"As a matter of fact, she used it the first two weekends but asked to move to the end of the row. She was afraid her music would disturb the Hardings. It was very thoughtful of her ... Are you going to watch the sunset from the porch, Qwill?"
"I have something to do first," he said as he hurried from the office.
CHAPTER 5
When Qwilleran returned from dinner at the hotel, the Siamese were still boycotting the slipcovers. Instead of lounging on seat cushions or bed, they crouched in awkward positions on the desk, kitchen counter, dresser, or snack table.
"Okay, you guys!" he ordered. "Clear out! We're trying an experiment." He chased them onto the porch while he stripped the premises of slipcovers, draperies, and bedcover. He also opened all the windows to dispel the haunting memory of June Halliburton, which blended her musky perfume with stale cigarette smoke. Did the Bambas know she was an inveterate smoker? Probably not. He stuffed the offending slipcovers into the bedroom closet temporarily.
What remained—when the roses and irises were gone— was as grim as the previous decor was flashy: roller blinds on the windows, a no-color blanket on the bed, and well-worn leatherette upholstery on sofa and chairs.
He felt guilty about leaving the Siamese cooped up in this stark environment.
"How about a read?" he asked them. He stretched out in a lounge chair that was comfortable except for one broken spring in the seat. Yum Yum piled into his lap, and Koko perched on the arm of the chair as he read to them from Walden. He read about the wild mice around Walden Pond, the battle of the ants, and the cat who grew wings every winter. Soon his soothing voice put them to sleep, their furry bellies heaving in a gentle rhythm.
It was their first night on the island, and it was deadly quiet. Even in rural Moose County one could hear the hum of tires on a distant highway. On the island there was breathless silence. The wind was calm; there was no rustling of leaves in the nearby woods; the lake lapped the shore without even a whisper.
Suddenly—at the blackest hour of the night— Qwilleran was frightened out of slumber by a frenzy of demonic screams and howls. He sat up, not knowing where he was. As he groped for a bedside table, he regained his senses. The cats! Where were they? He stumbled out of the bedroom, found a light switch, and discovered the Siamese awake and ready for battle— arching their backs, bushing their tails, snarling and growling at the threat outside.
He rushed to the porch with a flashlight and turned it on a whirlwind of savage creatures uttering unearthly screeches. He ran back to the kitchen, filled a cookpot with water, and threw it out the back door. There was a burst of profanity, and then the demons disappeared into the night. The Siamese were unnerved, and he left the bedroom door open, spending the rest of the night as a human sandwich between two warm bodies.
While dressing for breakfast the next morning, he thought, Dammit! Why should we stay here? I'll make some excuse. We'll go back on the ferry.
"Ik ik ik" came a rasping retort from the next room, as 3 Koko knew what Qwilleran was thinking.
"Is that vote an aye or a nay, young man?"
"Ik ik ik!" The connotation was definitely negative.
"Well, if you can stand it, I can stand it, I suppose." Avoiding the closet, with its aromatic bundle of slipcovers lad whatnot, Qwilleran dressed in shorts and a tee from the dresser drawer and went to the inn for breakfast, carrying a hammer. He had hung the two gilded masks ower the sofa, between two travel posters, and their elegance made the sturdy, practical furnishings look even bleaker by comparison.
In the sunroom he nodded courteously to a few other guests and took a small table in a cornet, where he found a card in Lori's handwriting:
-
GOOD MORNING
Monday, June 9
Pecan Pancakes With Maple Syrup and Turkey-apple Sausages
or
Tarragon-chive Omelette
With Sauteed Chicken Livers
Help yourself to fruit juices, muffins, biscuits,
homemade preserves, and coffee or milk
-
"These pancakes are delicious," Qwilleran said to the plain-faced waitress, who shuffled about the sunroom. "Did Mrs. Bamba make these herself?"
"Ay-uh," she said without change of expression.
When the serving hours ended, he stopped drinking coffee and went to the office, where he found Lori slumped in a chair, looking frazzled. "That was a sumptuous breakfast," he said. "My compliments to the chef."
"Today I had to do it all myself," she replied wearily. "My cook didn't show up, and the waitress was late. Two of the guests volunteered to wait on tables until she came. I believe in hiring island women, but they can be annoy-ingly casual. Perhaps that's why the hotel hires college kids. Anyway, I'm glad you liked your first breakfast. Did you have the pancakes or the omelette?"
"To be perfectly honest, I had both."
Lori shrieked with delight. "Did you sleep well? Did you find the bed comfortable?"
"Everything was fine except for the catfight outside our back door."
