“Well, I know Pickax is a hundred and fifty years old next year, but the town of Brrr is two hundred years old
Thornton referred to the Big Burning of 1869, a forest fire that destroyed half of Moose County.
“Hmm,” Qwilleran mused, stroking his moustache. “There was also a great storm of 1913 that sank scores of ships and destroyed lakefront towns.”
“Perfect! Have you written it?”
“No, and that’s the problem. For the show on the forest fire I had access to the Gage collection of historical documents. I’ve done no research on the 1913 storm.”
“I’ll do it for you,” Thornton said with his usual enthusiasm. “Shall I tell Gary Pratt you’re on the hook? Then you can take it from there.”
Thornton got up to leave.
“What are you having for dinner tonight?”
“Something with leftover turkey. We’re fond of turkey.”
“Yow!” said Koko.
Thornton walked back to the Art Center.
As Qwilleran watched his friend walk down the lane, an idea struck him. He had recently collected twenty-seven Moose County legends to be published as a souvenir of the Sesquicentennial. Called
He phoned the attorney G. Allen Barter at home. Bart, as he was called, represented Qwilleran in all matters pertaining to the K Fund.
“I can’t foresee any problem,” Bart said. “The text is in print; the slip-jacket has been designed.”
“What color?” Qwilleran asked.
“They said it was something eye-catching.”
Late that evening there was a phone call from Chief Brodie of the Pickax police force.
“Gotta talk to you!” he said in his gruff way. “Confidential!”
“Okay, Andy, come on over. Don’t exceed the speed limit.”
By the time the Scotch, ice cubes, and cheese tray were set up on the snack bar, the chief was there, stomping up to the bar with the same swaggering presence he had when in uniform. He sat at the bar and helped himself to the refreshments.
“You put on a good act at the groundbreaking, when you found the chest empty, Andy.”
He grunted, like one unaccustomed to compliments.
Qwilleran asked, “Where is the empty chest now?”
“Locked up at the station, till they decide what to do with it. It should go on display at the new bookstore—in a bulletproof showcase. That’s what they should call the bookstore: The Pirate’s Chest.”
“Do you have any guess what happened to the contents?”
Brodie replied, “If there was anything in it when Eddington inherited, I say he converted it into government savings bonds and lived on them for the rest of his life. He sure didn’t make enough money in the book business to keep his cat in sardines.”
“But he was an astute bookman, Andy, despite his modest personality. Once in a while he probably bought a book for a dollar and sold it for a thousand. And he had a bookbinding business in the back room.”
Qwilleran asked, “Well, anyway, what did you want to talk about?”
“The beach property you inherited from Fanny Klingenschoen. How far does it extend?”
“Half a mile—from Top o’ the Dunes Club on the east to Cooper’s Lane on the west. That’s the dirt road with a boat launch at the end.”
“Yeah. Used to be a hangout for kids until the sheriff cracked down.”
“The entire K property is being placed in conservancy, but it hasn’t been posted as yet. Why do you ask?”
The chief cut another wedge of cheese and poured another drink. “Mighty good cheese! . . . Well, a sheriff’s deputy on patrol last night, just before dark, saw buzzards circling a patch of woods. She investigated and found a dead body on your property, about a hundred yards in from Cooper’s Lane. Well-dressed male, shot in the back of the head, stripped of all ID. It’ll be in the paper tomorrow, but I thought you’d like to know.”
Qwilleran felt a familiar prickling sensation on his upper lip. “Any idea as to the time of death?”
“Interesting point. It was late afternoon, when everybody was at the groundbreaking, and all three police agencies were handling traffic.”
“What are you implying, Andy? That it was a local job?”
“Or someone from Down Below trying to make it look like a local job. The SBI was called in. Don’t say a word about this. What’s the name of this cheese?”
“Port Salut, from the Sip and Nibble Shop.”
Brodie grunted ambiguously. He gave Koko some morsels of cheese and was letting Yum Yum untie his shoes. The three of them had come a long way since their first awkward meeting.
