"Breakfast!" he announced, and they hightailed it into the kitchen, bumping into each other in their eagerness. "What would you two carnivores like to eat this morning? I can offer you a succulent rack of lamb from the famous kitchen of the Old Stone Mill, minced by hand and finished with a delicate sauce of meat juices." He liked to talk to them in a declamatory voice when he was in a good mood, and the louder his voice, the more excited they became, prancing in circles and figure eights and yowling with ever-increasing volume. The noise stopped abruptly when he placed the plate on the floor, and they attacked it with quivering intensity.
They were seal-point Siamese with blue eyes, sleek bodies, and light fawn fur shading into dark brown. Yum Yum was ,a dainty minx with a piquant expression and winning ways. Koko, whose real name was Kao K'o Kung, was the noble male with imperial manner and inscrutable gaze. He was the quintessential Siamese—with some additional talents that were not in the breeders" manual.
Qwilleran watched them devour their breakfast, while pondering his next step: how to break the news to Arch Riker without losing face. After blasting the Pear Island resort all evening, he was now joining the enemy for two weeks, that being the length of Polly's vacation.
He waited until eight o'clock and then telephoned the Rikers" beach house. "Great party last night, Arch! Did I make myself a bore?"
"What do you mean?"
"My tirade against the Pear Island resort must have been somewhat tiresome. Anyway, I'd like to make amends."
"Uh-oh! What's the catch?" asked the man who had known Qwilleran since kindergarten. Their friendship had survived almost half a century of confiding, bantering, arguing, leg-pulling, rib-poking, and caring. "I suspect you have devious intentions."
"Well, to tell the truth, Arch, I'm still ticked off about the commercial rape of Breakfast Island, but—without playing politics—I'm willing to go there for a couple of weeks and write about island history, customs, and legends. I'd call it "The Other Side of the Island." How does it sound?"
"I'll tell you how it sounds, you dirty rat! It sounds as if Polly is going out of town for two weeks, and you're desperate for something to occupy your time! I can always read your hand; I've known you too long to fall for a fast shuffle."
"Will you okay my expense account?" Qwilleran asked to taunt him.
There was a moment of silence on the line. Riker was editor and publisher of the Moose County Something, but the Klingenschoen Foundation owned it. "Okay, go ahead," Riker said. "But it had better be good."
"I'll be staying at the Bambas" B-and-B. I don't know the phone number, but they call it the Domino Inn."
After that hurdle was cleared, the rest was easy. Qwilleran called his janitor, Mr. O'Dell, who said, "Faith an" you'll not catch me settin" foot on that island no more! What they're doin" is ag'in Auld Mither Nature, it is. Nothin" good'll come of it, I'm thinkin'."
Qwilleran also gave instructions to his secretarial service to forward mail in care of General Delivery at Pear Island—but only letters postmarked Oregon.
Finally, he phoned Andrew Brodie at home on Saturday evening. Brodie was chief of police in Pickax—a towering, swaggering Scot who played the bagpipe at weddings and funerals. When Mrs. Brodie answered, the inevitable television audio could be heard blatting in the background, and the chief came on the line with the gruffness of a televiewer whose program has been interrupted.
Amiably, Qwilleran opened with, "Sorry to snatch you away from your favorite cop series."
"Are you kidding? I'm watching a nature program. Terrible what's happening to the rain forest! Last week it was black bears, and before that, oil spills! What's on your mind? Want me to pipe at your wedding to Polly? For you two I'll do it for free."
"Polly's going to Oregon and may never return, and I'm going to so-called Pear Island and may never return. They say the fudge fumes are potentially lethal."
"What d'you want to go there for? You won't like what they've done to our Breakfast Island," Brodie predicted.
"Mainly I'm going to write about island life for the "Qwill Pen" column," Qwilleran explained glibly, "but I might do a little amateur sleuthing on the side. They've had some incidents that raise questions—three in a little over a week.""
"I only heard about two—the food poisoning and the drowning. The island is the sheriff's jurisdiction, and he's welcome to it. He'll have his hands full this summer, mark my word. All those tourists from Down Below—no good! No good!"
"How come we never hear any results of the sheriff's investigations, Andy?"
"If it's a big case, he calls in the troopers. If it isn't... well... no comment. Are you taking your smart cat with you? He'll show the sheriff's department a thing or two."
"I'm taking both cats. My barn will be unoccupied for two weeks, but Mr. O'Dell has the key and will check it regularly."
