"And now the bad news," Qwilleran said.
"Melinda Goodwinter is going." "The plot thickens," said Riker with a chuckle. He was amused by his friend's problems with women.
"Does Polly know?" "If she doesn't, she'll soon find out!" Complimenting himself on a successful maneuver, Qwilleran called Irma Hasselrich and changed his reservation to double occupancy. The next day it was his turn to chuckle when Riker telephoned.
"Hey, listen to this, Qwill," he said.
"I took Amanda to dinner last night and told her about the Scottish tour, and she wants to join! How do you like that kettle of fish?" "She'll have to pay the single supplement. No one will be willing to room with Amanda--not even her cousin Melinda." Amanda Goodwinter was a cranky, outspoken woman of indefinite age who "drank a little," as Pickax natives liked to say.
Yet, she operated a successful studio of interior design and was repeatedly elected to the city council, where she minced no words, spared no feelings, played no politics. Riker, with a journalist's taste for oddballs, found her entertaining, and fora while the Pickax grapevine linked them as potential mates, but Amanda's prickly personality guaranteed that she would remain single for life. Now he was enjoying the prospect of Amanda disrupting the harmony of a group tour.
"I hope everyone has a sense of humor," he said to Qwilleran on the phone.
"What's so absurd is that she hates bagpipes, mountains, bus travel, and Irma Hasselrich." "Then why is she going?
Surely not only to be with you, old chum!" "No, I can't take the credit. She's excited about visiting whiskey distilleries. She's heard they give free samples." While Qwilleran was relishing this news, Chief Brodie phoned to report that state troopers had spotted a Massachusetts license plate on a maroon car headed south near the county line.
"Probably leaving the area," he said.
"We ran a check, and it's registered to one Charles Edward Martin of Charlestown, Massachusetts." "What was he doing here?" Qwilleran asked sharply, a rhetorical question.
"In five years I've never seen a Massachusetts car in Moose County.
Those New Englanders don't even know it exists!" "Could be a friend of Dr. Melinda's. Could be he came for her dad's funeral. There were lots of beards there," Brodie said.
"Tell you what, Qwilclass="underline" If he shows up again and we get a complaint, we'll know who he is, at least. For now, we're stepping up the night patrols on Goodwinter Boulevard, and you tell Polly not to go out alone after dark." Qwilleran's moustache bristled. Whenever he thought of that maroon car, he felt a distinct tremor on his upper lip. His luxuriant moustache was more than a prominent facial feature; it had long been the source of his hunches and suspicions, bristling and tingling to get his attention, and experience had taught him to trust the signals. This peculiar sensitivity was a matter he was loath to discuss with any but his intimate friends, and even they were disinclined to believe it. Nevertheless, it was a fact. He was not alone in his ability to sense trouble. Kao K'o Kung possessed a unique faculty for exposing evil deeds and evildoers, in the same way that he sniffed a microscopic spot on the rug, or detected a stereo control turned to "on" when the power should be off. When Koko's ears pointed and his whiskers twitched, when he scratched industriously and sniffed juicily, he was on the scent of something that was-not--as--it-comshd--but every After the phone conversation with Brodie, Qwilleran turned to Koko, who always perched nearby to monitor calls.
"Well, old boy," he said, "the Boulevard Prowler seems to have left town." "Yow," said Koko, scratching his ear.
"So far, so good. Now, how do we find you a suitable cat-sitter?" Koko jumped to the floor with a grunt and trotted to the pantry, where he stared pointedly at his empty plate.
Yum Yum was not far behind. It was time for their mid-day snack.
Qwilleran gave them a handful of crunchy cereal concocted by the food writer of the Moose County Something, Mildred Hanstable. It was the only dry food the Siamese would deign to eat. As he watched them munching and waving their tails in rapture, an idea struck him.
"I've got it!" he said aloud.
"Mildred Hanstable!" Besides writing the food column for the newspaper, she taught home economics in the Pickax schools, and she enjoyed cooking for cats, dogs, and humans.
Widowed, she lived alone. Plump and pretty, she had a kind heart, a lively imagination, and an ample lap.
"Perfect!" Qwilleran yelped, so loudly that the Siamese turned to look at him in alarm before finishing the last morsel on the plate. Mildred Hanstable was the mother-in-law of his friend Roger MacGillivray, and he tracked down the young reporter at Lois's Luncheonette.
"What do you think of the idea, Roger? She likes the cats, and they like her." "It would do her a lot of good--help get her mind off the past," said Roger.
"She thinks your barn is sensational, and the chance to live there for a couple of weeks would be like halfway to heaven!" "One thing I must ask: Is she still drinking heavily?" "Well, she went through a twisted kind of alcoholic mourning for that no-good husband of hers, but she snapped out of it. Now she's overeating instead. Basically she's lonely. I wish she could meet a decent guy." "We'll have to work on that, Roger... Where are you headed now?" "I have an assignment in Kennebeck. The Tuesday Afternoon Women's Club is planting a tree in the village park." It so happened that Qwilleran had brought several handwoven batwing capes from the mountains, and he presented one to Mildred after a staff meeting at the newspaper.
It was the kind of voluminous garment that she liked for camouflaging her excess poundage, and the invitation to cat-sit and barn-sit for two weeks thrilled her beyond words. With that worrisome matter concluded, he now applied himself to other matters.
He gave batwing capes to his part-time secretary, the young interior designer who had helped him furnish the barn, and the advertising manager of the Moose County Something, making three women deliriously happy. Next, to replace the car that was left mired in the mountains, he found a white four-door on the used-car lot; he never wasted money on new models. All the while, he was cleverly managing to avoid Dr.
Melinda Goodwinter, ignoring the reminder that he was due for his annual checkup according to the records of the late Halifax Goodwinter, M.D. Irma Hasselrich was prompt in mailing tour participants a detailed itinerary as well as information on Scottish weather and appropriate clothing: "Sweaters and jackets are a must, because evenings can be cool, and we'll be traveling to windswept islands and mountaintops. Be sure to include a light raincoat, umbrella, and waterproof shoes or boots." The last was underlined in red. Then: "For special evenings, men are requested to pack a blazer or sports coat with shirt and tie, and women are advised to have a dress and heels for such occasions.
Luggage must be limited to one bag per person, plus a small carry-on.
There will be no smoking on the bus or in restaurants as a matter of courtesy, and no smoking in country inns because of the fire hazard." Enclosed was a brief glossary of Highland and Lowland terms: loch... lake moor... treeless hill glen... secluded valley fen.
marsh ben... mountain firth... arm of the sea burn... creek strath... wide river valley =yle... strait croft... farmhouse crofter.
farmer bothy... farmhands' barracks nee ps... turnips tat ties.
potatoes haggis... meat pudding toilet... restroom usquebaugh.
whiskey (spelled "whisky" in Scotland) Included was a suggested reading list: Boswell, Dr. Johnson, Sir Walter Scott, and the like, most of which were in Qwilleran's growing collection of secondhand books. Nevertheless, he went to Eddington Smith's used-book store and picked up an old travel book with a yellowed fold-out map of Scotland. The bookseller also suggested Memoirs of an Eighteenth Century Footman. He said, "It's about Scotland. It was published in 1790 and reprinted in 1927. It's not in bad condition for a sixty-year-old book." Qwilleran bought it and was on his way out of the store when Eddington mentioned, "Dr.