"Oh, come on, Qwill. You're not spooked by anything like that, are you?" she asked teasingly.
"I myself don't object to a homicide or two," he retorted, "but a purchaser of the inn could sue you if you don't reveal the skeletons in the closet."
"Well, now you know," Dolly said with a shrug. "J.J. had made enemies, but we never dreamed it would end the way it did, and now that his murderer turned out to be a Tater, we can't help wondering about the other incidents involving his sons."
"Did you attend the trial?"
"Yes, I was there with Sherry Hawkinfield. The poor girl had no one, you know."
"What convicted Forest Beechum?"
"The crucial testimony came from her. She was here for Father's Day, and on Saturday she went to Potato Cove to buy a gift for her dad. She bought a painting and asked the artist to deliver it on Sunday as a surprise. Robert and I were supposed to come up here for a drink on Sunday afternoon and then take J.J. and Sherry to dinner at the club. While we were dressing, we heard police cars and an ambulance going up the mountain. We phoned the Wilbank house, and Ardis told us there'd been a murder at Tiptop. We couldn't believe it!"
"What time was that?"
"We were due there at three. I think it was about two-thirty when we found out."
"Del Wilbank told me there were no witnesses to the actual incident. Where was Sherry?"
"She'd gone down to Five Points to buy cocktail snacks. The artist was coming up the mountain as she drove down, and he was gone when she returned . . . You seem quite interested in this, Qwill."
"I should be! I'm living at the scene of the crime, and I might hear chains rattling in the middle of the night," he said lightly. "Seriously, though, I've been searching for a writing project, and I've come to the conclusion that J.J. would be a good subject for a biography."
"That would be super! Absolutely super!" Dolly said. "It would put Spudsboro on the map, for sure. If there's anything Robert and I can do to help . . . Well, look, I've got to hie myself down to the office. Thanks for the coffee. The brandy didn't hurt it a bit!"
Qwilleran walked with her down the long flights of steps, and she said, "Are you sure you don't want to buy Tiptop and open a country inn? You'd make a charming host."
"Positively not!"
"It'll be a year-round operation when the ski runs are completed. This could be another Aspen!"
"If it doesn't stop raining, Tiptop could be another Ark," Qwilleran said.
Returning to the foyer he found Koko prowling aimlessly. "Any comment?" he asked the cat. Koko merely stretched out on the floor of the foyer, making himself a yard long, and he rolled over a few times in front of the Fitzwallow huntboard.
"Treat!" Qwilleran announced, striding toward the kitchen. Koko scrambled to his feet and raced him to the feeding station, but Yum Yum failed to report. For either of them to ignore the T-word was cause for alarm. Qwilleran went looking for her, starting with the new hiding place under the table skirt in the living room. There she was!
"Yum Yum! What are you doing?" he said in shock.
She was completely absorbed in an aggressive ritual, biting small clumps of fur from her flanks. Feathery tufts were scattered on the gray carpet. Briefly she stopped and gave him a deranged look with slightly crossed eyes, then went on biting.
"What's the matter, sweetheart?" Qwilleran asked tenderly as he drew her out from her retreat. She made no protest but cuddled in his arms as he walked back and forth in the foyer. She made no protest, but neither did she squeeze her eyes in bliss or extend a paw to touch his moustache. "Are you homesick?" he asked. "Is it stress?" She had been yanked away from familiar surroundings and subjected to four days on the road, after which she found herself in a strange house with an unhappy history. Furthermore, he had neglected her for three days while pursuing his own interests. Koko might be tough and self-reliant, but Yum Yum was sensitive and emotionally vulnerable, having been an abused kitten before Qwilleran rescued her.
With one hand he punched the phone number of Lori Bamba in Moose County, still cradling Yum Yum in his arm. Lori, his part-time secretary, was knowledgeable about cats.
"Qwill!" she cried. "1 didn't expect to hear from you for three months! Is everything all right?"
"Yes and no," he said. "I'm concerned about Yum Yum. Suddenly she's started tearing her fur out."
"Where?"
"On her flanks."
"Mmmm . . . yes . . . that sometimes happens. It could be an allergy. Has it just started?"
"I noticed it for the first time today. She was hiding and doing this secret thing to herself, and it seemed, well, obscene! I know she's been under stress lately."
"The vet can give her a shot for that," Lori said, "but wait a day or two and see what develops. Give her some extra attention. It could be a hormonal thing, too. If it continues, take her to the doctor."
