It was generally thought that Hixie's brilliant plans always went awry. Thus far, her plans for Pickax Now had been successful. Even the weather had cooperated, and the three-month celebration was almost two-thirds over. Still, Qwilleran could not quell the newsman's suspicion that everything was going too well.
Chapter 14
Hixie Rice was flying high! Sell-out audiences were having a good cry at The Big Burning and laughing in all the right places at Billy the Kid. Family reunions were a success - with one exception, the shooting. Who really killed the rabbit hunter?
Everyone was looking forward to the second parade. One day Qwilleran entered the following in his journal:
Today the cats and I were enjoying the gazebo when Culvert McBee came walking up the lane carrying a plastic sack. His mother makes the best chocolate chip cookies in the county! And I was prepared with a limerick:
Fresh cookies from Mrs. McBee
Are always received with much glee!
Does she bake every batch
Of cookies from scratch?
Or maybe they grow on a tree?
How that boy has grown! I remember him when he was a nine-year-old defeating adults in a spelling bee! Since then his parents have encouraged him in a series of worthwhile enterprises, including a backyard shelter for old, sick, abandoned dogs.
I invited him to sit down, but he said he had to go home and do chores. Yet he showed a certain heel-kicking reluctance to leave.
"Is something on your mind?" I asked him.
He said the new girl at the paper found out about his backyard shelter and wants to write about it. His father said no, explaining that people all over the county will be dumping the unwanted dogs on the McBee farm.
I told Culvert his father is absolutely right! I said I would explain it to the new girl.
Only yesterday she informed me the cat club had invited her to join it, and enter Jerome in the cat fashion show. He had won one in California.
I pointed out to her that she was brought here as a journalist to report on such events - not as a joiner of organizations seeking publicity.
Qwilleran was looking forward to another book signing on Wednesday. The Literary Club was introducing The Historic Hibbard House : text by James Mackintosh Qwilleran and photographs by John Bushland.
All the best people assembled on the lower floor of The Pirate's Chest.
They rose to their feet in a vociferous welcome when the author stepped to the podium and the photographer projected the first image in the darkened room. It was the century-old mansion of eccentric design and curious legend - that had been reduced to ashes overnight.
Bushland's photo of the strange architecture made a striking illustration for the dust jacket of The Historic Hibbard House. Stranger still was the color of the jacket - a flowery shade of violet. Qwilleran explained it to the audience:
"Four generations occupied this house. It was built by a wealthy sawmill owner who could neither read nor write. . . . His son, college-bred, lived his life as a country gentlemen who liked to entertain guests. . . . His grandson was a serious scholar, noted for his library. . . . His great-granddaughter and last of the Hibbards was a professor of drama and poetry. Her name was Violet."
The morning after the book signing, Qwilleran walked downtown to Lanspeak's Department Store to buy a violet-scented gift for Polly, who had originally suggested the color of the book jacket.
