Shut up, Lori, Qwilleran thought. He said, "I don't know whether picturesque is the right word. The terrain has a ravaged look because of the strip mining and over-cutting of forests earlier in the century. Abandoned mines and abandoned quarries are everywhere. They can be an eyesore."
"Yes, but the abandoned shafthouses are like romantic monuments to the past," said Lori, her eyes sparkling. He wanted to kick her under the table, but even his long legs couldn't reach.
Nick, noticing his scowl and sensing his purpose, said, "There's a lot of industry coming into Pickax—like plastics, auto parts, and electronics—but the major industry is the federal prison covering hundreds of acres and housing ten thousand convicted felons."
Lori said, "Yes, but the prison is famous for its flower gardens, tended by inmates. People come from all over to photograph them."
Oh, God! Qwilleran thought. He said, "Does anyone play dominoes? We may have to play a lot of dominoes before this storm is over."
Thunder claps were coming closer, and lightning bolts made themselves felt like electric shocks. Even the solid wood shutters couldn't keep the flashes from outlining the windows like blue neon.
After dessert—ice cream on a stick—Qwilleran excused himself and went upstairs to the bridal suite, intending to remain in seclusion until the rains came. Then he would go downstairs to offer help and moral support to the Bambas and the uninvited guest. He tried to read, but thoughts of the present dilemma crowded the words from the page. He felt burdened with a sense of failure. In his search for clues and evidence he had nothing to show but hunches, suspicions, and a hack saw blade.
The air was heavy with portent, and the cats, huddled close to him, kept looking at the ceiling. Suddenly there was a clap of thunder directly overhead, like the crack of doom. Koko jumped two feet in the air and went into orbit. Circling madly around the suite he kicked a table lamp, sent knickknacks flying, terrorized Yum Yum, and sideswiped one of the leather masks over the sofa.
"Stop!" Qwilleran bellowed as he rescued the expensive artwork—it was the tragedy mask—but Koko was wound up and continued the rampage until his internal springs ran down. Then he flicked his tongue nonchalantly over random patches of fur. At one point he stopped and, with tongue hanging out and one hind leg held aloft, he stared at Qwilleran's forehead.
"Let's play dominoes," Qwilleran said, stroking his moustache.
At the same moment there was another shattering thunderbolt. The rain slammed into the building, and the lights flickered momentarily, but they played the game. Koko's penchant for white spots resulted in words like click, balked, jack, deckle, ilk and the ubiquitous lake. Just as Qwilleran was trying to make a word out of 4-4, 5-6, 3-5, 0-1, 5-5, 3-6, 6-6, and 2-3, there was a light tap on the door.
There stood Liz in her caftan, carrying an oil lamp. "I'm sorry to trouble you," she said, "but would you show me how to light this lamp, in case there's a power failure?" She handed him a box of kitchen matches. "These were with the lamp."
"Come in," he said brusquely, "and close the door to keep the cats from escaping. In stormy weather they sometimes go berserk." He removed the glass chimney, turned up the wick, and tried to strike a match. "These are no good. They're damp. Let's try mine. Islands are always damp. Shoes mildew, nails rust, crackers get soggy, and matches don't strike. You should know about that; you've spent summers here."
"There was never any problem," she said. "The air-conditioning controlled the humidity."
The matches in the bridal suite were equally damp. "It will be a joke," he said, "if there are thirty oil lamps on the premises and no matches."
"Would anyone have a cigarette lighter?"
"Not at the Domino Inn! No cigarette lighters, no automatic weapons, and no illegal drugs. Did you hear about the fire last night?"
Liz nodded sadly. "The woman who died was the daughter of our steward. The poor man is almost out of his mind. When we were growing up, she was like my big sister, and I heard something this morning that was very upsetting." She moistened her lips and lowered her eyes.
"Please sit down," Qwilleran said. "Would you like a glass of water? That's all I can offer."
She perched on the edge of a chair and took a dainty sip.
"Where did you hear this upsetting news?"
"I was in the stable, giving Skip his daily dose of affection in his stall. He's such a loving animal! And I heard two men in the tack room, having a very heated argument. I knew the voices. One was my brother, and the other was our steward. They've always been friendly, and it was a shock to hear them shouting at each other. I know it's bad form to eavesdrop, but Jack has never had any respect for me, so I didn't feel guilty about listening."
"Did you learn what the trouble was?"
