“Iggy?” Qwilleran repeated. “Can you recommend him?”
“He’s a good craftsman, I guess, but he’s lazy. You have to keep on his tail.”
“Does he have a job lined up?”
“I doubt it. He just got in on his broomstick last night.”
“Is he that bad?”
“Nah, I’m kidding. Want me to send him out to your place? He’ll probably come in the bar later tonight. Write down your address.”
Qwilleran wrote the information on a bar check. “Ask him to come early tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll try, but I doubt whether “early” is in his vocabulary.”
“Can you tell me anything about him?” Qwilleran asked.
“For one thing, he’s the skinniest guy I ever saw-with a nicotine habit that won’t stop. But he’s strong as an ox! Can’t understand it. He hardly ever eats.”
“But he drinks?”
“He does his share of boozing, but the thing of it is, he’s just lazy. And wait till you see his truck! I swear the only thing that holds the body onto the chassis is the brake pedal.” Gary got a signal from a customer down the bar and moved away.
Mighty Lou settled his tab and threw a large bill on the bar for a tip. Then he approached Qwilleran with a chesty air of importance. “You need a builder?” he asked. “I can handle a few small jobs between contracts. Here’s my card.” He handed over a business card with engraved lettering on good stock: MIGHTY LOU, CONTRACTOR. There was a telephone number but no address.
“Thank you,” said Qwilleran, putting the card in his wallet. “I may get in touch.” He looked questioningly at Gary as the big man left the restaurant.
The barkeeper shrugged in a gesture of sympathy. “Harmless,” he said. “Another Squunk?”
“No, thanks. I’m driving.” As Qwilleran left the restaurant, he was hailed by diners at one of the tables. Lyle and Lisa Compton were lingering over coffee.
“Sit down and have a cup,” said the superintendent.
Qwilleran lowered himself carefully into one of the wobbly chairs. “You’re just the people I wanted to see! What was the name of the fellow who was building your garage?’”
“Mert,” said Compton. “He never told me his last name, and I was afraid to ask.
These underground characters are very suspicious. They value their privacy.”
“I’m hiring a guy named Iggy.”
“What happened to Clem Cottle?” asked Lisa. “We were counting on him to do our garage when he finished with you.’”
“Clem … uh … hasn’t come around lately, and I’m not going to fool around any longer. I’m going underground and hoping for the best.”
“Let me give you some advice,” said Lyle. “Don’t give this Iggy fellow any money in advance. Have the lumberyard bill you directly for supplies. And keep a record of the hours he works.”
“Also,” said Lisa, “don’t irritate him or he’ll walk off the job.”
“And one more thing,” said the superintendent. “There’s a law in the county against using an unlicensed builder unless he’s related to you. So let it be known that Iggy is a close relative.”
Qwilleran returned to the cabin, where he was greeted vociferously by the Siamese. “Guess who’s coming tomorrow?” he said without enthusiasm. “Cousin Iggy.”
CHAPTER 10.
ON TUESDAY MORNING Qwilleran was awakened by the bouncing of his mattress and the pummeling of his body. The Siamese were having a morning scrimmage on his bed and on his person. He hoisted himself out of bed and stretched, wincing as certain muscles reminded him of the bike ride on the Old Brrr Road.
“This is the day we’re supposed to meet our new builder,” he said to the cats as he coated some sardines with cheese sauce and garnished them with vitamin drops and crumbled egg yolks. “Let’s hope he shows up. Keep your whiskers crossed.”
“Yow,” said Koko, tapping his tail on the floor three times.
In preparation Qwilleran called the lumberyard and alerted them that a fellow named Iggy would be picking up building materials, which should be charged directly to the Klingenschoen office in Pickax.
“Old horse-face? Is he back again?” said the man on the phone with a laugh.
“Lotsa luck!”
The Siamese tossed off their breakfast and looked hopefully at Qwilleran for a chaser.
“Oh, all right,” he said and gave them a few crumbles of Mildred’s cereal. Thus far they had consumed onesixteenth of a tub of the stuff. “You have one-and-fifteen-sixteenths of a tub left,” he told them.
At nine o’clock there was no sign of the builder. At ten o’clock Qwilleran was getting fidgety. When he heard the quiet rumble of a vehicle making its way up the winding, hilly drive, he went to the clearing to wait for it, although he knew it was hardly the sound of a truck held together by the brake pedal. He was quite right; the car that drove into the clearing was Mildred’s little white compact.
She rolled down the window. “I’m on my way to a hair appointment and can’t stay, but I brought you some more cereal.” She handed him a plastic tub. “I toasted a new batch this morning.”
“Thank you,” he said, with more enthusiasm than he actually felt. He thought, I’ll have to get another cat. The stock on hand was now two-and-fifteen-sixteenths of a tub. “Sure you won’t come in for a cup of coffee?”
“Not today, thanks. But tell me-is there any more news about Clem Cottle? Roger called last night and said he’s been reported missing. It’ll be in tomorrow’s paper.”
“I haven’t heard anything further.” When the Moose County grapevine is functioning, he thought, who needs a newspaper?
“What will you do about your new addition, Qwill?” “I’ve hired an underground builder. He’s due here this morning.’”
Mildred said, “I don’t know whether to say this or not, because I know you’re skeptical about such things, but I’ve been wondering …” She bit her lip. “I really feel terrible about Clem’s disappearance, you know. He had such a promising future. Sharon used to date him when they were in high school.”
“What have you been wondering, Mildred?” “Well, I have a friend who might throw some light on the mystery.” “Does your friend have evidence?”
“No, she’s a clairvoyant. Sometimes she gets messages from the spirit world.”
“Oh,” said Qwilleran.
“Mrs. Ascott is quite old, and she lives in Lockmaster, but if I could get her to come up here for a brief visit, she might be able to tell us something.”
Mildred waited for an encouraging sign from Qwilleran. Receiving none, she went on. “Mrs. Ascott came up earlier this year for my grandchild’s christening-she’s godmother, you see-and while she was here I invited a few friends to meet her, and she was kind enough to answer questions … How do you feel about it, Qwill?”
“You do whatever you think is … uh … worthwhile, Mildred.”
“Would you be available Saturday evening?”
“Me? What would you want me to do?”
“Just attend the meeting, and if you feel like asking a question, do so. Sharon and Roger will be there. They’re quite enthusiastic about Mrs. Ascott’s powers.”
Uh-huh, Qwilleran thought. And about UFOs. And about horoscopes. And about tarot cards.
“It might be an idea for the “Qwill Pen’,” Mildred said.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll go as an observer. Who’ll be there?”
“Just some people from the Dunes. Now I must dash off for my appointment.”
It was almost noon when Qwilleran heard what sounded like rifle shots in the woods, or a small cannon. The blasts became louder and the onslaught came closer until a ramshackle truck chugged into the clearing and stopped with one final backfire and a rattle of loose parts.