With the agreement signed and the deposit made, he paid a formal visit to the walnut-paneled, velvet-draped office of Hasselrich, Bennett & Barter for a conference with the venerable senior partner. A meeting with Osmond Hasselrich always began with the obligatory cup of coffee served with the formality of a Japanese tea ceremony. The attorney himself poured from an heirloom silver coffee pot into heirloom Wedgwood cups, his aged hands shaking and the cups rattling in their saucers. Their dainty handles were finger-traps, and Qwilleran was always glad when the ritual ended. When the silver tray had been removed and the attorney at last faced him across the desk with hands folded, Qwilleran began:
"After much cogitation, Mr. Hasselrich, I have decided to go away for the summer." Even after five years of business and social acquaintance, the two men still addressed each other formally. "It's my intention to distance myself totally from Moose County in order to plan my future. This agreeable community exerts a magnetic hold on me, and I need to escape its spell for a while in order to think objectively."
The attorney nodded wisely.
"I'm going to the Potato Mountains." Qwilleran paused until the legal eyelids stopped fluttering. Fluttering eyelids were the old gentleman's standard reaction to questionable information. "No one but you will have my address. I'm cutting all ties for three months. Mr. O'Dell will look after my residence as usual. Lori Bamba handles my mail and will refer urgent matters to you. All my financial affairs are in your hands, so I anticipate no problems."
"How do you intend to handle current expenses while there, Mr. Qwilleran?"
"Apart from food there will be very few expenses. I'll open a temporary checking account, and you can transfer funds to the bank down there as needed. The bank is the First Potato National of Spudsboro." Qwilleran waited for the eyelids to stop fluttering and the jowls to stop quivering. "As soon as I know my mailing address and telephone number, I'll convey that information to your office. My plan is to leave Tuesday and arrive in the Potatoes by Friday."
Although often disturbed by Qwilleran's seeming eccentricities, Hasselrich admired his concise, well-organized manner of conducting business, little realizing that his client was merely in a hurry to escape from the suffocating environment.
On Monday there was a bon voyage handshake from Arch Riker after Qwilleran promised to write a thousand words for the Moose County Something whenever a good subject presented itself. On Monday evening there was a farewell dinner with Polly Duncan at the Old Stone Mill, followed by a sentimental parting at her apartment.
Then, early on Tuesday morning Qwilleran packed his secondhand, three-year-old, four-cylinder, two-tone green sedan for the journey. Despite his new wealth he still spent money reluctantly on transportation. Included in the baggage were his typewriter and computerized coffeemaker, as well as a box of books and the cats' personal belongings. The Siamese observed the packing process closely, and as soon as their waterdish and pan of kitty gravel disappeared out the back door, they made themselves instantly invisible.
CHAPTER 2
When the compact four-door pulled away from the apple barn, both cats were in their carrier on the backseat, reclining on a cushion befitting their royal status, and Qwil-leran was at the wheel contemplating a new adventure that might change his life. He planned to keep a diary during the journey, using the small recorder that was always in his pocket. It would capture his thoughts and impressions while driving, along with yowling remarks from the backseat, and he could add commentary when they stopped at motels. The following account was recorded on tape:
TUESDAY . : . Left Pickax at ten-thirty, a half hour later than planned. The car was packed, and I was ready to take off, when the Siamese vanished. Nothing is more exasperating than delay caused by a last-minute cat hunt. First I found Koko on a bookshelf, doing his ostrich act behind the biographies, with six inches of tail protruding from the hiding place. With him it was a game, and the tail was intended to be a clue, but Yum Yum was in deadly earnest. She was huddled on a beam under the roof, accessible only by a forty-foot ladder. Curses! Rather than call the volunteer fire department, I opened a can of cocktail shrimp with an ostentatious rattling of utensils and remarks such as "This is delicious! Would you like a treat, Koko?" In our household the T-word is taboo unless a treat is actually forthcoming, so it always works. After a minute or two a series of soft thumps told me the princess was on her way down from her ivory tower.
Having enjoyed their impromptu feast they hopped into their carrier, ready to hit the road. Did I say impromptu? I daresay the entire episode was plotted by those two incorrigible connivers!
