“Great! I’ll have the same.” Barry had changed into casualwear and walked around with his hands in his pants pockets, making comments. “Are those your cats, or are they fur cushions on the bar stools?… Have you read all those books?… I see you have one of those ‘bent’ bikes. Do you ride it?”
There was a recumbent bicycle leaning against a stone wall near the foyer. “It was a gift,” Qwilleran explained. “Now that I’m used to pedaling with my feet elevated, I like it.”
They lounged in the library area with their ginger ale, and his guest said, “Mind if I chew gum? I’m trying to stop smoking.”
“Go right ahead.”
“Is this a wastebasket?” He dropped the wrapper in a polished wooden receptacle with a carved top-handle.
“It’s a wastebasket moonlighting as an antique Chinese water bucket, or vice versa…. Do you know I haven’t chewed gum since I gave up baseball? It was part of the game for me: chomp gum, jerk cap, punch glove, hitch belt.”
“Why did you give up baseball?”
“I came out of the military with a bum knee. It plagued me till I moved to Moose County and then disappeared. The natives credited the drinking water. I think the biking cured it.”
Then the talk turned to the inn: how it had been dreary but clean, how everyone hated the food, how Fran Brodie had worked wonders with the interior. “She’s one of our civic treasures,” Qwilleran said.
“Yeah, she’s a dynamo! Is she married?”
“No, but they’re standing in line. Take a number.”
“What’s a good way to meet girls around here?” Barry asked. “Interesting ones, I mean.”
“It depends on your definition of interesting. There are numerous clubs you can join: theatre, bridge, golf, bird-watching, biking, hiking, and so forth. You can take a class at the art center, go to church, attend Boosters Club luncheons and meet spirited young businesswomen. How about volunteering to teach adults how to read and write? It would look good on your resume,” Qwilleran concluded. “Or in your obituary.”
“Yow!” came an aggressive comment from a bar stool, where Koko was stretching and yawning.
“That’s Kao K’o Kung, the brains of the family,” Qwilleran said. “He reads minds, knows when the phone is going to ring, and tells time without looking at a clock – all skills denied to you and me…. Yum Yum is our glamorcat. She walks like a model on a runway, strikes photogenic poses, and melts hearts with her innocent gaze. But don’t be fooled. She’Il steal anything small and shiny.”
The newcomer, dubious about Qwilleran’s seriousness, changed the subject. “This is my first experience in a small town. Do you have any advice for me? I mean it! I want to get off on the right foot.”
“The main thing,” Qwilleran began, “is to remember that everyone knows everyone. Never speak ill of someone; you may be talking to his cousin or son-in-law or fellow clubmember. Play it safe by keeping your eyes and ears open and your mouth closed.”
“Great… And one more question. My older brother likes winter sports and wouldn’t mind moving up here. He’s a doctor. He’d open a clinic”
“What kind of doctor?”
“Well, that’s a family joke. My mother was an RN in obstetrics, and she wanted my brother to be an OB, but he chose to go into dermatology because his patients don’t call him up in the middle of the night.”
Qwilleran chuckled. “All kidding aside, we need your brother. The nearest dermatologist is in the next county.”
“Great!… He considers a small town a good place to raise a family – away from the muggings, car thefts, and shootings that make city life hairy.”
“Yow!” came a loud comment in a minor key.
Three
Saturday, September 5 – ‘Birds of a feather flock together.’
FOR THE FIRST TIME the daily adage on Culvert’s calendar was accidentally apt. In the evening all the prominent birds of Moose County would wear their finest feathers to a charity reception benefiting the cause of literacy. They would be the first to inspect the new Mackintosh Inn and would see their names in the Moose County Something on Monday – perhaps even their photos.
For this special occasion Qwilleran dressed in Highland evening attire: a kilt in the Mackintosh tartan, a silver-mounted fur sporran, and a dagger in the cuff of his kilt-hose – this with the usual dinner jacket and black tie. Polly wore her white dinner dress with opal jewelry and a shoulder-sash in the Robertson tartan. If asked, she would be pleased to explain that (a) she was a Duncan by marriage and (b) the chief of the Robertson clan had been Duncan of Atholia, a descendent of Celtic earls and kinsman of Robert the Bruce. It amused her to tell them more than they really wanted to know.
They drove to the reception in her sedan, which seemed more compatible with a white dress and opals – more suitable than a big brown van. She said, “The mayor will be there. How do you think he’ll react to Amanda’s challenge”
“He’s a cool cucumber. He won’t let on he knows his goose is cooked.”
