They talked about the demographic shift toward small towns… the Delacamp murder and the news blackout… Boze Campbell’s gold medal for winning the caber toss… the proposed tri-county curling league.
Then Mildred handed Qwilleran a gift-wrapped box. “Happy whatever! Open it!”
Inside layers of tissue was a round covered box made of spalted maple.
“You mind-reader!” Qwilleran said. “I wanted to buy this, and you’d beaten me to it! How can I thank you? It’s a sensational piece of woodturning. Look how precisely the cover fits! I’ll keep it on the library table, near the phone.”
Then Arch handed him a small flat package that could be nothing but a compact disc. “I know you like classical piano music, Qwill, and this guy is a master! Play a few tracks before we go.”
Qwilleran slipped the CD into the stereo, and they listened to a little Mozart, a little Beethoven, and then Rimsky-Korsakov.
“Hey! Listen!” Qwilleran shouted. “Fight of the Bumblebee!”
“That should bring back memories,” Arch said.
At the same time there were two thumps as Koko jumped down from the fireplace cube. He approached the stereo cautiously and sniffed the speakers.
“You know what he’s looking for, don’t you?” Qwilleran asked. Koko’s head jerked to right and left, and he sat up on his haunches and pawed the air. When the short piece ended, he returned to his perch.
“Clever cat!” Arch said.
“Clever composer,” said Qwilleran.
They drove to dinner in the Rikers’ car. Mildred informed them, “There will be two menus. One is the traditional soup-and-salad-and-entree. But I suggest we all try the New Century Dining – five small courses as an adventure in tasting. Chef Wingo maintains that discriminating diners are bored with the sixteen-ounce and baked potato.”
“Speak for yourself, Wingo,” said Arch.
They parked in the lot behind the inn and were walking toward the carriage entrance when Qwilleran stopped abruptly and picked up something from the pavement. “A penny,” he said. “A lucky penny.”
“Heads or tails?” Mildred asked.
“I believe it was heads.”
“That’s double-luck.”
“Here! You take it!”
“No! No! Finders keepers! Take it home and put it in the spalted box.”
Arch said, “I wouldn’t bend over for anything less than a quarter. The penny, I predict, will soon be obsolete. The smallest coin will be a nickel.”
Polly said she was glad; pennies were a nuisance.
“Do you know,” he went on, “that my wife is a secret penny-dropper?”
She nudged him. “You’re not supposed to tell, honey.”
“Tell me! I’m seriously interested,” Polly insisted.
“Well…” Mildred began slowly, “I’ve had so much good luck in recent years –” She stopped and glanced at her husband. “I decided to spread it around. When I get pennies in change, I drop them here and there, one at a time, for someone else to find. In stores, on the street, at a gas pump, at the post office – anywhere. It makes me feel good to know I’m making someone else feel good.”
“Charming idea!” Polly said.
“My wife’s a wonderful woman,” Arch said. “And I’ll bet ten to one she’s a better cook than this Wingo character.”
In the lower lobby they were faced with a choice: to ride the elevator to the main lobby or walk up the grand staircase. Arch wanted to ride – and conserve his energy for more important things, like taking out the trash.
The main lobby was teeming with guests – many wearing tartans, most of them in town for the Scottish Gathering, several talking about the painting of Anne Mackintosh Qwilleran. The spelling of her last name was either Scottish or Danish, they said; in either case she was probably named after Lady Anne, heroine of the Scottish Rebellion in the days of Bonnie Prince Charlie.
At the entrance to the Mackintosh Room the lanky Derek Cuttlebrink towered over the maitre d’s desk. He seated Qwilleran’s party at the best table, in front of the fabled Mackintosh crest, and presented the menu cards with a flourish. Then he whispered in Qwilleran’s ear, “Gotta question to ask you – later.”
Arch Riker looked suddenly pleased. “Listen! No music! No jazz! No show tunes! No electronic noise! I can eat my dinner in peace!”
His wife explained, “Chef Wingo believes in entertaining you with good food. He maintains that the voices of happy diners are the real music.”
“Hear! Hear! He sounds like my kind of guy!… Let me look at his crazy new menu.”
The wait staff consisted of young men and women from MCCC, wearing white shirts, black trousers, and plaid bowties. The one who came to Qwilleran’s table delivered a well-rehearsed speech: “A traditional menu is available for those who prefer, but Chef Wingo recommends New Century Dining with its five courses: soup, appetizer, salad, savory, and dessert. Take your time and don’t be afraid to order three savories and two desserts.”
Qwilleran asked Mildred, “Should I know what a savory is?”
“To me, it’s a little surprise – a change of flavor at the end of the meal and before the dessert.”
The four of them studied the bewildering variety of options.
