The woman turned and saw the famous moustache. “Qwill!” she cried.
“Are you Gary’s wife,” he asked, “or are you wearing her jumpsuit?” The name “Maxine” was embroidered on the breast pocket.
“Gary has told me so much about you!”
“Why is a nice woman like you married to that hairy brute?”
“He may look like a black bear, but he’s a real pussycat,” she said. “We used to go out in his sailboat, and he’d talk about how a sky full of sail and a whispering breeze can touch the soul of a man. And I knew he couldn’t be all bad.”
“I’m glad you got together,” Qwilleran said. “Now when can you and I get together for a technical rehearsal? All we need is a quiet room with two tables and two chairs.”
“Tomorrow night, about eight o’clock?” she suggested.
“Perfect! I’ve brought you a cue card and also a copy of the script, so you can see what happens between cues.”
“You’re so well organized, Qwill!”
“It’s a lot easier than organizing a parade of two hundred boats. How will it work? Will they parade single file?”
“No, in fleets of about twenty-five. There are eight towns on the lakefront, and each will have a fleet—and a port master in charge.”
Qwilleran noticed some eager-looking tourists coming along the boardwalk, and he said, “Tell me the rest of it tomorrow night. Bring the speech you’ll be making to the audience.”
“I’ve memorized it already!” she said proudly.
Qwilleran stopped for lunch at Lois’s Luncheonette. The Tuesday special was always turkey, and Lois always sent a few pieces of meat home to the Siamese. Then he went to the barn for a private run-through of the script.
Now he had to decide how much emotion to put in his voice as a broadcaster. How objective should he be in reporting the first bulletins? And how much concern should he show as the bulletins went from bad to worse? His tone of voice, as well as the words he was reading, would increase the reactions of the audience. When satisfied with the dramatic effect created and the sense of reality maintained, Qwilleran had a cup of coffee and then did another run-through, pressing the PLAY button to bring in the eyewitness reports. So far, so good, but with an assistant handling the controls, the pace would quicken and the emotions of the audience would intensify.
Despite the assorted noises, the Siamese slept peacefully on their cushioned chair . . . until an inaudible sound jerked both of them awake and started their ears swiveling. It could only mean that someone was coming! Qwilleran left the gazebo and walked around the building to the barnyard in time to see a car emerging from the woods, purring like a well-tuned vehicle. The cats could not have heard someone coming; they had sensed it in their sleep. Qwilleran shook his head; it was too much to fathom.
At any rate, he was glad to see his friend G. Allen Barter from the law office. “Bart! What brings you sneaking through the woods like a poacher? How about a drink?”
“Not today, thanks. I’m on my way home, but I was at the courthouse and decided it would be easier to drop in than to call on this erratic cell phone.”
They went to the gazebo, and the attorney spoke to the Siamese, who responded by going back to sleep. He said, “Beautiful day! Did I interrupt something?”
“Not at all. Have a chair—I warn you, they all have cat hairs on them—and tell me what’s on your mind.”
“Well, our senior partner received a panicked call from an important client. She said that you, Qwill, had advised her to disinherit her granddaughter, evict her from the house on the Parkway, change the locks, and hire a security guard!”
Calmly, Qwilleran replied, “I advised her to hire a housekeeper, but I suppose a security guard can cut the grass, too.”
“Also, she said that you, Qwill, told her to donate the property to the community for a museum.”
“Is that all?”
“Isn’t that enough? How did you get involved with Dr. Carroll’s widow? I’m interested only in you as my client. My partner seemed to think everything made sense.”
Then Bart asked, “Does anyone know when the young people will be back from . . . wherever they’ve gone?”
“Milwaukee—on business. I hired Alicia to do some research for me while she was there, so I’m sure she’ll report to me—to collect her fee, if for no other reason.”
“Has she been here to the barn?”
“No. Gary is particular about not giving out my phone number and address. It’s his idea, not my request, but I appreciate it.”
Barter nodded. “He’s an all-right guy, with a lot of common sense. . . . So why does he have to wear that ridiculous beard?”
“He’s descended from pioneers, and they were—and still are—individualists. Although I must say that he shaved it off for his wedding, and everyone said he looked like a nonentity.”
