"Robbed by the restaurant on in the restaurant?" Qwilleran was a stickler for the right word.
"By the restaurant, I'm telling you. It was Sunday, and Danielle had gone to Baltimore for a visit. In the evening I went out to get a burger and fries but forgot by bill clip, so I stopped at an ATM across from the restaurant. When I ordered my burger, I paid with a twenty but got change for a five. I pointed out the error. The counter girl called the manager. He took the cash drawer away to count it and brought it back faster than you could count your fingers. He said the cash box showed I'd paid with a five. All I had on my person that night was a twenty from the ATM, but how could I prove it?"
Willard stopped to finish his drink.
Qwilleran said, "Don't stop now. What did you do?"
"Nothing I'm particularly proud of. I called him a crook and threw the whole tray at him. I hope the coffee was scalding hot!... That's the story! The next day I contacted an executive placement agency, and here I am!"
"You're safe here. We don't have fast fooderies."
"That puzzles me," the banker said. "There's money to be made in this county if you wanted to build a mall and bring in fast foods... But look here! I'm gassing too much. Let's order some appetizers and another drink." He ordered hummus and asked to have the pita served warm.
Qwilleran ordered baba ghanouj and said to the server, "Would you ask Onoosh is she can make meatballs in little green kimonos?"
In less than a minute she came rushing from the kitchen in her white apron and chef's toque. "Mr. Qwill!" she squealed. "It's you! I knowed it was you!"
He had risen, and she flung her arms around him. A radiant smile transformed her plain face, and her tall hat fell off. It was an emotional scene and - in Pickax style - the other diners applauded.
"just an old friend," Qwilleran explained after she had returned to the kitchen.
The banker asked, "Do you think a Mediterranean restaurant will go over in a town like this?"
"I hope so. It's backed by the Klingenschoen Foundation as part of the downtown improvement program. Also, Polly Duncan tells me that Middle Eastern cuisine is on-target healthwise."
"I've met your Polly Duncan, and she's a charming woman," Willard said with a not e of envy. "You're a lucky man. She's attractive, intelligent, and has a beautiful speaking voice."
"It was her voice that first appealed to me," Qwilleran said, " `Soft, gentle, and low,' to quote Shakespeare. And it's the first time in my life that I've had a friend who shared my literary interests - a great feeling! Also, I'm constantly learning. Jazz used to be the extent of my music appreciation, but Polly's introduced me to chamber music and opera." He stopped to chuckle. "She hasn't converted me to bird-watching, though, and I haven't sold her on baseball - or Louis Armstrong."
"I understand you've bought separate condos in the Village. Have you ever thought of - "
"No," Qwilleran interrupted. "We like our singlehood. Besides, our cats are incompatible."
"While I'm asking nosey questions, mind if I ask another?... The Klingenschoen Foundation seems to have poured millions into Moose County - schools, heath care, environment, and so on. What's the source of their wealth?"
Qwilleran explained simply : "The K family made their fortune here during the boom years of Moose County - in the hospitality business, you might say. A later generation invested wisely. The family has died out now, and all the money has gone into the K Foundation."
"I see," said the banker, eyeing Qwilleran dubiously. "My next nosey question: Is it true that you are the K Foundation?"
"No, I'm just an innocent bystander." How could a journalist explain to a banker that money is less interesting than the challenge of deadlines, exclusives, and accurate reporting?
Their dinner orders were taken, and both men chose the lentil soup with tabbouleh as the salad course, followed by shish kebab for Wil and stuffed grapeleaves for Qwill.
The conversation switched to the gourmet society that was being organized. "Cooking is my chief pleasure," the banker said. "It's relaxing to come home from the play-it-cool bank environment and start banging pots and pans around. Danielle hates the kitchen, bless her heart... She's bugging me to grow a moustache like yours, Qwill. She says it's sexy, but that isn't exactly the bank image... Have you ever been to Mardi Gras? She talked me into making reservations, although I'd rather take a cruise."
Qwilleran, as a journalist, was a professional listener, and he found himself practicing his profession. Willard seemed to need an understanding and sympathetic ear. Willard said, "When we move into our house, we want to get a couple of Siamese like yours - that is, if I can talk Danielle into it. The Village doesn't allow cats in apartments."
"I know. That's why I bought a condo."
"I'll bet your cats miss the barn."
"They're adaptable."
"Are they a couple?"
"No, just friends."
Willard said, "I have two grown sons in California, but I'd like to start a second family. At my age I think I could father some smart offspring, but Danielle isn't keen about the idea." He shrugged in resignation.
The conversation slowed to a desultory pace after the entr‚es were served. Once in a while Willard would ask a question. "Were you ever an actor? You've got a trained voice."
"In college I did a few plays."
"Fran Brodie wants Danielle to join the theatre club. Fran's a good-looking woman. Why isn't she married?"
"Who know?"
Amanda Goodwinter's an oddball."
"More bark than bite. The voters love her."
"And how about George Breze? What do you know about him?"
"He always wears a red feed cap, and no one know what's underneath it, if anything," Qwilleran said. "A few years ago he had the gall to run for mayor. The locals call him Old Gallbladder. He polled only two votes."
"He seems to make money," the banker said, "but he strikes me as a shady character. And he's just taken an apartment in the Village!"
"There goes the neighborhood!"
"The apartments aren't very well built. How are the condos?"
"Ditto. I tell the cats not to go around stamping their feet."
After a while, Willard said, "I'd like to get your opinion, Qwill, on an idea that Danielle's cousin and I have been kicking around. We think those old houses on Pleasant Street could and should be restored for economic purposes and the beautification of the city."
"Does she have an interest in preservation?" Qwilleran asked in some surprise.
"My dear wife couldn't care less!"
"I mean her cousin."
"Danielle's cousin is a guy. He's a restoration consultant Down Below, and he's amazed at the possibilities here. Do you know the Duncan property on Pleasant Street?"
"Very well! Lynette Duncan is Polly's sister-in-law. She recently inherited the house, an unspoiled relic of the nineteenth century."
"Right! We met Lynette at a card party in the Village and she invited us to Sunday brunch. She has a fabulous
Victorian house! In fact, the entire street is a throwback to the late 1880s. `Carpenter Gothic' is what Danielle's cousin calls it."
" `Gingerbread Alley' is what the local wags have named Pleasant Street," Qwilleran said.
Will Carmichael put down his knife and fork and warmed to his subject. "What's good is that the property owners haven't modernized with vinyl siding and sliding glass doors. The way we see it, Pleasant Street could become a mecca for preservation buffs, with houses operating as living museums or bed-and-breakfasts. There's money to be made in that field today. My bank would offer good deals on restoration loans...How does it strike you?"
"It strikes me as a huge undertaking," Qwilleran said. "Exactly what does a restoration consultant do, and what is his name?"