“Who’s Amanda?” Barry asked.
Everyone explained at once: “She’s Fran Brodie’s boss, owner of the design studio… She’s going to run for mayor… She hates the incumbent!… She’s been on the city council for ages!… She’s a little odd, but everyone likes her oddities.”
“What kind of oddities?” Barry asked. “Name two.”
“She’s a successful businesswoman but looks like a scarecrow.”
“She speaks her mind and doesn’t care where the chips fall.”
“And what about the incumbent? I met him at the opening reception, and he seemed quite… smooth.”
“Smooth like a snake,” said Maggie. “He was the high school principal until a scandal involving girl students. Then he became an investment counselor and ran for mayor. He was elected because his mother was a Goodwinter. He keeps getting reelected for the same reason – not because he’s ever done the city any good.”
Dwight had opened his portfolio and produced a poster with a photo of a handsome man and the message: VOTE FOR BLYTHE. He said, “This is the poster that gets him elected every time: Now I’ll show you the poster that will beat him in November.”
It was a caricature of a woman with unruly hair, slightly crossed eyes, and a downturned mouth, and the message was: WE’D RATHER HAVE AMANDA.
Polly said, “Everyone knows who she is. She’s a real Goodwinter!”
Barry said, “I’ll vote for her! Where do I register?”
When Qwilleran went to the refrigerator for another bottle of champagne, Barry followed him and said in a low voice, “Our hero didn’t show up for work last night – and no explanation.”
“So I heard. What happens now?”
“Two cuts and he’s suspended. After a week he’s fired, even if he is a celebrity. You can’t run a hotel that way.”
Back in the lounge area, after the cork was popped, Barry asked, “What was the hotel like before it was bombed?”
Everyone groaned. “Dismal!… Depressing!… But clean!”
Then Dwight told his towel rod story. “When I came to Pickax, I stayed at the hotel a couple of weeks. The bed was okay; the plumbing worked; but the towel rod kept falling off the wall. Every day I reported it, and every day it was fixed. But whenever I took a towel, it clattered to the floor, again. Once it crashed in the middle of the night for no reason at all. After I left, the hotel was bombed. Windows blew out. Chandeliers fell. But Fran Brodie reported that the towel rod in 209 was still on the wall!”
“Great story!” said Barry. “We’ll give you a weekend in the new 209 without charge.”
The restaurant called The Old Stone Mill had been a working grist mill on a rushing stream in pioneer days – with a waterwheel that turned and groaned and creaked. Now the stream had run dry and the wheel was a reproduction, electrically powered. But the original stone walls and ponderous timbers gave the mill a romantic atmosphere for dining. Qwilleran’s party had a round table for six, and Barry managed to sit next to Hixie and get better acquainted.
Dwight interrupted their tete-a-tete with a question. “What do you think about Moose County, Barry?”
“It’s great! Absolutely great!”
“Do you have any questions to ask Qwill’s panel of Pickax pundits?”
“Yes! My brother and his wife are planning to move up here and wondering where to live. Any suggestions?”
“If they want a roomy old-fashioned house, Pleasant Street has some beauties, and they’re within walking distance of everything. If they’re interested in an apartment or condo, I recommend Indian Village. It’s in a wooded area, a short drive from town. I live there.”
“I live there,” said Hixie.
“I live there,” Polly chimed in, “and so does Qwill in the winter. There are walking paths along the river and a clubhouse.”
“Sounds great!” Barry said. “My sister-in-law is an artist, and she asked about the art climate around here.”
Qwilleran answered that question. “We have a new art center for exhibitions, classes, workshops, and lectures. What is her special interest?”
“Batik.”
Polly said, “No one in this area does batik. Maybe she would teach a class.”
“Great! She likes to teach.”
After dinner all but Barry declined Qwilleran’s invitation to have a nightcap at the barn. The innkeeper said he had to pick up his library book and the framed picture of the old hotel. Barry said he had had enough champagne but would like some bottled water. Qwilleran poured Squunk water and introduced him to yet another Moose County specialty.
“What’s that on the rug?” the visitor asked.
“A Brazil nut!” Qwilleran exclaimed. “Very odd! The cats are never interested in nuts!”
They sat in the lounge area with their mineral water, and Barry said, “I had a great time tonight! Good food. Great people. Hixie is an interesting woman. How long have you known her?”
“A long time. We met Down Below. I was instrumental in bringing her here; there was a job opening, and she wanted a career change. She has clever ideas and boundless enthusiasm.”
“Is she single? Divorced? Any attachments?”
