The fellow could carry off a solo operation like pilfering a silver pocketknife.
And, being a native of Moose County, he would know the best time to break into the Purple Point cottages. But he wasn't smart enough to plot a kidnapping; that was obvious. Furthermore, having lived Down Below for a decade or so, how would he know about Qwilleran's wealth and his relationship with Polly? How would he know about the renovated barn in the orchard and Qwilleran's obsessive concern for his pets? How did he know that Qwilleran would be attending the play on Wednesday night? When it had become clear to him that the prowler was the resurrected Emory Goodwinter, all the questions were answered, including, "What was the maroon jalopy doing in the elite Indian Village?" and "Why did Melinda drop in so sociably after the rehearsal Monday night, and why was she working so hard to be sweet?" She dropped in, Qwilleran now believed, to case the premises, and he had played right into her hands, giving her the T word and demonstrating how it worked. He mentally kicked himself, thinking, God, what a fool I was! He remembered her interest in the Scottish tapes, which she probably instructed Emory to grab--just in case they contained information that might be incriminating. The blaze in the fireplace burned out, and Qwilleran carried the Siamese to their loft apartment, limp with sleep, and wrote his review of Macbeth.
Seventeen
As the Siamese and the rest of Pickax slept, Qwilleran wrote his review of Macbeth, praising Larry and being kind to Melinda.
Kindness, he had learned, was a large consideration in writing drama criticism for a small town. To maintain some semblance of integrity, however, he expressed his opinion that it was redundant to project the image of a dagger on the back wall of the stage when Macbeth said, "Is this a dagger which I see before me?" He wrote, "It distracts audience attention from Shakespeare's great words, although modern grammarians--with their rules about whiches and th ats may be uncomfortable with the famous line." Convinced that his review was sufficiently charitable, he retired for the night, taking care to set his alarm clock. He had to drive Polly to the library the next morning. Even though the Boulevard Prowler had been apprehended, her car was still at Gippel's garage, awaiting a rebuilt carburetor.
"I was concerned about your sudden exit last night," she said when he called for her, "but Arch said it was a bit of theatricality indulged in by drama critics." "There's an element of truth in that," he replied evasively.
"I'll tell you the whole story when we both have more time. Meanwhile, I'd like you to do me a favor--with no ifs, ands, or buts. Yours not to reason why! Just do it!" "Well!" she said warily.
"Is it so very terrible?" "Ask your sister-in-law to sneak a look at Irma's medical records in the clinic office; I'm curious about her heart condition and the prescribed medication." "You're like a dog with a bone, Qwill; you simply won't let go of the matter. I'm not sure it would be ethical, but I'll ask her at church Sunday." "Ask her today. Phone her and take her to lunch at Lois's. Charge it to me... But don't eat too much," he added to lighten the serious aspect of his request.
"I'm overwhelmed by your generosity!" "Are you going to the women's banquet tonight? I'll take you there and pick you up, and you can tell me her reaction. If it's unethical, ask her to do it anyway. I won't tell." "Under protest, dear," she sighed as she stepped out of the car.
"Have a nice day. Issue lots of new-reader cards!" From there he drove to the Moose County Something to hand in his breathlessly awaited copy, and Arch Riker beckoned him into his private office.
"Man, have we got a story!" said the publisher, waving a galley proof.
"It's set up in type and ready to go, and we'll break it as soon as your burglar is arraigned. Is this why you ran out of the theatre last night? You must have some kind of burglar alarm implanted under your skin! Or did Koko alert you via mental wireless?" Riker never missed a chance to make a mocking reference to the cat's remarkable abilities, which were beyond his understanding. He handed over the galley: BREAK-IN EXPOSES GOOD WINTER HOAX A suspect has been charged with breaking into the Pickax residence of James Qwilleran Wednesday night, bringing to light a six-year-old hoax.
The suspect, Charles Edward Martin of Charlestown, MA, is in fact Emory Goodwinter, allegedly killed six years ago in a car crash on the New Jersey Turnpike. Records show his name was legally changed at that time. He is the son of the late Dr. Halifax Goodwinter. Articles stolen from the Qwilleran residence have been retrieved. The cost of damage is not yet known. Stolen articles in the suspect's possession have been identified as those taken from Purple Point cottages in the last week, total value $7,500.
Loitering and shoplifting charges also have been brought. The suspect is a police prisoner at the Pickax Hospital, where he is being held for treatment of injuries incurred during Wednesday night's break-in.
Qwilleran taunted Riker in return by saying scornfully, "Is that all the information you were able to get?" "Why? Do you know something we don't?" "Plenty!" he said, looking wise. Junior appeared in the doorway.
"How'd you like my headline, Qwill? I hated to do that to cousin Melinda, but this is the biggest news since Van Brook We've been trying to reach her for further details. Can't find her. Emory had a police record before he left town, so the burglaries won't surprise her." Uh-huh, Qwilleran thought.
"He was running with a gang of vandals from Chipmunk while he was still in high school. The big surprise was to find him alive after his father insisted for six years that he was dead. Do you think she was a party to the hoax, or an innocent dupe like the rest of us?" Riker said, "Do you have something you want to tell your old buddies, Qwill?" "Not yet." He had no desire to relive the painful moments of Yum Yum's abduction.
As for the identity of Emory's partner, that was something for Emory to disclose.
"See you later!" he said with a debonair wave intended to confound them. He was eager to talk to the police chief. Brodie hailed him as soon as he crossed the threshold at headquarters.
"I see you're gonna get your name in the paper again!" "You should be thanking me for doing your work!" Qwilleran retorted.
"How'd you find him?" "Nick Bamba, who has an eye like an eagle, had tracked the Boulevard Prowler to the Dimsdale area, and I'd already decided he was Emory.
When he broke in and kidnapped my female cat--was "What! You didn't report anything like that!" "I didn't know it when I gave the report to the officers. As soon as I learned she was missing, Nick and I found Emory in Shantytown, rescued her, and radioed you. Did Emory identify his accomplice?" The chief looked at him sharply.
"You know about that?" "I knew he had to have an accomplice, and Melinda was the only person who qualified. Her behavior has been irrational ever since she returned from Boston.
Some of us suspect drugs." "I'm glad the good doctor isn't alive to face this mess. It'd kill him!" "What are you going to do about her?" Qwilleran asked.