Hearing his name, Koko rose to a half-sitting position and bit his paw viciously. Only then did Qwilleran realize that something virtually invisible was wrapped around the pad and caught between the spreading toes. Gently he helped release Koko from the entanglement. It was a long hair, decorator blond.
CHAPTER 9
Qwilleran gave the Siamese an early dinner. "Will you excuse me tonight?" he asked them. "I'm taking a guest to the golf club." He had some crackers and cheese himself, having gone hungry at the club on his last visit.
While he was dressing, the telephone rang, and he ran downstairs with lather on his face; there was no extension upstairs.
Sabrina Peel was on the line. She said, "Qwill, I lost a letter while I was at Tiptop. If you find it, just drop it in the mail; it's all stamped and addressed. It may have slipped out of my handbag when I was fishing out my car keys."
He said he had not seen the letter but promised to look on the veranda and in the parking lot. Hanging up, he gave an accusing scowl at Koko, who was sitting near the phone. Koko stretched his mouth in a yawn like an alligator.
At the appointed time a chugging motor alerted him to the arrival of Chrysalis Beechum in one of the family wrecks. The Beechums were the only two-wreck family he had ever known. He went down the steps to greet her as she climbed out of the army vehicle, looking almost attractive. Her long hair was drawn back and twisted in one long braid hanging down her back, and she wore a stiff-brimmed black hat like a toreador's. The sculptured planes of hollow cheeks and prominent cheekbones gave her face a severe but strikingly handsome aspect. Her clothes were much the same: jogging shoes, long skirt, and a top that was obviously handwoven.
"Good evening," he said. "I like your hat. You wear it well."
"Thank you," she said.
"Have you ever seen the interior of Tiptop?"
"No."
"Would you like to come in for a quick tour? The proportions are quite impressive, and there's some historic furniture."
"No, thanks," she said, her eyes flashing.
"Then let's take off. Your car or mine?" he quipped without getting any amused response. He opened the car door for her. "I've reserved a table at the golf club. I think you'll approve of the food. It's quite wholesome—almost too wholesome for my depraved taste." Still, his small talk with a light touch fell flat.
"Do you play golf?" she asked.
"No, but I have a membership at the club that permits me to use the dining room and bring guests."
As they started down Hawk's Nest Drive he pointed out the homes of the sheriff, the realty couple, and the veterinarians. His passenger looked at them without interest or comment.
"How was business in Potato Cove today?" he asked in an effort to involve her.
"We're closed Mondays," she said moodily.
"That's right. You told me so ... Your father came this morning to start building my gazebo. He said it's going to rain some more."
"How do you like his hat?" she said.
"It looks as if it might have historic significance." That was Qwilleran's tactful way of saying that it was moldy with age and mildew.
With a revival of interest Chrysalis said, "It's a family heirloom. My grandfather chased some revenuers with a shotgun once, and they ran so fast that one of them lost his hat. Grampa kept it as a trophy. He was a hero in the mountains."
"Was your grandfather a moonshiner?"
"Everyone was running corn liquor in those days, if they wanted to support their families. It was the only way they could make any money to buy shoes, and flour for making bread, and seed for planting. Grampa went to jail once for operating a still, and he was proud of it."
"How long has your family lived in the mountains?"
"Since way back, when they could buy a piece of land in a hollow for a nickel an acre. They chopped down trees to build cabins and lived without, roads—just blazed trails."
"One has to admire the pioneers, but how did they survive?"
"By hunting and fishing and raising turnips. They carried water from a mountain spring and made everything with their own hands: soap, medicines, tools, furniture, everything. My grandmother told me all this. The affluent ones, she said, had a mule and a cow and a few chickens and an apple tree."
"When did it change?"
"Actually, not until the 1930s, when road building started and electricity came up the mountain. Some of the Taters didn't want electricity or indoor plumbing. They thought it was unsanitary to have the outhouse indoors. We still resist the idea of paved roads on Little Potato. We don't want joyriders polluting our air and littering our roadsides. There are some older Taters who've never been off the mountain."
Qwilleran said, "I have a lot to learn about mountain culture. I hope you'll tell me more about it."
