To stay out of their way, Qwilleran killed an hour at Lois’s Luncheonette, having a slice of apple pie and reading the Tuesday Something. Lenny, he expected, would barge in after classes, howling for coffee and pie. Instead, the young man slouched into the lunchroom and went directly to the kitchen for quiet words with his mother. When he emerged with a plate and a mug, Qwilleran hailed him. “Anything wrong, Lenny?”
“Boze didn’t show up for work last night,” he replied in a low voice as he slid into the booth. “He had Saturday and Sunday nights off but was supposed to relieve me last night at midnight. No show! No excuse! No nothing! I called his rooming house, but the phone was on the answering machine until six A.M.” Lenny took a gulp of coffee.
“What happens in a situation like that?”
“I notified the resident manager, and she covered for him. But I was really burned, Qwill! I drove around to all the bars until two o’clock, looking for his truck. No luck. He cut his classes this morning, too.”
Qwilleran said, “That was a lot of glory for a neophyte. I admit I wondered how he’d react.”
Lenny wasn’t listening. “Did he go on a colossal binge in Bixby? Did he get in a fight down there? Did they drug his beer? Did he fall in with some groupies?”
“How do you think Morghan will feel about it? It’s only one night that he goofed off. Saturday and Sunday were –”
“Mr. Morghan is a decent boss, but rules are rules.”
“It could be a traffic accident. Did anyone check the police and the hospitals?”
“The resident said she would. There’d be a radio news bulletin if anything bad happened to a gold medalist. I think Boze is AWOL, and it reflects on me. I’m the one who recommended him for the job. Other people thought I was crazy… You know, Mr. Q, sometimes I think I’m jinxed. I try hard, but something always happens. First, the hotel gets bombed by some psycho, and I lose the only girl I was ever serious about. Also, my job is bombed out for a year. The interim job you got for me turned sour when I was framed…. See what I mean?”
Qwilleran said, “If Boze doesn’t report tonight, you should file a Missing Person report, and the police will put a tri-county check on his truck.” He stood up to leave. “And don’t let me hear any defeatist talk from you! Nothing can get you down, Lenny. You’re like Lois!”
Polly, first to arrive at the barn that evening, said, “Maggie will be the only native in the party tonight.”
“That’s all right,” Qwilleran replied. “It’ll show Barry how outsiders adjust to small-town living without losing their identity.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“You might look at the photo-prints of the Gathering on the coffee table and take whatever you want. I ordered extras.”
The dinner guests arrived at the barn in separate vehicles, making the barnyard look like a used-car lot.
Polly had brought a large book from the library, featuring old photos of Moose County: mines, lumber camps, shipyards, sawmills, rooming houses, log cabins, logging wagons. She told Barry Morghan, “You might like to take it home and browse through it, then drop it in the drivethrough bookbox behind the library.”
“Great!” the innkeeper said.
Then Maggie presented him with a framed photo of a grim stone building with a painted sign: HOTEL. She said, “This was the original Pickax Hotel and staff. You might like to hang it in your office.”
On the front steps were the manager, in sidewhiskers and frock coat; the hotel’s carriage driver, with top hat and whip; and long-skirted, white-capped chambermaids and cooks. All were solemn-faced. The only happy touch was a stray dog of mixed breed, sitting on the sidewalk and enjoying the excitement.
“Great!” Barry said. “I’ll have a companion photo taken – the Mackintosh Inn and its smiling staff.”
“And a dog,” Hixie suggested.
Maggie said, “The animal shelter has one exactly like the original. They’ll let you borrow him for the photo.”
“The Something will run before-and-after shots on the picture page,” Qwilleran promised.
Then Hixie presented Barry with a small gift-wrapped box. “This is a memento of something that never happened – Moose County’s First and Probably Last Ice Festival.”
He opened it and found a three-inch lapel button with a polar bear motif.
She said, “It’s one of only fifteen thousand that we were stuck with.”
“Great!”
“In fifty or seventy-five years it should be worth something. Hang onto it.”
“I will! I will!” Barry said as he pinned it on his blazer. There was an obvious moment of appreciative rapport between the two, and the others started talking all at once:
“There were some interesting letters to the editor yesterday.”
“How’s the Mark Twain Festival coming along? Does anyone know?”
“I saw Homer Tibbitt yesterday. He’s as spirited as ever.”
“Where are the cats?” Maggie asked.
“Yes, where are they?” Polly wanted to know.
“They’ve scrutinized all of you and found you harmless,” Qwilleran replied. “They’re sleeping on top of the refrigerator.”
“Would anyone like to see Amanda’s campaign poster?” Dwight asked.
“Yes! Yes!”
