With that mission completed, Qwilleran fed the cats and prepared to satisfy his own ravenous hunger resulting from an emotional performance onstage. He started heating some beef barley soup from the deli and building a heroic ham sandwich on rye augmented by an equally heroic dill pickle.
He had no sooner turned off the burner under the soup than Koko staged a first-class tizzy. He hopped on and off the kitchen counter, pressing his nose against the window screen that overlooked the approach to the barnyard. Something important was arriving. The cat was perturbed enough to suggest that it was a fire truck or an army tank.
Qwilleran went outdoors to investigate, first covering the soup pot and hiding the sandwich in a cat-proof cabinet. When a vehicle came through the woods, one could always hear the motor and crunching of tires on crushed stone. There was none of that, but a lone walker came into view, trudging wearily through the woods. He was wearing boots, skinny jeans, a loose hip-length jacket, and shoulder-length hair. He was the remaining half of the Lish-and-Lush team.
SIXTEEN
Qwilleran went to meet the weary traveler. “Clarence! Where did you come from?”
“The camp,” the young man gasped, as if with his last breath.
“Great Oaks? That’s ten miles from here! I hope you were able to hitch a ride.” It was not likely; local drivers were not prone to pick up hitchhikers with haircuts different from their own.
“Have you had food, Clarence?”
The young man shook his head. “Couldn’t pay for any. She’s gone. Didn’t leave no money.”
“Well, come into the gazebo and have a bowl of soup and a ham sandwich.” He showed Clarence to a lounge chair. “Stretch out here. Take off your boots. Munch on these nuts while you’re waiting. Would you like some fruit juice?”
“Any beer?”
“Sorry. No beer.” There was beer—and everything else—in the bar, but Qwilleran preferred to keep the party dry.
In the barn he gave the soup another shot of heat and slipped another slice of ham into the sandwich. The cats watched—Yum Yum bemused, Koko mystified; the male cat always wanted to know the who, why, and what. Qwilleran was wondering how to break the news of the car accident. Lish was simply “gone,” as far as her driver knew . . . and how indeed could he hold a conversation with this man of few words?
Back in the gazebo the guest wolfed down the repast that the host had intended for himself, but that was simply one of the quiddities in the life of the Klingenschoen heir.
Qwilleran kept the questions casual. “How long have you worked for Lish?”
After a pause, “I dunno.”
“It’s hard to remember, isn’t it? Time flies. Did she leave you a note?”
He shook his head while chewing.
“Do you have any idea where she would go?”
“Nope.”
“Where’s your own home, may I ask? If I’m not being too nosy.”
“Don’t have none.”
“Do you just hang out?”
He nodded.
“Yes. I guess young people like that lifestyle,” Qwilleran added, trying not to sound too judgmental.
“Lish is a smart woman. She said you were a good driver. Do you like your work?”
Another nod.
“What other jobs do you do for her?”
“I’m her shooter.” He said it with pride, it seemed.
“You mean, with a camera? Is she into photography?”
For an answer, the “shooter” opened his loose jacket and showed something shiny in a holster, close to his rib cage.
“Neat!” Qwilleran commented, for want of a better reaction.
He pondered the next question. “How about a dish of ice cream, and I’ll have one, too. Would you like chocolate sauce?” The host brought two dishes, saying genially, “Nothing like a big dish of ice cream at the end of a hard day. Now tell me about your shooting. It must be interesting.”
“I only did it twice.”
“Do you remember where?”
“Once down on the beach, somewhere around here, and once up north.”
“Who were the guys? Do you know?”
The answer was a shrug.
“I hope your boss was pleased with your work. I suppose you came back up here for the celebration.”
“Nah. She was mad at her grandma. I thought she’d want another shootin’, but she didn’t.”
Qwilleran thought, This could be a comedy turn, if it weren’t so tragic. “What will you do now that she’s taken the car?”
“She’ll come back.”
“I don’t think so, Clarence. She had an accident this afternoon. It was on the radio. She was killed.”
The young man stared.
“Did you hear me? She was killed—instantly—and the car was smashed.”
With what seemed like regret, Clarence said, “And I always kept it so clean!”
