Want to hear something I did that was naughty? I sent my parents a note (signed Annie Qwilleran) telling them that they now had a son-in-law. I couldn’t resist telling them he’s a tie salesman. I knew Dad would burst a blood vessel. Of course, he wouldn’t let Mother acknowledge my note. I don’t care. If they don’t need a daughter, I don’t need parents.
Love from Annie
When Qwilleran returned the letter to the file, Koko was sitting on the library table, paying no attention to the mechanical bank, which was supposed to be his toy. As usual, he showed more interest in the spalted maple box, sniffing the little knob on the lid and pawing the decorative motifs created by flaws in the wood. One was like the outline of a mouse trapped beneath the waxy surface of the box; another looked somewhat like a bee. “Cats! Unpredictable!” Qwilleran muttered as he thawed a roll for his breakfast. A phone call from Celia Robinson interrupted.
“Chief, sorry to bother you,” she said, “but I need to discuss something.”
“Shoot!”
“It’s about Nora, my helper. I was telling her about Short & Tall Tales and how you’re collecting stories about Moose County – some true, some legends. She said she has a story to tell that actually happened.”
“How long ago? Do you know the nature of it?”
“She wouldn’t tell me, but she’d like you to hear it. She’d love to see it in your book. She was thrilled, you know, when the paper used her letter.”
“It’s a heady feeling to see your words in print for the fast time. I’ll listen to her tale.” He never said no to a story; it might be a gem.
“I don’t want her to waste your time. It may not be worth anything. She’s just a simple country woman, you know.” Then she added with a laugh, “Like me.”
“You’re worth three city women, Celia. Tell you what! Some day when Nora’s making a delivery for you. I’ll see what’s on her mind.”
“Wonderful! I’m making beef pot pies today. Shall I make an extra one for you? Also mincemeat tarts?”
“Keep talking.”
Celia laughed merrily. “Nora could deliver them this afternoon.”
“I’ll be gone all day. How about tomorrow morning?”
“She goes to church.”
An appointment was made for Sunday afternoon, and Qwilleran went up the ramp to dress, feeling he had made a good deal.
The autumn color in Moose County was at its peak. Gold, red, bronze, coral, maroon – all accenting the groves of dark, dense evergreens. This was the weekend when everyone took to the highways with cameras. Qwilleran, Polly, and the Rikers planned to do the tour and stop for lunch at Boulder House Inn on the north shore. They assembled in Indian Village and rode in Qwilleran’s van, which offered a wider view than Arch’s four-door.
Polly was looking unusually jaunty in a beige corduroy suit, black beret, and beige-and-black scarf featuring Chinese calligraphy.
Mildred said, “I love your scarf, Polly! You didn’t get that around here.”
“Thank you. It’s from the Boston Museum of Art.”
“I hope you know what it says,” Arch warned.
“Happiness, harmony, and health – or something like that. All good things, I assure you.”
They proceeded to crisscross the county on country roads, driving slowly, gasping at spectacular autumn views, taking snapshots of the most brilliant color. Conversation was limited. “Oh, look at that!… Did you ever see anything so beautiful?… Breathtaking!… Better than ever this year!”
“Why is traffic so light?” Polly wondered. “Usually the roads are crowded on the big weekend.”
“Everyone’s at home watching the ball game on TV,” Arch suggested with his usual cynicism.
The weathered gray shafthouses stood like lonely sentinels in the lush landscape. Each had its history; a cave-in, a mine explosion, a murder. Polly said, “Maggie insists there’s a subterranean lake under the Big B.”
At the Boulder House Inn their reservation was for one-thirty, giving them time for a walk on the beach. In a few weeks the sand would be buried under three feet of snow. Indoors, to their surprise, the dining room was half empty.
“We’ve had several cancellations,” the innkeeper said. “Just spread a rumor about a killer on the loose, and folks lock themselves in the bathroom.”
At a table in the window overlooking the lake Mildred said, “Let’s not ruin our lunch by talking about the terrorist in our midst.”
“I have good news,” said Polly. “After the Cavendish sisters moved out, I worried about getting a noisy neighbor. The walls are deplorably thin! Well, yesterday the new owner came into the library and introduced himself. He’s a rare book dealer from Boston!”
“You can’t get anyone quieter!” Arch said cheerfully.
“He does mail-order business from his home and is having shelves installed on all the walls. Until his furniture and books arrive he’s staying at the Mackintosh Inn.”
“What’s he like?” Mildred asked eagerly. She was always looking for interesting guests to invite to dinner.
