to Euphonia's housekeeper. There was also a recipe for Lena's angel food cake with chocolate frosting that sounded delicious."
"I knew Lena," said Junior. "She was Grandma's day-help for years and years. Afer that, there was a series of live-in housekeepers who never stayed long. Grandma was hard to get along with in her old age."
"What about the Inchpot murder? Do the police have any suspects?"
"Haven't heard. The Big Snow brings everything to a crashing halt. Do you realize there are frozen bodies out there that won't be found until spring thaw?"
Their discussion was interrupted by the slam-bang delivery of two daily specials. They ate in silence until Junior inquired about Suitcase Productions.
"Several organizations want us after the holidays. We did three shows just before the Big Snow. The largest audience was in the basement of the Old Stone Church. Seventy-five women. Lunch at noon. Performance at one. I was supposed to use the men's restroom for exits and entrances, but there was a wedding upstairs, and the bridal party was using it as a dressing room. They said I'd have to use the women's restroom. After their lunch seventy-five women lined up to use the facilities, and it was two-thirty before we got the show on the boards. Then, just as I was describing the roaring of the wind and the crashing of burning buildings, there was a roar and a crash overhead! I thought the ceiling was caving in, but it was only the church organ upstairs, playing the wedding march full blast! I can project my voice, but it's not easy to compete with Mendelssohn on a five-hundred-pipe organ!"
Lois returned, brandishing the coffee server like a weapon. "Apple pie?" she demanded gruffly.
"I'm due back at the office," said the young editor.
"You go ahead. I'll get the check," Qwilleran told him. "And Lois, you can bring me some of your apple pie. I dreamed about it all the time I was snowbound."
"Liar!" she retorted, and she bustled away, smiling.
As soon as Nancy Fincher received Qwilleran's letter, she telephoned him. "Thanks for the clipping about my parents. It'll go in my scrapbook."
"Mrs. Gage must have had a high regard for your mother."
"Oh, yes, she relied on Mom a lot, and Mom loved Mrs. Gage. She didn't like Mr. Gage, though. When she went to work there as a young girl, he was too friendly, she told me."
"That's one way of putting it," Qwilleran said. "Why did she continue to work for them after her marriage?"
"Well, you see, Mom and Pop needed the money to get their farm started. Besides, she loved working in the big house. I took care of our farmhouse starting when I was nine years old - cooking and everything."
"Remarkable," Qwilleran murmured. "So your mother's maiden name was Foote. Did you keep in touch with your grandparents in Lockmaster?"
As before, Nancy was eager to talk. "No, it's funny, but I never saw them until they came to Mom's funeral."
"What was the reason for that?"
"I don't know. I had Grandma and Grandpa Inchpot right here in Brrr, and Mom never talked about her own parents. I thought Lockmaster was a foreign country."
"When they attended your mother's funeral, how did you react to them?"
"I didn't like them at all. They made me nervous, the way they stared at me. Pop said it was because they were surprised to see their granddaughter grown up. They were very old, of course."
Qwilleran asked, "Did it ever occur to you that your Lockmaster grandparents might have lent your father the money for his farm improvements after your mother died?"
"No way," she said. "They were only poor dirt farmers. Not everybody in Lockmaster is a rich horse breeder... Well, anyway, Mr. Qwilleran, I wanted to thank you and wish you a happy Thanksgiving. I'm spending it with Dan Fincher's relatives, and I'll take the kids for dogsled rides after dinner. What are you going to do?"
"Polly Duncan is roasting a turkey, and there'll be another couple, and we'll all eat too much."
"N-n-now!" shrieked Yum Yum.
It was a thankful foursome that gathered in Polly's apartment, thankful to be free after a week of confinement. The aroma of turkey was driving Bootsie to distraction, and the aroma of Mildred's mince pie, still warm from the oven, was having much the same effect on Qwilleran.
Arch Riker said, "The local pundits are saying that a Big Snow before Thanksgiving means mild weather before Christmas."
Mildred said, "I'd like to propose some ground rules. for today's dinner. Anyone who mentions the Big Snow has to wash the dishes."
"What are we allowed to discuss?"
"For starters, Hixie Rice. How is she?"
"She came to the office once this week," Riker said. "Qwill drove her, and Wilfred met her at the curb with her desk chair and wheeled her into the building. She clomps around with a walker and something called a surgical boot."
"How is her substitute working out for the show, Qwill?"
"Not bad," he replied with an offhand shrug, careful not to praise too highly the petite young woman with soulful eyes.
Mildred said, "Your show has prompted a family history program in the schools. Kids are interviewing their grandparents and great-grandparents about the Depression, World War II, and Vietnam."
"Oh sure, we're sharpening their interest in history," Qwilleran said sourly as he drew a sheaf of papers from his sweater pocket. "At Black Creek School they had to write capsule reviews of the show. Would I you like to hear a few of them?"
Riker said, "They'd be easier to take if I had a Scotch in my hand."
Drinks were poured, and then Qwilleran read the comments from sixth graders: "I liked the show because we got out of class.... I liked the red light best... It was interesting but not so interesting that it was boring... My favorite part was where the guy got his arm burned off... It was better than sitting in English and learning... The man did most of the play. The woman should have more to do and not just sit there and push buttons."
"That's the spirit!" Mildred said.
He saved the rave review for the last: "It's neat how you came up with all that stuff. I would never know how to look it all up. Don't change it at all, no matter what. I'd like to see it go all over."
Riker said, "Sign that kid up! We could use a good drama critic."
Qwilleran omitted mentioning the spitball that sailed past his ear during the performance at Black Creek.
Polly carved the bird, pacifying Bootsie with some giblets, and the four sat down to the traditional feast. "Beautiful bird!" they all agreed. In deference to Mildred the bird was never identified; there had been a star-crossed turkey farmer in her painful past.
"Now let's discuss the wedding," Polly suggested. "What are the plans so far?"
The bride-to-be said, "It'll be at the Lanspeaks' house on Purple Point, and we're all invited to stay for the three-day weekend."
Riker said, "It's black tie, Qwill, so dust off your tux."
"Black tie!" Qwilleran echoed in dismay.
"Didn't you buy a formal outfit for that weekend in Lockmaster?"
"Yes, but I never had a chance to wear it, and do you know where it. is now? My dinner jacket, cummerbund, expensive shirt, three-hundred-dollar evening pumps - they're all in a closet in my barn, behind twenty feet of snow, at the end of a half mile of unplowed driveway."
"You can rent an outfit," Riker said calmly, "but what will you do about your cats? I believe they're not invited."
Polly said, "My sister-in-law will come over twice a day to feed Koko and Yum Yum as well as Bootsie."
Everyone had seconds of the bird and the squash puree with cashews. Then the aromatic mince pie was consumed and praised, and coffee was poured, during which the telephone rang.
Polly answered and said, "It's for you, Qwill."
"Who knows I'm here?" he wondered aloud.