“Rather!” Qwilleran said. “She looks twenty years younger. And by the way, she wants to know how you run your literary club. She wants to start one at the bookstore.”
“I’ll have Moira get in touch with her; she’s secretary of the Lit Club.”
Qwilleran asked, “Have you heard about the Bicentennial of the town of Brrr? I’m doing a show on the Great Storm of 1913. That’s why I asked for some 1913 clips of the
“Did you know it was called the
They chatted, stopping long enough to order lunch. Kip recommended the turkey potpie, made with bacon and turnips.
Qwilleran said he’d stick to his favorite Reuben sandwich.
“Are you going to write another book, Qwill?”
“Well, off the record, I’m writing
“Good idea! Did you know that Moira is breeding marmalade cats? She wants to know if you’re going to have a bookstore cat. If so, she’d like to present you with a pedigreed marmalade.”
Qwilleran hesitated. He had known some scruffy, overweight orange cats in his time, and he said warily, “That’s a decision for Polly to make. It’s a good thought, though; books and cats go together.”
“I’ll tell Moira to phone Polly. I know it’s a little premature, since you’ve only just dug the hole for the building. But Moira has a handsome devil in the cattery, a few months old, and she would save him for you if Polly’s interested. She said he’s a people cat, born to win friends and influence customers. When do you expect the store to open?”
“Before snow flies.”
“Meanwhile, have you opened your log cabin yet?”
“I’ve alerted the janitorial service to get it ready for summer.”
“I hear there was a murder in the woods near your place. Are you ready with an alibi?”
They rambled on, and the banter reminded Qwilleran of lunches at the Press Club Down Below, when he was an underpaid hack working for the
“And let’s not wait so long next time!”
Only when Qwilleran was driving back to Pickax did he realize he had forgotten to ask about the land-fraud scandal in Lockmaster—and an orphaned daughter who had changed her name and moved to Moose County.
At the barn the Siamese were waiting expectantly, as if they knew he was bringing some tasty fragments of Reuben sandwich. Then he locked himself in his writing studio on the first balcony with a thermal coffee decanter, there to write a “Qwill Pen” column for the following week. It would be about June.
He made notes:
June is bustin’ out all over. (Show)
What is so rare as a day in June? (Poem)
A four-letter word, but a polite one.
The month of weddings, graduations, and the second income-tax estimate.
His note-taking was interrupted by a phone call from Polly, in high spirits.
“Qwill, dear! You’ll never guess what happened today.”
“How many guesses—” he began but was interrupted. He had never known Polly to be so voluble.
“Moira MacDiarmid phoned to offer the bookstore a marmalade cat for a mascot! One with a real Scottish heritage! A genuine people cat! Just what we’ll need to welcome customers and make them feel at home!”
“Male or female?” he questioned with the fact-finding instincts of a newsman.
“A little boy. Breeders call their kittens little boys and little girls, you know. He’s several months old and will be a yearling when the store is ready to open.”
“What does he look like?”
“His coat is soft and dense and huggable, Moira says. His color is a rich cream with tabby markings in soft apricot! And he has large green eyes! Can’t you imagine him, Qwill, against a background of lively green carpet—lively green, not the somber forest green used in public places, although Fran Brodie may not approve. She has her own ideas, you know.”
“The K Fund is hiring her to design the interior,” he said. “Just tell them what you want, and they’ll tell her! And that’s the way it will be!” He detected a sigh of satisfaction. There had never been a friendly rapport between the designer and Polly—or between the designer and Yum Yum, for that matter.
“Then you approve, Qwill?”
“Provided he doesn’t turn out to be one of those thirty-pound marmalades that get all the publicity.”
“No! No!” Polly assured him. “Dundee has good genes.”
“Dundee? Is that his name?”
“Isn’t that adorable?” Polly said. “Especially since his ancestors came from the city associated with orange marmalade! Well, I had to call you. The news was too good to keep.”
“I’m glad you did, Polly.”
