Melinda said, "I'm sorry I was a nuisance on the telephone last week, Qwill. I guess I was sloshed. Forgive me." "Of course," he said.
What else could he say?
"Do you ever think of the good times we had together? I remember that crazy dinner at Otto's Tasty Eats... and the picnic on the floor of my apartment when the only furniture I had was a bed... and the formal dinner with a butler and musicians.
Whatever became of that pleasant Mrs. Cobb?" "She died." "Knowing you, Qwill, was the highlight of my entire life. Honestly!
Too bad it had to be so short." She looked at him intently.
"I thought you were the perfect man for me, and I still do." Qwilleran's naturally mournful expression was noncommittal as he recalled his mother's sage advice: When there's nothing to say, don't say it. During his calculated silence Melinda gazed into her glass of cider, and he studied the framed zoological prints on the wall. At the end of the wordless hiatus he asked, "How did the dress rehearsal go tonight?" She roused from her reverie.
"Dwight said it was bad enough to guarantee a good performance on opening night. Will you be there?" "Yes, I always take a group of friends on opening night." "Will you come backstage after the show?" "Unfortunately," he said, "I'm reviewing it for the paper, and I'll have to rush home to my typewriter." She glanced around the barn.
"Why don't the cats come around? I'd love to see them before I go. I always adored little Yum Yum." As Qwilleran recalled, the two females ignored each other.
"And I thought Koko was really smart, although I don't think he liked me." Gratefully Qwilleran sensed that the end of her visit was in view, and to speed the departing guest he summoned the Siamese.
"Treat!" he shouted toward the upper regions of the barn. The rumble of eight pounding paws was heard, and two furry bodies swooped neck and-neck down the ramp to the kitchen. He explained to Melinda, "The T word always works, but I'm honor-bound to deliver, or the strategy loses its effectiveness. Excuse me a moment." She took the opportunity to browse around, asking about the antique type case that hung over his desk and remarking about the collection of Scottish tapes, labeled Day One, Day Two, etc.
"I'd love to hear them sometime, and your kitchen is so grand, Qwill!
Have you learned to cook?" "No," he said without explanation or apology.
"I've become a pretty good cook. My specialty is Szechuan stir fry with cashews." Koko polished off his five-eighths of the treat and left the room with purposeful step as if he knew exactly where he was going--and why. Yum Yum lingered, however, and allowed herself to be picked up and cuddled in Melinda's arms.
"Look at her gorgeous eyes! Isn't she a darling?" "Yes, she's a nice cat." "Well, I guess I'd better head for home. I have appointments all day tomorrow, starting at seven o'clock at the hospital. And then tomorrow night is the final dress rehearsal." "Drive carefully," he said. She picked up her shoulder bag and looked for her sweater.
"What's that?" Her face wrinkled with disgust. Alongside her sweater was something brown and slimy.
"Sorry about that," Qwilleran said, gingerly removing the chewed remains of Tiny Tim.
"Koko was presenting you with a parting gift-his favorite toy." Courteously he walked his uninvited guest to her car and said, "Break a leg Wednesday night!" He watched the silver bullet wind through the woods and then returned to the barn. Koko was sitting on the coffee table, looking proud of himself; there were times when his whiskers seemed to be smiling.
"You're an impertinent rascal," Qwilleran told him with admiration.
"Now tell me why she came here tonight." "Yow," said Koko. Qwilleran tugged at his moustache.
"It was not to see the barn... not to see you... not to talk about old times... What was her real motive?"
Sixteen
The morning after the impromptu visit from Melinda, Qwilleran drove Polly to work. She said, "The trucks were still hauling things away until late last night, but thank goodness they're required to have everything out by tonight. It's been nerve-wracking. Bootsie is very unhappy." After dropping her at the library, Qwilleran continued on to the police station to see if they had picked up a prowler suspect, but the normally quiet headquarters bristled with act ivy Phones were busy; the computer was working overtime; officers were bustling in and out. Brodie, between phone calls, waved Qwilleran away and said, "Talk to you later." Mystified by the unusual dismissal, Qwilleran backed out of the station and went to the office of the Moose County Something. Even the unflappable city room reflected the excitement of breaking news.
"What's happening at the police station?" he asked the managing editor.
"This'll floor you, Qwill," said Junior.
"Roger just came from headquarters. You know all those trucks hauling stuff from the Goodwinter sale? One of them backed up to the Utley house last night and cleaned out all the teddy bears!
They used the tag sale as a cover. Sounds like professionals from Down Below. By now the stuff is probably on a plane headed for California." "Where were the women?" "Still in Minneapolis." "They had a watchman. Where was he?" "Threatened at gunpoint and then tied up. His wife was visiting relatives in Kennebeck, came home late and found him bound and gagged." Qwilleran said, "It would be interesting to know how they transported 1,862 teddy bears." "They bagged them in leaf bags--those large black plastic ones. That's according to the caretaker." "I wonder if they got Theodore. He was worth $80,000. No doubt the women had Ulysses and Ignace with them in Minneapolis. Doesn't it sound like an inside job, Junior? I'd question the caretaker. I'd find out if the local supermarkets had a run on black plastic leaf bags in the last few days. Have you talked to Grace Utley?" "Roger tracked her down in Minneapolis. She's furious, and her sister is under a doctor's care. They're not coming back. They're going to live down there and sell their house, so we'll have one more haunted house on the street. They should change the name to Halloween Boulevard." A brief bulletin about the theft appeared in the Tuesday paper, ending with the usual statement: "Police are investigating." Qwilleran spent Tuesday and Wednesday writing copy for his column, when not chauffeuring Polly or helping out at the box office. The house was sold out for opening night, and there was a great ferment of anticipation in Pickax; everyone who was not in the cast knew someone who was. Comments from ticket purchasers were varied: "Dr.
Melinda is playing the female lead... The director is a new man in town, unmarried... That funny Derek Cuttlebrink is in the show." As Qwilleran and Polly drove to the theatre on opening night, he said, "I think we'll like what Dwight has done with this play. For one thing, he's cut out Hecate's long, boring scene." "Good decision," she agreed.
"It wasn't written by Shakespeare anyway." Excited and well-attired townfolk were gathering under the marquee of the theatre and milling about the lobby, where the Bonnie Scots photographs were on exhibit. It was a big occasion in a small town, an occasion for dressing up. Polly wore her dinner dress and pearls; Qwilleran wore his suit. When they took their seats in row five on the aisle, Jennifer Olson's family was already there--all ten of them, and Grandma Olson kept waving her program at occupants of surrounding seats and saying, "My granddaughter is in the play!" The house lights dimmed, and after a moment of breathless silence the haunting notes of a tin whistle filled the theatre--noto melody, just sounds from another world. Polly whispered, "It gives me shivers." There were rumblings of thunder and flashes of lightning, and three shadowy, gray, ugly creatures whished onto the dimly lighted stage, their bodies bent in half, their voices cackling, "When shall we three meet again?" One looked like a cat, another like a toad.
"Fair is foul, and foul is fair!" The mood was set, and the story unfolded with the entrance of the king and his sons, the report from the bleeding captain, and praise for brave Macbeth. Then the tin whistle again chilled the audience, and the three witches sidled on stage to celebrate their evil achievements, dancing in an unholy circle as drumbeats were heard off stage.