They took a booth in the Buccaneer Den and ordered burgers, and Qwilleran said, "You talk about the farmers being cleared out of the Scottish Highlands and replaced by corporate flocks of sheep. It wouldn't surprise me if the natives were driven from Breakfast Island and replaced by something like corporate oil wells."
The cynical jest appealed to Lyle. "That would be a juicy rumor to start on the mainland! All I'd have to do is whisper confidentially to my next-door neighbor that XYZ has struck oil behind the swimming pool, and in two days it would be all over Moose County, and Don Exbridge would be denying it in the headlines. Of course, no one would believe him!"
"It would be just like you to do it, too," said his wife, "and that's really sick!"
"I'll tell you what's sick, sweetheart. It's sick what XYZ did with the new elementary school building. It's lousy construction! They keep patching it up, but what we really need is one good tornado, so we can start again from scratch—with a different builder."
Lisa said, "Be careful what you wish for; you may get your wish! The weatherman says there's a peculiar front headed this way." Then the food was served, and she said, "It's so dark in here, I can't tell whether this is a burger or chocolate cake."
"That's because people patronize bars for illicit trysts, graft payoffs, and subversive plotting," her husband informed her. "Nice people like you should eat in the coffee shop."
After a while, Qwilleran asked him if he remembered a student named Harriet Beadle, an islander who attended high school on the mainland.
"No, but we've had a pack of Beadles from the island. Another common name is Kale. Another is Lawson. They're all descended from survivors of the same shipwreck, supposedly. They work hard to get good grades, and some even earn scholarships. Those one-room schools aren't all bad."
"How do the other students treat diem?"
"They taunt them about their so-called pirate ancestry, and there are some bloody fights. And who knows whether it's true or not? But I'll tell you one thing for sure: The islanders know more about ecology than we do. They grow up with a respect for the earth and the elements."
Over coffee Lisa asked about Polly.
"She's in Oregon, visiting an old college chum."
"Great country out there!" said Lyle. "Let's hope she doesn't decide to stay. She's a great librarian."
"Everybody loves her," said Lisa.
"Nobody loves a school superintendent. I'm on everybody's hit list—board of ed, taxpayers, and parents."
Qwilleran asked him, "Do you know that one of your department heads has a summer job over here?"
"Wish she'd stay on the island permanently," he grumbled. "June is an independent so-and-so."
Lisa said, "She's certainly not popular with the wives of Moose County. She thinks she's God's gift to husbands— mine included, and Lyle is no Robert Redford."
"Why," Qwilleran asked, "does an educator with her credentials choose a rural county like ours?"
"Horses! She likes to ride. That's how she landed in Lockmaster after a divorce Down Below. Then we offered her a good contract, and now we're stuck with her. But she's good! She sailed through school on scholarships and did a concert tour before coming to us." The check came to the table, and when Qwilleran reached for it, Lyle said, "Drop it! The hotel's paying for this one."
The Comptons were staying for a nightcap, but Qwilleran groped his way out of the murky bar, bumping into tables and kicking chair legs. In passing the corner booth he squinted into the gloom and saw a man and a woman leaning amorously toward each other. Their faces were in shadow, but he heard the woman say, "Shall we have a replenishment?"
Before riding home in a cab, Qwilleran picked up some beer for Derek Cuttlebrink, as well as crackers and pickles to go with the meatloaf. On the way he pondered several of Lyle Compton's remarks, chiefly his hint that Polly might decide to relocate in Oregon. It was a possibility that had never crossed his mind. It made him vaguely uneasy.
At Four Pips he was met by a highly disturbed cat. Koko was yowling in two-part harmony and running back and forth between sitting room and porch. A casual inspection showed nothing amiss, but after refrigerating the beer Qwilleran investigated with deepening concern. The cat was jumping up and pawing the porch screen as he did when batting down an insect. This time there were no insects—only small holes in the screen. Alarmed, Qwilleran hurried to the inn and confronted Nick in the office.
"Someone's been taking pot shots at the cats!" he said with indignation.
Nick looked up from the bookkeeping. "I can't believe it! How do you know?"
Qwilleran described Koko's behavior and his discovery of the holes. "There's growing hostility among the islanders, I'm convinced, and someone may have connected me with the financial backers of the resort. Someone may be using this method of harassment!"
"Did you look for spent shot on the porch?"
