The enterprise occupied the main floor of the former fishing lodge. In one large, open space there were work tables and such equipment as washer, dryer, ironing board, sewing machine, word processor, and child's playpen.
When Qwilleran dumped the5 contents of his shopping bags on one of the tables, the young woman in charge sniffed and said, "Mmm! Someone lovely has been hanging around you!"
"That's what you think," he said grouchily. "How fast can you do this stuff? I need some of it to wear to dinner."
"One shirt is silk, and it'll need special care, but most of it's wash-and-wear. I can have everything ready by ... six o'clock?"
"Make it five-thirty. I'll pick it up." Without any of his usual pleasantries he started for the door.
"Sir! Shall I give your bundle to anyone with a big moustache?" she asked playfully. "Or do you want to leave your name?"
"Sorry," he said. "I had something on my mind. The name's Qwilleran. That's spelled with a QW."
"I'm Shelley, and my partners are Mary and Midge."
"How's business?" he asked, noticing that none of the roomful of equipment was in use.
"We're just getting organized. The rush won't start till July. Our picnic lunches are the most popular so far. Want to try one?"
He was going out to dinner, but it appeared that they needed the business, so he paid his money and took home a box that proved to contain a meatloaf sandwich, cole- slaw, cookies, and ... a pear! He put it in the refrigerator and dropped into his lounge chair. Oops! He had forgot-ten the broken spring. He seated himself again, this time with circumspection.
Then: What are those cats doing? he asked himself.
Koko was on the porch, trying to catch mosquitoes on the screen, the problem being that they were all on the outside.
"And you're supposed to be a smart cat," Qwilleran
Yum Yum was in the tiny kitchen area, fussing. When Yum Yum fussed, she could work industriously and stub-bornly for an hour without any apparent purpose and without results. In Qwilleran's present mood he found the unexplained noises nerve-wracking — the bumping, click-ing, thudding, and skittering.
"What on God's green earth are you doing?" he finally aid in exasperation.
She had found a rusty nail in a crevice and, having worked and worked and worked to get it out, she pushed :t back into another crevice.
"Cats!" he said, throwing up his hands.
Nevertheless, the rusty nail brought to mind the front steps of the Domino Inn. The aged carpenter blamed the collapse of the steps on rusty nails. Lori blamed a careless nspection. Nick wanted to blame the troublemakers from Lockmaster, Qwilleran favored the David-and-Goliath theory. Meanwhile, it was advisable to return to the Buccaneer Den while the bartender still remembered him and his magnanimous tip.
The bartender's craggy face-hardened after eighteen years in Chicago's Loop— brightened when Qwilleran slid onto a bar stool. "Have a good day?" he asked jovially as he toweled the bartop.
"Not bad. Has the bar been busy?"
"Typical Monday." Bert waggled a double old-fashioned glass. "Same?"
"Make it a four-alarm this time. Gotta rev up for one of those Cajun specials in the Corsair Room."
"Yep, pretty good cook we've got. I send a Sazerac to the kitchen several times a day." He placed the blood-red glassful on the bar and waited for Qwilleran's approval. "How long y'here for?"
"Coupla weeks."
"Staying in the hotel?"
"No. At the Domino Inn. Friend of mine owns it."
"Sure, I know him. Short fella, curly black hair. Nice guy. Family man."
"What do you think of his inn?"
"Sensational!" said Bert. "That treebark siding has acid in it that keeps insects out. That's why it's lasted. Besides that, it looks terrific!"
"Have you been to the lighthouse?" Qwilleran asked.
"Sure. A bunch of us went up there in a wagon before the hotel opened. Mr. Exbridge arranged it. He's a good boss. Very human. Owns a third of XYZ, but you'd never know it from his attitude. Pleasure to work for him."
"I've heard he's a good guy. Too bad about the food poisoning and the drowning. Were they accidents? Or did someone have it in for XYZ?"
Bert paused before answering. "Accidents." Then he became suddenly busy with bottles and glasses.
Qwilleran persisted. "The guy that drowned—do you remember serving him?"
"Nope."
"Was he drinking in the lounge or by the pool?"
The bartender shrugged.
"Do any of the poolside waiters remember him?"
Ben shook his head. He was looking nervously up and down the bar.
"Was he a boater or a guest at the hotel? It would be interesting to know who was drinking with him."
Bert moved away and went into a huddle with his two assistants, who turned and looked anxiously at the customer with a sizable moustache. Then all three of them stayed at the far end of the bar.
