When the thumping stopped, Qwilleran phoned his neighbour. 'Joe, do you require a booster shot before tonight's programme?'
'I'll hop over there!'
`Bring your saltshaker and feather.'
Koko and Yum Yum met him at the door. They knew he lived with Jet Stream. Drinks were served, and the two men sat in facing sofas, while the cats took up positions on the pile rug.
The host began. 'It has been reported that you were seen at the Palomino Paddock, disporting with an unidentified female. What do you have to say for yourself?'
`What are you? A policeman? I never disport! I don't even know what it means. Your operatives have me confused with someone else. Actually, I was there with the girl you introduced me to and we had an agreeable time, except that she comes on heavy with computer-fab. She wanted me to buy one. I told her I prefer the piano.'
`What's your theme song for tonight? Since they soundproofed the walls, I have to wait for the programme.'
Wetherby burst into song: 'There's no sun up in the sky! Stormy weather!'
Hearing the booming voice, both cats levitated and shot from the room.
`Thanks a lot!' he shouted after them. 'Seriously, Qwill, we're in for a rough time. Stock up on firewood, flashlight batteries, bottled water, and canned soup.'
At eleven o'clock Qwilleran and Polly enjoyed their traditional telephone nightcap.
She had found a recipe for mulligatawny. He was reading Mencken. She was thinking of buying a new winter coat. He had kidded Joe about 'disporting' with an unidentified female. They both said a lingering 'A bientôt!
After that Qwilleran fell asleep promptly and slept soundly until almost one A.M. when his bedside telephone rang loudly and urgently, or so it seemed to a sleep-befuddled mind. He growled something incoherent into the mouthpiece.
A woman's voice sobbed, 'Forgive me, Qwill, for calling so late. This is Maggie. I have sad news. I had to tell someone.' `That's all right, Maggie. What has happened?'
`We've lost our dear Violet!' There was a torrent of sobbing. This was the phone call he expected to receive eventually, but not so soon. 'Sad news indeed,' he murmured.
‘They called me a half hour ago. It was inevitable. But now that it's happened, I'm in shock! I don't know how to deal with it. We were like sisters.'
'Just cry, Maggie. Tears are a great healer, so don't be afraid to cry your eyes out. When you can cry no more, you'll feel a great calm, and then you'll think of a way to honour Violet's memory.'
'You're right, Qwill. That's exactly what Jeremy would have said.' Her voice trailed off, and he thought he heard a heartrending wail before she hung up.
His advice was based on experience, and he knew it would work. He imagined her five 'ladies' gathering around to comfort her, as all cats know how to do. The Siamese sensed something was amiss, and they were whimpering outside his door. He opened it and let them in.
Chapter 23
Qwilleran thought about Violet on Thursday morning as he fed the cats and himself (in that order). He thought about her ingratiating personality and intelligence and love of poetry and drama. He thought about her shattered romance in early years and her strange marriage in later life. He hesitated to call it a romance. Yet who could tell? And what would happen now? Whatever. . . he felt driven to complete the book. He could imagine the pleasure it would have given her; the photographs of cosy corners, family treasures, and architectural wonders. The text, he was sure, would have delighted her. That was what he had to concentrate on now, relating historic incidents with affection and humour rather than journalistic objectivity. In other words, he planned to write what she would have liked to read. He would dedicate the book simply 'To Violet'. And there would he a handsome photograph of her, selected from the Hibbard archives with the aid of Maggie.
But first he had things to do. High on the list was Polly's grocery shopping. He had a key to her condo, enabling him to refrigerate perishables. And he had a standing invitation to a pickup dinner of leftovers as a reward for his kindness. There were always errands for him to do at the bank, post office, and drugstore as well as at Toodle's Market. And on this occasion he had an urge to visit Andy Brodie.
The police department was in the rear of the City Hall building, up one flight.
The sergeant on the desk waved Qwilleran through the gate and towards the glass-enclosed office where the chief could be seen growling at the computer.
'Come in, laddie! Rest your bones!' the chief barked in a Scots accent. 'How's the rugged life in the wilderness?'
'I miss our spur-of-the-moment nightcaps, Andy. The cats miss you, too. Koko wants me to ask you if the Lockmaster sniping case was ever closed.'
Nope.'
'There was something about a member of the family being involved - on the grapevine, that is. Was that ever under investigation?'
'Yep. It was dropped for lack of evidence. They had to go easy because he was a prominent citizen.'
'Apparently the situation in Lockmaster became too unfriendly; the prominent citizen moved to Moose County. Did you know that?'
'Yep.'
'He's made a big hit here. In fact, he married the older woman who's the sole heir to the four-generation Hibbard fortune. I'm sure you know that. It was in the paper last Friday.'
'Yep.'
The bride died early this morning,' Qwilleran said. 'There'll be a bulletin on the front page today. Cause of aneurysm.'
'Och, mon! What does your smart cat think about this hanky-panky?'
'Well, the man has been to the barn twice, and both times Koko was conspicuous by his absence. The second time Koko arranged for him to slip on a banana peel. You figure it out!'
Arriving home at the Willows, Qwilleran realized that the condo offered Koko a greater showcase for his talents than the barn had ever done. Instead of a single kitchen window in which to prance, he had three. There was a tall narrow sidelight alongside the front door. The dining ell, which served as writing studio as well, had a horizontal window with a wide ledge. The kitchen had another horizontal window above the sink counter.
When Qwilleran drove up, Koko was performing in all three windows - not easy to do, but he was a fast operator. His agitation indicated messages on the answering machine, which turned out to be from Lisa Compton, Burgess Campbell, the Lanspeaks, and others - friends wanting to talk to friends in a moment of mourning.
Qwilleran first returned the call from Maggie.
'Oh, Qwill! Thank you so much for what you said last night. Today I feel a blessed calm and a resolve to do something constructive.'
'Good! Is there anything I can do to help?'
'Your help with a memorial service would be much appreciated. I'm Violet's executor, and I want to plan a tribute she would approve of. I wondered if you would deliver the eulogy. You have such a wonderful voice and such a compelling presence.'
'Don't get carried away, Maggie. I think someone like Burgess Campbell would he more suitable. His family has known her family for generations, and he and she worked together on the board of ESP. His lectures at the college are outstanding for content and style, not to mention that chesty Scottish voice. And with Alexander by his side, it would make a moving farewell to a dear friend. Violet liked dogs, you know.'
'Perfect! Perfect! I'm so glad I talked with you, Qwill.'
'One more thought, Maggie. Poetry and drama were Violet's great loves. Readings from great writers would he highly appropriate. Polly could read one or two of Byron's shorter works, and I'd consider it a privilege to deliver a passage from Shakespeare.'
Later that afternoon a phone call came from Alden Wade.
Qwilleran offered the bereaved husband condolences with a promise to pursue the book project with renewed dedication -as a tribute to a wonderful woman.