“It’s a pole – a tree trunk – about twenty feet long and weighing about two hundred pounds. Boze tosses it like a toothpick and tumbles it end-over-end, the way you’re supposed to. If we can beat those Bixby bums Saturday, it’ll give the whole county a big charge. Are you gonna be there?”
“I’ve never attended a Scottish Gathering, but I’ll be there, rooting for you guys. Altogether it’s quite a lively week in the sleepy town of Pickax. Have you met the distinguished guest?”
“No, he checked in while Viyella was on the desk. She says he comes on pretty strong, but his niece is kind of mousy. Not after eleven o’clock when I’m on the desk, though! I guess her uncle’s gone to bed, and she comes down to the lobby in false eyelashes, short-short skirts and lots of lipstick. She likes to hang around the desk and talk about rock bands. I couldn’t care less. I go for country-western. Besides, I have a lot of studying to do, and I can use some quiet time on the desk…. So I follow Mr. Morghan’s rule: Act friendly but don’t get friendly.”
“Lenny!” his mother shouted from the kitchen. “If you’re gonna gab instead of studyin’ your books, get off your rusty dusty and help me with dinner!”
Lenny jumped up and grinned. “Gotta go!”
Thursday, September 10 – ‘The early bird gets the worm.’
At six o’clock Qwilleran picked up Polly in Indian Village for the drive to West Middle Hummock, where the Lanspeaks had their country estate. His first words were, “Did you get the ring?”
“It’s breathtaking! I can’t believe that it’s mine – or will be after December 25.”
“Nonsense! Start wearing it now. Where is it?”
“I went directly to the bank and put it in my lock-box, but I can’t wait for you to see it!”
“How was the appointment with Old Compo?”
“All business. No hand-kissing or compliments. I declined a cup of tea and kept looking at my watch. They showed me the ring, and I handed over the cash.”
“Did they count it?”
“The assistant took it into the other room. I’m sure she counted it.”
Qwilleran said, “Both you and I must avoid any slip of the tongue that would reveal my presence at the tea.”
West Middle Hummock was an exclusive enclave of country estates, and the landscape was a panorama of woods and meadows, winding roads bordered with wildflowers, and rustic bridges over gurgling streams.
“Isn’t it lovely?” Polly murmured.
“Would you like to live here?”
“No, but I like to visit once in a while, Carol is preparing dinner; it’s her cook’s night off.”
The Lanspeaks lived in an unpretentious farmhouse furnished with country antiques that looked like museum quality. When their children were young, they had kept a family cow, riding horses, and a few chickens and ducks. Now Carol and Larry were alone – except for the couple who took care of the housekeeping and grounds – and they concentrated on running the department store and participating in the theatre club, historical society, genealogy club, and gourmet group.
Larry met them on the front steps, saying, “The visiting firemen will be a little late, so we’ll start the Happy Hour without them. Old Campo doesn’t drink, anyway.”
Uh-huh, Qwilleran thought.
Carol came out of the kitchen, where she was preparing her famous breast of duck with prosciutto and mushroom duxelles.
Qwilleran asked, “Has this year’s Delacamp expedition been a success so far?”
“He never discusses that aspect of his visit,” Carol said, “but I know that Mrs, Woodinghurst sold her famous brooch yesterday, and he’s agreed to take Maggie Sprenkle’s torsade.”
They talked in chummy fashion about the Tuesday Tea, and Qwilleran entertained them with an account of his discomforts and boredom as a security guard. Then the honored guests arrived, and the mood became formal. What happened next is best described in Qwilleran’s own words, which he recorded in his personal journal:
This guy Delacamp has been coming up here for more than twenty years and is not on first-name terms with anyone – even Carol and Larry. His niece was introduced as Ms. North. “Pamela,” she said shyly, keeping her eyes cast down. Could this be the chick who pestered Lenny Inchpot at the reception desk in the late hours? She was wearing her tailored suit, and her uncle wore a blazer obviously tailored to flatter his expanding girth.
He said to me, “Haven’t we met in the last few days? At the country club perhaps?” I professed regret at not having had the pleasure, but I began to wonder if my disguise had been less effective than Carol insisted.
Quickly she said, “Mr. Qwilleran writes a column for the newspaper, and his picture appears at the head of it. That’s the answer.”
Unconvinced, Old Campo continued to throw glances in my direction all evening. He asked for a cup of tea when Larry was ready to serve a second round of drinks, leading me to challenge him. “As a journalist and a confirmed coffee-drinker, may I ask why you prefer tea?”
