anybody - Magnus and me - and if we talk to the media, we could be arrested. It’s a terrible feeling. What have we done? They don’t tell us anything.”
“You identified the hiker’s body?”
“Yes, and they thanked us and apologized, sort of. But the next day the state troopers came to the house with orders from the State Bureau of Investigation: no talking to anybody about anything!”
“Ridiculous!” he said with indignation, although he stroked his moustache questioningly.
“Magnus asked them why we couldn’t talk, but all they’d say was ‘SBI orders.’ The sheriff isn’t so bad. We know all the deputies, and the one who comes here goes to our church. She said it was unfair, but they had to follow SBI orders.”
“It seems like high-handed treatment,” Qwilleran said. “I suggest you remove the burlap sack from your sign and get back into the baking business. And if there’s a single objection from the police, have Janelle phone me, and I’ll meet you here.”
Mrs. Hawley was grateful to the point of tears. “How does Magnus react?”
“Oh, he’s mad! He’s furious!”
In the foyer, he said to Janelle, “I’m giving you my private phone number; you may need to call me …Are you a Canary?”
She wore the yellow smock that identified caregiving volunteers in Moose County. “Yes, I’m an MCCC student in health care,” she said in her languid way, “and… I get credits for… community service.”
“Good! Your time is well spent here.” He walked to his van, hoping he had said the right thing to Mrs. Hawley and wishing Arch Riker could have seen his performance for the elderly women. Driving home, he pondered the small intrigues that occur in small towns. The SBI had overreacted, assuming that gullible townfolk would panic if faced with something hard to explain - and also assuming, rightly, that the media would jump on the story and blow it up out of proportion.
More mystifying to Qwilleran was Koko’s behavior in this, and other situations. The cat had wanted him to accept Janelle’s invitation; he had sensed some undisclosed reason behind it. In the same way he had wanted Qwilleran to take the recumbent bike to the cabin, where it would make a rousing finale to the parade. The latter was a minor matter, but it signified that Koko was tuned in, somehow, to forthcoming events. Uncanny! Likewise, he knew there was something buried in the sand ridge - something that should not be there. All cats have a sixth sense, Qwilleran knew, but in Kao K’o Kung it was developed to an incredible degree!
On the way back to town, Qwilleran’s watch told him that Derek might be at Elizabeth’s Magic, cooling off after his steamy lunch hour at Owen’s Place. Derek had a play to do that evening; there would be theater talk as well as restaurant talk.
Derek had not yet arrived. Elizabeth said he was rearranging the tables, putting some on the diagonal to dispel the effect of a railway dining car. It would be a surprise for the boss.
“Does Owen accept all Derek’s ideas?” Qwilleran asked.
“So far he’s had carte blanche. Derek charms: everyone,” she said, her eyes glowing.
Qwilleran had known Derek since his days as a busboy, and always he treated CEOs and visiting bishops with the same offhand bonhomie that captivated the young girls who adored him.
“Have you met Ernie?” Qwilleran asked Elizabeth.
“What’s she like?”
“Very nice, but she’s a person with an intense drive. She was here to buy skewers and she asked about the rune stones, so I did a reading for her.”
“What are they exactly?”
“Little stones inscribed with a prehistoric alphabet that’s used for divining the future. My reading for Ernie was so negative that I didn’t give her an honest interpretation… Here comes Derek!”
He blustered into the shop with his usual energy. “I’m thirsty! Got anything cold?” He bounded to the rear, where there was a small refrigerator beneath the coffeemaker, then flopped into a chair with a bottle of chilled grape juice.
Qwilleran joined him. “Do you have any problem shifting gears from cuisine to showbiz?”
“Nah. It’s all showbiz.”
“Too bad Ernie can’t take an evening off to see you act.”
“She’d never go to the theater. She’s a workaholic,” Derek said. “Works nine-to-nine with only a two-hour break in the afternoon, and then she spends it studying recipes. Did you see that big recreation vehicle behind the restaurant? It’s full of cookbooks! I tell you, she’s a real pro! Turns out orders fast. Makes presentations that are works of art. I asked her what she liked most about her job, and she said ‘the fast pace.’ I asked her what she liked least, and she said ‘tomatoes in winter.’ That’s the way she is!” Derek glanced at the customers in the shop and said, “Come in the stockroom.”
Among the shelves and cartons and racks he could speak freely. He knew Qwilleran liked to hear the story behind the story. “The way it works, I report at ten-thirty A.M. Owen is there to check me in. We count the cash together, and I sign for it. Then he takes off with his bait bucket for a few hours of fishing - or that’s what he says. But there’s liquor on his breath already! Makes you wonder what he eats for breakfast. Makes you wonder what’s in the bait bucket. Does he anchor the boat in some secluded cove where he can nip schnapps and read porno magazines? Is that why he never brings in any fish?”
Qwilleran said, “You’re getting to be very cynical for your age, Derek. Does Ernie ever go out on the lake with him?”
“Only on Mondays, when we’re closed. And then I’ll bet she takes cookbooks to read. Off the record, Qwill, I think she worries about his drinking. She made two stupid mistakes last week because she wasn’t concentrating - like making a BLT without the T. Then a Monte Cristo with mushroom sauce didn’t have the sauce… Well, I’ve gotta go home and make an adjustment from dumb earthling to smart alien.”
He galloped out of the. shop, tossing a “see ya later” in Elizabeth’s direction.
Driving home along the shore, Qwilleran was beginning to watch for the old schoolhouse chimney and the K sign when he saw a vehicle approach from the east and turn into his drive. He stepped on the gas. It was a green van he could not recognize, and he was wary of uninvited visitors. Yum Yum had been kidnapped once, and he had never forgotten the horror of coming home and finding her gone.
By the time the green van pulled into the clearing, the brown van was right on its tail, and Qwilleran jumped out to confront the driver.
“Bushy!” he shouted. “Why didn’t you let me know - “
Stepping out of the green van was a young man in a green baseball cap: John Bushland, commercial photographer, who also handled assignments for the Moose County Something. Losing his hair at an early age - but not his sense of humor - he encouraged friends to call him Bushy.
“I phoned - no answer - so I took a chance. I had a shoot in the neighborhood - a family reunion.”
“For the paper?” There were dozens of family reunions every summer weekend, and they rated two inches of space and no photo.