"That would be nice," she said. "We'll have it right here in the kitchen. He'll be more comfortable here."

"Would he like a tour of the museum?"

"Well, to tell the truth, Mr. Q, he thinks art objects are dust catchers, but I'd like to show him the basement."

"You've never told me anything about his background," Qwilleran said, although he had heard about it from Junior.

"He grew up here. After a hitch in the army he worked on the East Coast, married, and had a couple of kids. They're grown-up now, and he doesn't even know where they are."

That fits the picture, Qwilleran thought.

"He came back to Moose County because of his wife's allergies, but she didn't like country life and she left him."

Ran off with a beer truck driver, Qwilleran had heard. "He's a very lonely man, and I feel sorry for him."

"Has he shown you the farmhouse?"

"Not yet, but I know what I want to do — strip the wallpaper, paint the walls white, and stencil them."

"Would you like to have the big pine wardrobe? If so, it's your wedding present."

She gasped. "You mean the Pennsylvania German schrank? Oh, I'd love it! But are you sure you want to part with it?"

"My life will never be the same without it," he said. "I expect to have anxiety attacks and periods of great depression, and I may have to go into therapy, but I want you to have the schrank.”

"Oh, Mr. Q, you're kidding me again."

"Have you set a date?"

"Next Saturday if it's all right with you. Herb just wanted us to go to the courthouse, but I told him I wanted to be married here. Susan Exbridge is standing up for me. Would you be willing to be best man?"

He controlled a gulp. "Be glad to, Mrs. Cobb. Do you have a guest list? We'll have a champagne reception."

"That's very kind of you, but I don't think Herb would care for a reception, Mr. Q."

"Let me know if you change your mind. I want you to have a memorable wedding. You've been a valuable asset here."

"There's one favor I'd like to ask, if you don't mind," she said. "Would you speak to Koko about the herb garden? He keeps moving it around."

"Did you ever try speaking to a cat about anything?"

Qwilleran asked. "He crosses his eyes and scratches his ear and goes right on doing what he was doing."

"I wouldn't mention it, but... after I've moved the garden into a sunny spot, he moves it into a dark corner. I've seen him do it. He stands on his hind legs, puts his paws on the lower shelf, and pushes."

The corners of Qwilleran' s mouth twitched as he pictured Koko wheeling the herbs across the stone floor of the solarium like a baby carriage. Sunlight was not plentiful in November, and that cat wanted the best patches of sun for himself.

"Why don't you ask Hackpole to devise some kind of brake for the wheels?" he suggested.

The doorbell rang.

"Oh, dear! I forgot to tell you," Mrs. Cobb said. "I guess I'm all discombobulated. Hixie Rice is stopping on her way to work. That's probably her at the front door." She jumped up.

"Sit still. I'll get it."

Hixie had parked her little car in the circular drive, and she was ogling the front door with its quantity of brass fittings polished to a dazzling brilliance by Mr. O'Dell.

"Everything is so grand, Qwill! You should have a butler, she said as her heels clicked across the white marble vestibule. "Here, I've brought you the latest delicacy in our frozen catfood line: lobster nuggets in Nantua sauce with anchovy garnish."

Koko made an immediate appearance in the foyer and stood staring at Hixie without expression, except for a fishhook curve in his tail.

"I think he remembers me," Hixie said. "Comment ça va, Monsieur Koko?"

"Eeque, eeque," he replied. As Qwilleran gave Hixie a tour of the house, Koko followed like an overzealous security guard.

"Gorgeous rugs!" she said as they entered the drawing room.

The two large antique Aubussons were creamy in color, with borders and center medallions of faded pink roses.

"Watch Koko," Qwilleran said. "He always avoids stepping on the rose pattern."

"Weren't the old red dyes made from some kind of bug? Maybe he can smell it."

"After a hundred years? Don't try to explain it, Hixie. How about a cup of coffee?"

When they were settled comfortably in the library she gazed at the four thousand leather-bound books. "Did you find it traumatic, Qwill, to inherit a lot of money? Do you feel vulnerable or isolated or guilty?"

"Not particularly."

"Don't you find people envious or resentful or hostile?"

"You've been reading a book, Hixie. Actually, it's just a nuisance to have a lot of money, so I turn it over to a philanthropic trust, and they get rid of it quietly."

She started to light a cigarette, and he stopped her. "City ordinance. No smoking in museums... How's your friend's mother?"

"Who?"

"You said Tony's mother had a stroke and he had to fly to Philadelphia."

"Oh, she's getting better, and he's back here, working on his cookbook," Hixie said airily. "I'm going to write a book myself, on the rest rooms in country restaurants. They're not to be believed!"

"Don't complain. You're lucky the facilities are indoors. What's your objection?"

"Well, let me tell you about the North Pole Café in Brrr. They have only one rest room, and you have to dodge a very busy cook and a three-hundred-pound female dishwasher to get there. When I found it, between a garbage can and a sour mop, the room was dark, and I couldn't find the light switch. So the cook came and pulled a greasy string hanging from the ceiling, and voilà! the rest room was flooded with light from a fifteen-watt bulb.

"My next problem: how to close the door. It was wide open — and apparently stuck. When I tried forcing it, a toilet brush and a bleach bottle fell down on my head. You see, they kept the door open by hooking it to a high shelf where they kept the cleaning stuff. I got the thing closed and started groping for the john. I could hear a gurgling sound underfoot, from some kind of drain in the floor. Every once in a while it choked and gurgled and bubbled. I worried about that.

"The john seat was anchored by one bolt, and it was riding sort of sidesaddle. The floor drain kept gurgling and bubbling. The rusty washbowl started gasping and erupting, so I got out of there fast and made a bush stop on the way home."

"Hixie, you always exaggerate," Qwilleran said. "How was the food?"

"Fabulous! I mean it! And now there's something I'd like to discuss with you. Would Koko endorse our line of frozen catfoods? We'd design it 'Koko's Choice' label and have Koko T-shirts and other premiums. Maybe free bumper stickers saying, 'My Cat Loves Koko.' How does that go down?"

"I don't think he'd take kindly to exploitation. He doesn't go for anything unless it's his own idea."

"He could do TV commercials," she persisted. "Next week I'll bring a video camera and give him a screen test."

"That I've got to see," Qwilleran said. "How's everything at the Old Stone Mill?"

"My boss came in to dinner last night and said he's rewriting our contract, giving us a better deal."

"Congratulations !"

"He was feeling pretty good. He had some woman with him — not his wife — and they went through two bottles of our best champagne.”

"I hear his divorce is now final."

"He's not wasting any time. The two of them were planning a southern cruise and hoping they could get away before snow flies."

"What did she look like?" Qwilleran asked.

"The hearty athletic type with a loud laugh — the kind I can't stand! Mr. X has an apartment in our complex, and I think she's moved in. Why is everyone around here so concerned about snow flying?"

Snow did not fly on Saturday, although it was still being predicted on the hourly weathercasts. Qwilleran was listening to the six o'clock news in the library when Mrs. Cobb peeked into the room.