"Do you lose power often?" Qwilleran asked.
"Only when a tree blows down across a power line."
As they drove back downtown, the editor pointed out some local attractions: the Lumpton furniture factory, offering guided tours every afternoon; the historical museum in an old house on Center Street; the scenic drive about to be named after J.J. Hawkinfield.
"How old was he when he died?" Qwilleran asked.
"Not old. In his fifties."
"What happened to him?"
Carmichael hesitated. "You haven't heard? He was murdered."
Qwilleran put his hand to his moustache. "Ms. Less-more didn't tell me that." He had sensed something sinister, though.
"Well, you know, Qwill . . . small towns are sensitive about serious crimes . . . and with the emphasis on tourism here, murder is never mentioned to vacationers."
"I had a hunch that something irregular had happened to the owner of Tiptop. What were the circumstances?"
"He was pushed off his own mountain. You can read about it in our files if you're interested. The murderer is in prison, although there's an element here that thinks they convicted the wrong man, but that's par for the course, isn't it? . . . Well, here's your furniture store, Qwill. It's great to have you here. Don't be too solitary. Keep in touch."
CHAPTER 5
According to signs plastered on the windows, the furniture store was having a sale of recliners, a fact corroborated by the lineup of chairs on the sidewalk. Qwilleran walked in and asked to see some ottomans.
"Did you see our recliners on sale?" asked a pleasant elderly woman, eager to be of service.
"Yes, but I'm interested in an ottoman."
"All the recliners in the store are twenty-five percent off," she said encouragingly.
"Do you have any ottomans?" he asked with exaggerated politeness.
"Harry!" she shouted toward the rear of the store. "Do we have any ottomans?"
"No!" Harry yelled. "Show the customer the recliners!"
"Never mind," Qwilleran said. "Show me a telephone book."
Consulting the classified section, he found a likely source of ottomans just two blocks away: Peel & Poole Design Studio. It was a juxtaposition of names that appealed to his fancy for words.
At the Peel & Poole studio he was greeted by a smartly suited young woman who reminded him of Fran Brodie, a designer in Pickax. They had the same suave buoyancy and the same reddish blond hair.
"May I help you?" she asked cordially. Her hair flowed silkily to her shoulders, and long, straight bangs drew attention to the blueness of her eyes.
"I need an ottoman," he said. "I'm renting a furnished place for the summer, and I like to put my feet up when I read. I do not—want—a recliner!" he said with measured emphasis.
"You're quite right," she agreed. "I'm a firm believer in ottomans, and we have a nice one that we can order for you in any cover."
"How long does it take for a special order?"
"Six to eight weeks."
"That won't do. I'll be here only three months. I'm renting Tiptop for the summer."
"Really?" she asked in surprise. "I didn't know they were willing to rent. What condition is it in?"
"The building's in good repair and has all the essentials, but it's rather bleak and full of echoes. Someone has cleaned out all the bric-a-brac."
"The Hawkinfield daughter," the designer said, nodding. "When J.J. died, she took everything in the way of decorative accessories to sell in her shop in Maryland. I helped her appraise the stuff. But now, if you'd like any help in making the interior comfortable for the summer, I'm at your service. I'm Sabrina Peel."
"Qwilleran. Jim Qwilleran, spelled with a QW," he said. "Are you familiar with Tiptop?"
"Definitely! Our studio helped Mrs. Hawkinfield with the interior a few years ago—just before she went into the hospital. The poor woman never returned to enjoy it."
"What happened?"
"She was committed to a mental hospital, and she's still there—doesn't even know that her husband is dead. Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"I never say no to coffee," he said.
"Or a glass of chardonnay?"
"Coffee, if you please."
While she prepared the beverage he wandered about the studio, admiring the Peel & Poole taste. He also found the ottoman she had mentioned: large, cushiony, inviting, and labeled "floor sample." After the first sip of coffee, he regarded her with the beseeching eyes that women could barely resist and asked, "Would you consider selling me four floor sample?"
She took a moment to react, pushing her hair back from her face with an attractive two-handed gesture. "On one condition—if you'll let me spruce up your summer residence. I can use small rugs and pillows and folding screens to make it more livable and without a large investment on your part. You owe it to yourself to have a pleasant environment when you're vacationing."
"Sounds good to me!" he said. "Would you like to drive up and look it over?"
"How about Monday afternoon at one-thirty? I'll take along some accessories for your approval."
"Tell me something about the Hawkinfields," Qwilleran said. "Why did they want such a large house?"
