"Not too bad if you stay out of the woods. In the tourist area, they're automatically gassed by the fudge fumes."
Qwilleran walked slowly downstairs from the phone booth, regretting that he had mentioned the pirate controversy prematurely. Harriet may have been lying. She might not know the real truth about her heritage. The island might very well have been a pirate stronghold in prehistoric times. (Prehistoric in Moose County was anything before the War of 1812.) There was a hotel owner on the mainland who boasted of his pirate ancestry; why were the islanders so sensitive about the possibility?
He was intercepted at the foot of the stairs by Lori. "Is everything all right, Qwill?"
"Just a misplaced comma in my copy," he said archly. He opened his mouth to mention the Rikers" impending visit but closed it again; he could hardly ask the owner of the Domino Inn to recommend a B-and-B with more class!
Later, he remembered seeing a bed-and-breakfast brochure near the cash register at Harriet's cafe. He went there for dinner and ordered vegetable soup, two hot dogs with everything, and apple pie with ice cream. He could hear Harriet shouting orders in the kitchen like a drill sergeant. While eating, he read the advertising blurbs in the brochure: The Domino Inn was described as "Absolutely unique, with hearty, delicious breakfasts lovingly prepared. Newly redecorated with original 1920s furniture." The Seagull Inn featured brass beds and a billiard room. The B-and-B called Yesteryear-by-the-Lake had a cobblestone fireplace and a collection of toy trains. None of these would thrill the Rikers.
Then he read about the Island Experience: "Charming ambiance and gracious hospitality, with antique furnishings and gourmet breakfasts! Canopied beds have eyelet-embroidered bedlinens and handmade quilts. Complimentary champagne in the gazebo every afternoon."
Mildred would swoon over such amenities. Arch would prefer complimentary Scotch in the gazebo but would appreciate the antiques; he and his first wife Down Below had been experienced collectors. It was the bottom line that interested Qwilleran personally: Innkeepers Carlo Helmuth and Trudy Feathering are former members of the Grand Island Club. With no motive other than curiosity about the private estates, he determined to check out the Island Experience the next day, rain or shine. He went home and trimmed his moustache.
The sun was shining Thursday morning. Before going to breakfast, Qwilleran laid out his clothing for the visit with the former members of the Grand Island Club: a brushed silk shirt that Polly had given him for Sweetest Day, his new khaki twill trousers, and his British tan loafers.
The Hardings were leaving the breakfast room as he arrived. "Lovely day for the nature trail!" Mrs. Harding told him. "The wildflowers will be at their best, but don't forget the mosquito repellent. Spray and pray, as Arledge says."
"With emphasis on the latter," said her husband. "After a heavy rain, their buzzing sounds like a pondful of bullfrogs."
"By the way," Qwilleran asked them, "when you used to visit the Ritchies, did you meet any clubmembers named Feathering or Helmuth?"
The couple searched each other's eyes for answers, then admitted that the names were only vaguely familiar. "We didn't know any of the clubmembers well. The Ritchies were not what you would call clubby."
"It's not important," he said. "I merely heard that their widows were running a bed-and-breakfast here."
"How interesting," murmured Mrs. Harding, although k was clear that she was not interested at all.
After smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, followed by ham-and-potato cakes with chutney, Qwilleran returned to Four Pips to dress for his visit with the widows. As he unlocked the door he heard sounds of commotion; when be walked in, he saw a scene of disaster: table lamp on the floor, chair knocked over, desk papers scattered. He stepped on something; it was a domino. He kicked something; it was his green apple. Koko was circling the room wildly, jumping over furniture, ricocheting off the walls, and yowling with pain—or glee. He was having a catfit.
"Stop! Stop!" Qwilleran yelled.
Koko made a few more turns about the room before stopping and licking his battered body. Yum Yum came crawling out from under the sofa.
"You ruffian! What's the matter with you?" Qwilleran scolded. Patiently he put the room in order. Nothing was broken. The lamp shade had flown off, and the harp was bent, but there was no harm done. The dominoes scattered about the floor were found; only the cover of the maroon velvet box was missing. It would show up somewhere. He put the dominoes in a desk drawer. Then he went into the bedroom to change clothes.
First he noticed a sock on the floor. Next he saw his trousers crumpled on the floor behind the bedside table. And where was his silk shirt? Hunting for it on hands and knees, he found it wadded up under the dresser.
