There were no feed caps at the Boosters luncheon. All the influential men of the community gathered in a private room at the Old Stone Mill for frozen ravioli a la microwave. Among those he recognized were Mayor Blythe, Dr. Halifax Goodwinter, Chief Brodie, and the dour Mr. Cooper. Since President Goodwinter was still in Washington and Vice- President Lanspeak had trans-Pacific jet lag, Nigel Fitch introduced the guest speaker with flowery accolades.
"Gentlemen," Qwilleran began, "it was my previous understanding that Down Below referred to a geographic location. Now I realize it's something else. While we enjoy perfect temperature in Moose County, it's hot as hell Down Below." There was hearty applause from the Boosters.
"Fine weather," he went on, "is not the only reason I'm happy to be here. Since arriving I have not once been mugged, or asphyxiated by carbon monoxide, or knocked down by a truck." (More applause.) "On the debit side, I have had to give up whistling." (Laughter from all except Cooper.) "Having worked all my life, I feel the need to engage in some worthwhile enterprise in this area. I have considered opening an exercise studio next door to Otto's Tasty Eats." (Chuckles.) "Or I might acquire the mosquito-repellant franchise for Mooseville." (Loud laughter.) "Or start a driver's training school." (Roars of laughter.) He then went on to explain the aims of the Klingenschoen Foundation, and as he bowed to the final applause Mayor Blythe presented him with a genuine pickax in good working order.
After adjournment the hardware merchant introduced himself. "I understand you're starting to lock your back door, Mr. Qwilleran. Not a bad idea, the way things are going. I special-ordered your lock from Down Below. Beautiful mechanism! Top of the line!" Then the police chief led Qwilleran aside. "You were talking to me about that girl who disappeared five years ago.
You said she was last seen on July seventh." "That's the last day she worked, according to our employment records." "There was something about that date that rang a bell," Brodie said. "I was a sheriffs deputy then. There was a big cave-in at one of the mines on the night of July seventh. We had it roped off, I remember, until they could put up a fence.
Kept a deputy there twenty-four hours a day. Just thought I'd mention it." A smooth-looking sandy-haired man introduced himself as Sam Gafner, a real estate broker. Qwilleran knew he was a salesman before he opened his mouth. "Interested in a business opportunity, Mr. Q? I happen to know this restaurant is going on the block very soon. Beautiful piece of property; all it needs is some good food management." With applause and compliments elevating his mood, Qwilleran drove to the airport to meet Arch Riker.
The editor stepped off the plane and looked around in dismay. "Is this the airport? Is that the terminal? I thought we'd made an emergency landing on a softball field and the shack with a wind sock was the dugout." Qwilleran grabbed his hand. "Good to see you, Arch. How was the flight?" "Like flying with the Wright brothers." Qwilleran steered him to the Klingenschoen limousine. "I hope you brought your dinner jacket, Arch." With Riker's luggage stowed in the trunk, the sleek black vehicle purred down the long stretch of Airport Road.
"Ten miles of straight road without a curve, hill, crossroad, or habitation," Qwilleran boasted, "Nothing to worry about except deer, elk, raccoons, skunks, and the state police, There's a lot of wild game around here. Everybody goes hunting, pronounced 'huntn. Everybody has a huntn rifle and huntn dogs… Where you see warning signs, those are abandoned mines." "Spooky-looking places," Riker said. "I'll bet the kids use the old shaft houses for their wild parties. How do you like living in the wilderness?" Qwilleran thought, Wait till he sees the butler and the string trio. "Fine! I like it fine! And the cats are going crazy, chasing around the big rooms. Koko can fly up twenty-one stairs in two leaps." "Has he learned any new tricks?" "Arch, that crazy animal has started playing post office. When the mail comes, he sorts it out and brings me the letters he considers important." "Nobody else would believe that, but I do." "It's a fact. He seems to detect certain scents. He's brought me letters from persons he knows, households that have cats, and places where he used to live." "I hear Mrs. Cobb is working for you," Riker said, verging on a touchy subject.
"We'll talk about that when we get home and settle down with a drink," Qwilleran said. "How's everything at the Flux?" "I'm just serving time until I can collect my pension." "Wait till you see the Pickax Picayune! You need a magnifying glass to read the headlines. They cover all the ice cream socials and chicken dinners." "What do you do for news?" "Fortunately the state edition of the Flux is distributed up here, and that keeps us in touch with reality — wars, disasters, assassinations, riots, mass murders, all the worthwhile news. WPKX keeps us informed of car accidents, hunting mishaps, and barn fires." He turned on the radio. "We've just missed the six o'clock news, I'm afraid." The announcer was saying, "… when she fell from a tractor on a farm owned by her father, Terence Kilcally, forty- eight. The tractor then entered a ditch and overturned. Sheriff deputies told WPKX that the tractor continued to travel until it entered a ditch and rolled over… Present temperature in Pickax, a pleasant seventy-five degrees." "Pickax doesn't need air-conditioning," Qwilleran said as he pointed out the important houses on Goodwinter Boulevard. "These stone buildings stay cool all summer. They have walls two feet thick." And then they reached the K mansion. Riker, jaded after twenty-odd years of editing sensational news, was nonetheless stunned by its grandeur. "Nobody lives like this, Qwill! Least of all you! It's a little Versailles! It's the Buckingham Palace of the north woods!" "Quit writing headlines, Arch, and tell me what you want to drink." "I'm back on martinis, but I'll mix my own. Since you've been on the wagon you've lost your touch." Qwilleran poured white grape juice for himself and a thimbleful for Koko.
"He remembers me," said Riker as the cat rubbed against his ankles.
"He knows you have cats at home. How's old Punky? How's old Mibs?" "Let's go and sit down," Riker said with sudden weariness. They took their drinks to the solarium. "Well, it's like this," he said in a tremulous voice. "We had them put to sleep.. It was a rough decision to make, but Rosie didn't want them, and the house was up for sale, and I moved to a hotel. Nobody wants to adopt old animals, so… I asked the vet to put them away. They were beautiful longhairs, and he didn't want to do it, but… I had no choice." Both men were silent as Koko and Yum Yum sauntered into the room, nestled together on a cushioned wicker chair, and started licking each other.
"Where's Mrs. Cobb?" Riker asked finally., 'She went to a meeting of the Historical Society. I was surprised to hear she'd sold her antique shop." "You were surprised? How do you think I felt? Rosie got a little inheritance, and next thing I knew, she bought out the Cobb business and announced she was going to live over the store — on Zwinger Street! That crummy neighborhood!" "What happened to Rosie, Arch? I knew she went back to school after the kids left home." "She took a few college courses and got in with a young crowd — got some new ideas, I guess. Young people have always liked Rosie; she's full of life. But there's something sad about mature people who suddenly try to return to their youth-especially a middle-aged woman with a young lover." Qwilleran combed his moustache with his knuckles. "What about middle-aged men with young partners?" Riker thought about it. "That's different, somehow." Qwilleran suggested the Old Stone Mill for dinner. "Don't expect great food, but the atmosphere's pleasant, and we can have a little privacy." They sat at a window table overlooking the great mill wheel, which still turned and creaked without benefit of a millstream. It was powered electrically, with taped sound effects giving the impression of rushing water.