“At Boulder House Inn, a picturesque place on the shore. You and I will arrive early, and the innkeeper will hide you in his office with a drink. The rest of us meet on the parapet overlooking the lake. Just as we are about to toast the newlyweds, you enter. . . .”
“And the bride has a heart attack,” Simmons guessed.
They had arrived at the barn, where Simmons had been a guest on his previous visit. “It doesn’t look a day older,” he remarked of the century-old barn.
He was greeted by the Siamese, who treated him like an old friend. “They’re very handsome creatures. The big one looks frighteningly intelligent, if you ask me, and the little one is a flirt.”
They were sitting in the lounge area, having coffee and Scotch shortbread.
“You know, Qwill,” he went on, “I never really paid any close attention to cats, but my mother—Lottie was her name—was crazy about them. After she died, I started seeing cats through her eyes! I’d look at a strange cat and know exactly what Lottie would say. It kind of shook me up.”
“Consider it your inheritance from Lottie,” Qwilleran said. “My mother died when I was in college, majoring in baseball and jazz bands. Suddenly I became interested in
At five o’clock that evening, Simmons was undercover at Boulder House, while Qwilleran and Polly were on the parapet with the newly wedded couple and their attendants. Bushy, Roger, and Qwilleran were bonded in friendship, having been shipwrecked on an island during a violent summer storm.
The three couples looked festive but informal: Janice, Sharon, and Polly in short-sleeved pastel dresses; the three men in white summer jackets, summer shirts, and no ties.
The men were talking about their ordeal. At that moment, they were joined by another man in a light-blue summer jacket.
Janice screamed, “Simmons! What are you doing here?”
“Just looking for a drink,” he said.
Concealed under his coat was a worn school notebook, which he handed to the bride.
Janice was overcome. She said, “I’d faint if I wasn’t having such a good time!”
When the newlyweds were asked about their plans, they said that they would live in Thelma’s wonderful house on Pleasant Street; Bushy would no longer rent space for a commercial studio; a darkroom could be installed in the basement; Janice was learning the fine points of developing and printing; portrait photography could be done in the handsome main rooms of the house.
Then they extended an invitation to everyone for the next day: a cruise among the picturesque offshore islands, with a picnic lunch aboard while anchored near the lighthouse. Bushy had a great cabin cruiser named the
Simmons accepted the invitation with pleasure. So did the MacGillivrays. So did Polly.
Only Qwilleran had to decline, saying that he was doing a matinee at two o’clock.
Then the storytelling began: Simmons, about Thelma’s dinner club; Janice, about Thelma’s parrots; Polly, about embarrassing questions that librarians are asked.
Dinner was served in the glassed-in porch. The oval table was laid with a white banquet cloth and centered with two bowls of lilies in mixed white and yellow. They talked with exuberance, reminisced endlessly, laughed a lot, and had a good time. If anyone noticed it, the food was excellent. And the serving of dessert coincided with the setting of the sun over a hundred miles of lake.
The party ended with hugs, handshakes, and felicitations. The Bushlands and the MacGillivrays took home the bowls of white and yellow lilies. Qwilleran dropped off Polly at Indian Village and drove to the barn with his houseguest.
Simmons said, “Very interesting woman, Polly. You don’t often hear such a pleasant voice. Has she ever been married? What’s the bookstore she mentioned?”
“It’s being built in downtown Pickax, where the previous bookstore stood for fifty years before being torched.”
“Did they get the arsonist?”
“He and two coconspirators are in prison. The old building was built in 1850 by a blacksmith who moonlighted as a pirate, and his loot was said to be buried under what had become a parking lot. At the official groundbreaking for the new store, thousands of people came from all over the county to see the pirate’s gold coins. The chest was found, but it was empty.”
“How did the crowd react. Did they riot?”
“They thought it was a good joke! This is Moose County, not Los Angeles.”
When they arrived at the barn, Qwilleran said, “Would you like a nightcap? Or a refresher?”
“I’d like to try that Squunk water you drink.”
“Red or white?”
“Oh. Red.”
