`I do! I do!' Connie said. 'How are you at unpacking books?'
There were twenty boxes and a whole wall of empty shelves. `It was the bookshelves that attracted me to this place,' she said.
`A rare-book dealer lived here and had them built,' Qwilleran explained. 'He didn't stay long. He was an ailurophobe, and I think he was unnerved by the caterwauling coming from both sides. The walls have since been soundproofed . . . Now, how do you want the books organized on the shelves?'
`In categories. Each box is labelled "history", "biography", or whatever. I'll be unpacking things in the kitchen.'
`I see a lot of boxes marked "science". Is that veterinary science?'
`No. Those belonged to my father. He was a science teacher in high school, and his hobby was reading everything on any branch of science. I tried to get him interested in mystery novels for relaxation, but he said fiction was a waste of time.'
Qwilleran enjoyed handling books and had to resist opening each one and reading a page, especially those with titles like Quantum Control of Molecular Processes and Physical Properties of Carbon Nanotubes.
When the job was finished and the empty boxes were carried down to the basement garage, he said to Connie, 'Any time you feel the need of a coffee break, I could offer you some of my notorious brew and some Scotch Danish. They're regular Danish rolls but smaller and cheaper. I'll start the coffee. You come over when you're ready.'
When she arrived, she was wearing jeans and a grey sweatshirt and was appraised by Koko, as if he sensed her identity but questioned her credentials.
After they were seated at the snack table in the window, Qwilleran said, 'We talked about this earlier, but may I ask again your impression of how the residents of Hibbard House reacted to Alden's presence and Violet's rather sudden marriage?'
`Well . . . as I said, to tell the truth, Qwill, things had been changing in recent weeks - one of the reasons I decided to leave. There had been a wonderful family feeling before. Violet was such a gracious hostess. But after Alden arrived she let him take over selecting the menus and the evening's entertainment. Alden took charge of the wine cellar and assumed full responsibility of Tasso, the watchdog. I know he's very fond of dogs, but the rest of us enjoyed walking Tasso in our turn . . . So the marriage wasn't a complete shock, just a disappointment. The girls thought Judd Amhurst would have been more suitable . . . I still don't know if I should be telling you all this—'
`Have no qualms, Connie. I ask simply because I care about the gallant old house I'm assigned to document,' Qwilleran said. 'As you know, I'm doing the text for a book on the Hibbard House. Can you think of any anecdotes that might be included?'
`Not offhand, but I'll think about it.'
`Has Alden Wade made any difference to the lifestyle?'
`Well . . . he plays the piano, and we've had a few Sunday-night songfests that were fun. He can cook, and he taught our housekeeper how to make duck a l'orange. And I hear they've had some all-night card games in the men's quarters . . . If I think of more, I'll let you know.'
Early in the evening, Qwilleran had a phone call from Hixie Rice, promotion director for the Something. The quality of the transmission indicated she was using her cell phone on the shoulder of a busy highway.
`Qwill, are you going to be there for a few minutes? I've been asked to deliver a small package to you.'
`Who asked? Do you know the person? Does it look suspicious?'
`You indefatigable joker!' she said with a delighted laugh. 'The copyboy asked me to deliver a tape recording. He says you're in a hurry to get it.'
`Come along. Can you stay for a drink?'
`Not this time, thanks. I'm having dinner with . . . a rather attractive business contact.'
`I'm sure!'
Within minutes she parked at the kerb, leaving the motor running, and ran up the walk with hair flying, full skirt swirling. Hixie was always in a state of contagious excitement.
She handed over the tape and dashed back to her car, stopping only to call out, 'Sesquicentennial committee meets at the hotel Friday evening. You're welcome to attend.'
Then she was gone, leaving Kenneth's tape and a whiff of expensive perfume. Pickax had been scheduled to celebrate its sesquicentennial this summer, until it was discovered that someone (possibly Hixie) had miscalculated the dates. It was just as well, Qwilleran thought. A new bookstore and Dundee - plus a sesquicentennial - would have been too much for a city the size of Pickax.
He went immediately to the tape player and heard a raspy voice tell the following tale:
My name is Helen Wentley. I heard this awful tale many times when I was growing up. My ancestors came here from Finland to work in the mines. My grandmother was housekeeper for the Hibbards, and she told how they were snowbound for three weeks in that big house on the hill. There were no telephones then, for them to call for help -and no snowploughs, that's for sure.
Where shall I begin? It was called the worst snowstorm in the history of Moose County. It was about a hundred years ago.
When it struck, everyone huddled around the many fireplaces and told stories. But it kept on snowing - and snowing. The big house got colder and colder. They had to conserve firewood. So Mr Hibbard decided they should all live in the library, easiest room to heat. That meant four Hibbards and Grandma, the handyman, and a housemaid.
Grandma had to figure out how to cook in the fireplace. She said they had a lot of soup and oatmeal. The hired man kept bringing in firewood, but the woodpile was running low, and they ended up - before the storm was over -chopping up furniture and even burning books!
They brought pillows and blankets into the library and slept on the floor. In daytime they wore hats and coats and leggings. Mr Hibbard read aloud. Mrs Hibbard got everyone singing songs and playing guessing games.
After a while food was running low. There were laying hens and a milk cow in the barn, and there was a lot of canned fruit in the cellar. It got harder and harder to dig through the drifting snow. And everyone was getting sick from eating so much fruit and oatmeal - if you know what I mean.
So Mr Hibbard decided they should butcher the cow and chickens for food. They had no feed and would only freeze to death. That's what happened to the horses. They froze to death.
When somebody suggested bringing the horses into the parlour, they all laughed themselves silly. Grandma said they were beginning to crack up.
That's when the handyman decided to tramp into town on homemade snowshoes - in search of help. It was seven miles, and it was still snowing. He was never heard from again, but his body was found during the spring thaw.
And still it snowed - and snowed. Even Mr Hibbard was discouraged. Grandma said, 'I think we should pray.' He was not a religious person, but they all prayed.
And then a miracle happened, according to Grandma. A small church in Kennebeck sent out search parties to rescue folks in out-of-the-way cabins and farmhouses, and a sudden inspiration directed them to the big house on the hill.
Qwilleran was impressed. He went to the phone to call the young man but decided to wait until after the dinner hour. Kenneth would be potlucking with his peers at the Winston Park apartments. Peggy had said it was one of the things they did twice a week.
So it was nine o'clock before Qwilleran phoned. To his surprise the operator said, 'This number is no longer in service.'
On the other hand, it was not surprising. Kenneth had probably moved in with another tenant to share expenses. Which one, and why, was a question not worth considering.
Still, Qwilleran felt a tremor on his upper lip, and he pounded his moustache with his fist.
Then he shouted, 'Read!' and Koko came running. He bounded to a bookshelf without stopping to make a decision and knocked down George Ade's Fables in Slang.