“Yargle” was Koko’s comment as he attempted to yowl and swallow at the same time.
At noon Qwilleran met the attorney for lunch at the Mackintosh Room. “Hear the news?” Barter asked. “It puts a new slant on the case. The authorities are smart, though, not to identify the suspect as the caber-tosser. Local sport fans can be fanatical in support of their heroes.”
“There’ll be a lot of disappointment,” Qwilleran added. “My neighbor kid asked me to get Boze’s autograph; they’d been talking about him at school.”
“Let’s hope he’s apprehended before he commits any more felonies. Now he’s armed.”
Qwilleran smoothed his moustache, “Lenny says he’s never been out of the county, so I doubt that he’ll head for parts unknown to him. He’s an experienced backwoodsman, and they’re a breed of their own. It’s my hunch that he’ll hole up in a cave or some kind of impenetrable thicket and use the gun for shooting small game. There’s plenty of that around.”
“The sheriff’s helicopter will be able to spot him,” Bart said confidently.
The server brought a glass of red wine and a glass of Squunk water, and the two men toasted the memory of Osmond Hasselrich.
“It was time for him to go,” the attorney said. “He was distraught after his daughter’s tragic death but kept going for his wife’s sake. When she died, though, we knew he wouldn’t last long.” Barter shook his head. “Osmond had always been my mentor, and in recent years he treated me like a son. I was with him every day at the end. He wanted to discuss his final wishes. Instead of a funeral he wanted a memorial service like Euphonia Gage’s, but he wanted it at the Old Stone Church with a solitary bagpiper playing ‘Loch Lomond’ and a few of his favorite hymns. Andrew Brodie was a great friend of his.”
“Did Osmond have Scottish blood?”
“He claimed he couldn’t find so much as a sheepdog in his ancestry, but he frequently took his wife and daughter to the Highlands and Islands and called himself a closet kiltie.”
“What will there be at the memorial service besides music?”
“No eulogies! He said he wanted the reading of ‘great words’ by ‘great voices.’ He meant you, Qwill, and Larry and Carol.”
“High praise indeed,” Qwilleran murmured. “Did he specify the readings?”
“He wanted Carol to read his favorite biblical passage: First Corinthians, chapter thirteen. Larry is to read the words of early statesmen, as in the Declaration of Independence and the Preamble to the Constitution. You are requested to read Robert Burns with a Scottish accent, and also Kipling’s poem ‘If’: ‘If you can keep your head when all about you/Are losing theirs.’”
“Any Shakespeare?”
“We discussed it, and the only line he suggested from Shakespeare was; ‘The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.’ Osmond never lost his wry sense of humor. I think he really had some Scottish blood.”
Then lunch was served, and conversation was intermittent. Qwilleran was thinking about the firm of HB&B. Would they drop Osmond’s revered name? Would they bring in a new partner? The one in line was a cousin of Wetherby Goode’s, Loretta Bunker. The jokesters in Moose County would have a good time with Bennett Barter & Bunker. The prestigious law firm of Goodwinter & Goodwinter had come to an unfortunate end when a third name was proposed.
After lunch Barter retrieved a package he had checked at the front desk. “Osmond thought you should have this,” he told Qwilleran.
It was an old-fashioned box-file with metal clasp, leather spine, and boards covered in marbleized paper. The label on the spine read “Klingenschoen Correspondence.”
The Thursday paper was due off the presses at two o’clock, and Qwilleran went to the newspaper office to wait for it.
Junior Goodwinter said, “We’re running some somber stuff today, but that’s the way it works out; the Hasselrich obituary, the assault on the deputy, and the postponement of the Mark Twain Festival. But there’s a letter to the editor that will give you a laugh. lt’s in response to one of your recent columns.” He handed over a proof sheet of the letter:
To the editor: After reading Mr. Q’s dissertation on fibs – white, off-white, gray and shades of black. I made a list of twelve little white lies that are in common use:
You look wonderful!
Don’t worry. He doesn’t bite.
A child can assemble it. All that’s needed is a screwdriver.
Guaranteed for life!
Of course I remember you!
The chef says the clam chowder is very good today.
This won’t hurt. You’ll just feel a little discomfort.
Drop in any time. You’re always welcome.
The doctor will be with you in just a moment.
You don’t need an umbrella. It’s not going to rain.
This car has been driven only ten thousand miles.
I love you.
– Bob Turmerick
Qwilleran chuckled, “Who is this Turmerick?”
“No one knows him, but the letter came from Sawdust City. I thought you’d enjoy it…. Are you covering the play for us tonight?”
Qwilleran went alone to the K Theatre; Polly had another commitment.
