Sure, Qwilleran thought, cynically anticipating rain, mosquitoes, forest fires, power outages, stray bullets from the woods, and whatever required ear plugs—all this in a rustic strait-jacket with slipcovers like horticultural nightmares. He located the emergency items listed on the door. Then he found the dominoes in a box covered with faded maroon velvet and put them in a desk drawer, out of sight. The drawers were hard to open, possibly because of island dampness; Yum Yum, who had the instincts of a safecracker and a shoplifter, would be frustrated. When she was frustrated, she screamed like a cockatoo; the ear plugs might be useful, after all. Koko was already eying a wall calendar with malice; it had a large photograph of a basset hound and a tear-off page for each month. It was a giveaway from a maker of dogfood.
Before dressing for dinner or even feeding the cats, Qwilleran went to the inn to register. On the way he noted that the five cottages were about fifty feet apart. Five Pips had the window shades drawn. Beyond it, at the end of Pip Court, was the start of a woodland trail that looked inviting. In the front window of Three Pips he could see an elderly couple playing a table game. A pair of state-of-the-art bicycles with helmets hanging from the handlebars were parked in front of Two Pips. One Pip appeared to be empty. At the head of the lane, a large cast-iron farm bell was mounted on a post with a dangling rope and a sign: FOR EMERGENCY ONLY. Three stray cats were scrounging around trash cans at the back door of the inn.
And then Qwilleran mounted the front steps of the inn, entered the lobby, and gazed upward in amazement. The Domino Lounge had a skylight about thirty feet overhead and balcony rooms on all four sides, and the entire structure was supported by four enormous tree trunks. They were almost a yard in diameter. The bark on these monoliths was intact, and the stubby ends of sawed-off branches protruded at intervals.
There were no guests in evidence at that hour, but the same boy who had delivered the light bulbs was sitting on the floor and playing with building blocks of architectural complexity. As soon as he caught sight of the man with a large moustache, he scrambled to his feet and ran to the door marked OFFICE.
A moment later, Lori came hurrying into the lounge.
"What do you think of it, Qwill? How do you like it?" She waved both arms at the gigantic tree trunks.
"Words fail me," he said truthfully. "Are you sure they're not cast concrete?"
"They're the real thing—one of the wonders of the world, I think. And I hope you're impressed by the slipcovers." All the furniture in the lounge was covered in the same overscale pattern of roses and irises, but with the three-foot tree trunks, they looked good. "I made them all myself. It took six months. I bought an entire factory closeout for practically nothing."
They were glad to get rid of it, Qwilleran thought.
The boy who had summoned his mother was back again, and he said something to Qwilleran in the same mystifying language.
Lori came to the rescue. "Mitchell wants you to know he saw a flying saucer over the lake last week."
"Good for you, son!"
"Mitchell is four years old, and he's in charge of deliveries and communications. He's very enthusiastic about his job," she said. They went into the office to register. "I hope you like your cottage, Qwill. We also have a bridal suite upstairs, in case you and Polly ever make up your minds."
"We've made up our minds. Polly and I are happily unmarried until death do us part," he said gruffly. Then, pleasantly, he asked, "Who painted the cottage doors like dominoes?"
She raised her right hand. "Guilty! They needed refin-ishing, so I thought it would be fun to paint them black with white pips. Nick thought I was crazy, but Don Exbridge is pushing the fun ethic. What do you think, Qwill?"
"I think it's crazy ... and fun. And what is the purpose of the big bell?"
"Oh, that! That's to alert everyone in case of fire. There's a volunteer fire department—Nick's on call weekends—but so far, there's been no alarm—knock on wood."
"Nick mentioned that one of your elderly guests took a tumble on the front steps."
Lori nodded contritely. "I feel terrible about that! Mr. Harding in Three Pips. He was vicar of a small church in Indiana before he retired. He and Mrs. Harding are such a sweet couple. He's back from the hospital now and insists he'll heal faster here than Down Below."
"Who repaired the step?" Qwilleran asked.
"Well, that was last Tuesday. Nick wasn't here, so I had to find an islander to fix it—an old man. He looked a hundred years old, but he did a good job and didn't charge too much."
"Did he say what had happened to the step?"
"They're not very communicative—these islanders— but he said the nails were rusty. He reinforced the whole flight with new nails and braces of some kind."
"And yet, the county inspector okayed the building before you opened for business," Qwilleran said.
