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The Cat Who Crushed a Grape

By Lane DeAngelo

Copyright 2020 Lane DeAngelo

Smashwords Edition

ISBN 978-0-463-115978

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. Thank you for your support.

No part of this book may be reproduced or copied in any form without permission from the copyright owner. All rights reserved.
Chapter 1

"You're not going to believe it, Jim! There's been another murder! And Koko is already hot on the trail!"

"What are you talking about, Connie?" exclaimed Qwilleran.

"Remember that piece of paper Koko dropped in your lap a couple of weeks ago? The one showing some wine and grapes? And I said you should put in in the Future Clue Vault just in case? That was the police. Someone was driving by and they found the body of a man who had been beaten badly-and you'll never guess where! Right inside the property line between the vineyard here and the next door neighbor's vines! Koko was right again! In advance!"

Upon hearing his name along with yet another confirmation of his superior intelligence, a ten-pound male Siamese cat yawned and looked over at his house humans from the upholstered lounge he and his little female companion were lying on. They certainly were lucky to have him on the job, no doubt about it. He had worked hard to tear that picture of a wine bottle and grapes out of a magazine and bring it to them, and was glad they had not thrown it away. But even though he loved them dearly, when all was said and done, assisting their kind could sometimes be exhausting.

"What do they know about the dead man? Do they have a name?"

"They're working on it. The body has been taken to the morgue."

Qwilleran grimaced. He was not above visiting the morgue in an attempt to piece together a mystery, and the coroner was certainly friendly enough. But Sara's macabre sense of humor could make his stomach do somersaults, and often had. He wished he could ignore dead bodies of murdered people in his vicinity, but crime solving was a passion of his which seemed reluctant to subside. His days as a crime reporter in years gone by activated leftover super sleuth tendencies he still possessed.

"I am keeping my nose out of this. I'm going to let the police do their job."

"Sure. Just as long as they figure out who the guy is before you get the irresistible urge to go and stick said nose into this mystery yourself, you will do that," said Connie. "Koko predicted a murder here at the vineyard weeks before it happened. I wonder how long it will take him to solve this one. What would you do without his help?"

"I honestly don't know."

The doorbell rang and Qwilleran went to answer it. Two familiar uniformed figures stood on the front porch. One was six-foot-four and had dark hair. The other was an entire foot shorter, very bald, and round as a cue ball. The short cop spoke.

"Yeh, Mr. Q. dey call ya. So, Mr. Q., how d'ya s'pose ya foun dat dead body, dis time in yer own yard? Dat's two now."

"Officer Rinaldi, good to see you again," he replied. "Officer Schodowski, won't you both come in?"

"NO, WE SPECIFICALLY WILL NOT COME IN!" exclaimed the tall cop emphatically. His first trip to meet the Klingenschoen heir had resulted in a close up meeting with the two small housecats, a species he desperately feared. Qwilleran stepped outside onto the porch.

"Suit yourselves. To answer your question, I did not personally find the body of the man who was found in the vineyard. I don't know who did. I was told a passerby did. And I own this house, I did not purchase the vineyard itself."

"Dat ain't perzackly wut da record sez."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Seems ya dunno wut goes on at yer own propitty," said Rinaldi, who reminded Qwilleran of the Jeff half of Mutt and Jeff. The cat fearing cop reminded him of Mutt. As if he sensed the return of catphobic Mutt to his 'propitty' Koko appeared in the porch window pressing against the screen in an effort to welcome the men back. Mutt saw him and jumped backward, bashing himself into the railing. Koko then disappeared.

"I don't know anything about the dead body in the vineyard, that is true."

"Seen 'is pitcher?"

"No one has shown me his picture."

"Dere ya go." The short cop handed Qwilleran a picture of the deceased.

"No, I do not know who this man is."

"Howz about da lady? Izzhur girlfren here?"

Qwilleran cleared his throat. "My housekeeper is here. Since you don't want to come in, I'll go get her." He went to fetch Connie, who didn't know who the man was either.

There was a noise above them which sounded like a window screen being shoved open. Suddenly, Koko leapt gracefully down to the porch railing from the roof above them and landed next to Mutt, who froze in terror. Memories of being attacked by a neighbor's cat when he was a little boy flashed across his frantic mind.

"Officer Schodowski, if you would just stand still Koko just wants to say hello to you. Koko, be nice." Reminding himself not to touch the frightened man's hair for fear of hurting it as had happened on the cop's first visit to the house some time ago, the Siamese stood on his hind legs and sniffed the officer's uniform as he rested his front paws on the man's forearm. The officer was now bug-eyed and hyperventilating while trying not to fall backward over the railing. Qwilleran walked over and retrieved the curious and all too capable meezer who had somehow managed to escape an upstairs window.

Satisfied that the ten-pound velvet-pawed terror could not chase him, Mutt then promptly jumped down all the porch steps at once and barricaded himself in the police cruiser with the windows up.

His partner smirked and said, "Sher, perzackly" as he gazed after his partner. "Be goin' now. Tanks fer yer time."

It would be a few weeks before they would concern themselves with those goings on at the vineyard again.
Chapter 2

"Sally McBride. I own the vines next door." The woman pointed down the road.

"Jim Qwilleran, and this is Connie McCloud. Nice to meet you, Sally."

"You do know that harvest time is around the corner, correct?" The woman stared at Qwilleran as if he had the mental acuity of a cotton swab. She looked straight across at him at his own eye level, which was an admirable feat of accomplishment as he measured in at six-foot-two.

"Well...sure?"

"So, why are you not prepared?"

"Prepared for what, exactly?"

"Prepared to harvest your crop! What did you think I meant?" she said with irritation.

"Which crop is that?" Qwilleran's level of confusion was escalating as was his neighbor's level of irritation. He used his knuckles to give a good combing to his considerably proportioned pepper and salt mustache.

Sally McBride stepped back a ways from her new neighbor and crossed her arms. "Oh, I see. You're getting ready to tell me that you didn't realize when you bought Mark and Ella's old place that the vineyard came right along with the house; that you didn't read the contract; didn't have your lawyer read it; or did not basically understand that you can't just walk away from twelve pristine acres of prize winning grapevines which will produce somewhere in the neighborhood of 17,000 bottles of wine at low yield. Would I be right about that?"

He kept trying to formulate an intelligent answer, but everything he came up with was sounding pretty stupid to his brain at the moment.

"So, I'm right. Are you always this obtuse? I can't believe Fanny left all her money to you as opposed to someone who could actually handle that kind of responsibility. Well, listen to this: You have a harvest to bring in and you need to start NOW!" And with that, she turned and descended his porch steps, got into her brand new black F-150 mega giant, and peeled out of his driveway. The afternoon was starting off with a bang in Moose County, which was 400 miles north of everywhere.

"Jim, what is she talking about?" said Connie.

"I honestly don't know!"

"Did you buy the vineyard itself right along with this house that you bought from the vintner?"

"No, I did not do that. I don't think I did that. I did not think I did that."

Was that what the little cop meant by his remark about the record? He was beginning to look too pathetic for her to say anything that would make him feel even worse than he was already beginning to.

"I'm calling your lawyer for you. Come into the kitchen, we'll Skype with him now." Technology not being his strong suit, he didn't know what that meant so he planned on leaving those details to her. A minute later they were looking at her laptop on the kitchen table and she was calling Qwilleran's attorney, whose face suddenly filled the monitor.

"Bart, this is Connie and I have Jim here with me. Do you have a couple of minutes? We have questions about the sale of the vintner's house. Move over here where Bart can see you, Jim."

"You caught me just as I was getting ready to leave for a bit, but if it's quick go ahead and shoot. Hey, Qwill."

"Hey, Bart. I have a very angry neighbor who just finished dressing me down regarding what she is claiming amounts to twelve acres of grapes ready for harvest which supposedly went along with the sale of the house. I don't remember your telling me anything like that when I asked you to put in my offer and do the paperwork after it was accepted. I wasn't interested in anything except for the house. I thought the vineyards were sold to someone else? Maybe the angry lady who just left here...I thought?"

"Do you remember when I told you the vineyard had been offered to one Sally McBride who has the property next door, and that she turned it down because she said her vines were enough for her to contend with? Meaning that the vineyard itself then went along with the house basically for free just so that the sellers were assured someone would take care of it going forward? They'd made their money in life and just wanted out from under everything so they could retire to a warm weather state." Oops.

Connie looked over at Qwilleran who had gone silent. "He doesn't remember, Bart. I know this look."

"I hate having all this money! Life was so much simpler when I was poor!"

"You hate having all that money? You hate having inherited your aunt Fanny Klingenschoen's gigantic fortune thereby leaving the life of a low-earning newspaper reporter behind? That's a first, but seeing that I know you as I do, I also know you mean exactly that. You know I like you more than most of my clients, but you are no businessman, Qwill," said Bart.

"No, he's not," said Connie. "So, you're basically saying that ownership of the vineyard itself is now Jim's?"

"That's what I'm saying. And I even sent you a letter telling you that, Qwill."

"I get brain fog when it comes to anything having to do with money. The grapes are ready for harvest! What am I going to do with all these grapes?!"

"I suggest you find yourself some pickers and get to pressing. The processing facility on the property came into your possession right along with the vines. Have you even gone there to look at it?"

"No."

"Suggest you do that. Do you want me to put an ad in the paper for pickers?"

"Let me check out the processing facility first and I'll call you if I need anything."

"You don't want to leave the grapes there unattended. You'll have a big mess on your hands, Qwill. I can't believe you forgot!"

Qwilleran was now sure that he had not forgotten that juicy detail in Bart's letter because he had never read any letter advising him of this fun fact. As surely as he now knew in his gut that Bart had sent it, he was also suddenly sure that he had never bothered to read it.

"I need a business manager."

"I've been looking after your portfolio for you but it didn't occur to me I'd be running a vineyard, too."

"I will take care of this, Bart, not to worry. Thanks for the info." Connie disconnected the call.

"David McCallum had one of those, only it was on his wrist," said Qwilleran as he pointed to the laptop screen.

"David McCallum?"

"Illya Kuryakin. I've started watching old Man from UNCLE shows now."

"I thought he talked into his pen? You're really catching up with the times, aren't you? First you start watching the original Star Trek series and now The Man From UNCLE, a couple of goodies from the sixties. But I think you mean James Bond wore a watch that functioned something like what you just saw. Let's see how up-to-date you are. Pop quiz: Who is Ryan Reynolds?"

"One of the bad guys from THRUSH?"

"Suffice to say you have a lot more catching up to do. This is what happens when you refuse to watch TV all your life except for the news until just recently. Sounds like you found a good oldies channel."

"Do you want to walk out to the processing facility with me?"

"No, I have a pie in the oven so I don't want to be out of the house long while it's still baking, but I'll ride out there with you. Where do you keep keys that came along with the house?" They got out a file Bart had given him when the sale of the house had gone through recently and dug through envelopes till they came up with keys currently not being used. Then they got into his car and drove down a wide paved pathway that bisected the huge property.

They saw the processing building way in the back on the right, parked, and went inside. Seeing that the place was lit only at the far end, they flicked a light switch on a panel on the wall near the entrance. The rest of the lights came on without delay and they began walking through the place, which was much more massive on the inside than it looked to be from the outside. The pressing and bottling part was big, but the wine storage part was even bigger.

"I thought our neighbor was off her rocker with the approximation of 17,000 bottles of wine per year coming out of the vines here, but look at the storage here! And they still have so much stock here ready to be sold! That explains the cool temperature in here. I had no idea! Why on earth would the vintner leave all this stock behind?"

"I don't know. Basically, we have to discern if the harvest is ready as Sally claims it is, hire pickers, process grapes, and bottle and label the wine from all those grapes-and we have to start doing that right now," said Connie. The man exhaled but didn't say anything. His normally agile mind had served him well in his crime reporting days at the Daily Fluxion newspaper down below, and also as a feature reporter after that assignment had changed long ago. But technology and business were two areas he had never excelled in. He was of the opinion that the evolution of technology should have come to a permanent halt with the invention of the microwave oven for home use. Having recently received a smart phone as a gift to replace his old clamshell, he soon went back to the clamshell saying that the smart phone was smarter than he was, because it was, technologically speaking. Combine that with the fact that the device had talked to him seemingly without permission on numerous occasions, he had begun to feel that the thing was stalking him, which it also was.

"I'm willing to do this for you. I can make this work. As you know, I ran my own restaurant for almost twenty years down below. What you may not know is that I used to do my own books, too. I have a good grasp of business and taxes and suppliers, and hiring, etc. I will apply what I know in order to make this vineyard a success this year if you want me to. The first thing I will do is look for ex-employees who want their jobs back in the processing plant. We need experienced people here."

"You would do that?" he asked.

"For you, yes, I would. What do you say?"

"I say you are the answer to a prayer I didn't know I needed to pray. Thank you, Connie."

"The pie should be just about done, so let's get back to the house."

"Your wish is my command." Then he made sure to say a silent prayer of gratitude for his excellent housekeeper/cook, who was now going to start bailing him out of one huge jam right after taking her pie out of the oven.

****

"Jim Qwilleran with a W. No, there is no U in my name. Qwilleran: Q-W-I-L-L-E-R-A-N. It's Scottish. The same. I was born in Chicago. I like your accent, too. So, it's your first day on the job there? Well, congratulations. Yes, that is my opinion piece. I write The Qwill Pen for the Something twice a week, that's me. Thank you," he said into the phone.

"Jim, why don't you let me do that?" He gratefully relinquished the receiver to the landline phone he was still old-fashioned enough to have in the house he had just purchased from the vintner.

Connie made quick work of putting a well-worded ad both online and in print in the Moose County Something, Pickax City's local newspaper. She advertised for experienced vineyard workers of all types, including those who had formerly worked at the property. Then she called a temporary agency and arranged to have them send out workers to pick grapes as soon as she got the processing facility staffed which didn't take long. Three former processing workers came forward immediately in response to the ad which they read online and they were glad to return to their old jobs at the facility. They in turn put Connie in touch with others who had worked in different positions there. By the end of the week they were almost fully staffed and the testing and picking began. Moose County Wines would not go under on Connie's watch, no sirree. They had a stock of empty bottles but she ordered more along with updated labels reflecting proper bottling dates. She had never intended to become the director of a large vineyard, but she would learn this business the way she had learned everything else about business in her life-up close, in person, and out of necessity. The grapes themselves came in various colors and types and there were always a few bunches of the sweeter beauties in the refrigerator nowadays. It was time for lunch, so sandwiches were made and dessert was going to be chilled grapes again, the green variety today. A pot of spoon-melting black coffee was put on a trivet on the kitchen table between them and the pair sat down to eat.

"I love pastrami," she said.

"The deli always has excellent cold cuts. This is great," said Qwilleran. "But even though our grapes are fantastic and I really like them, I have no intention of giving up my morning pastry."

"Life is about balance. Some vegetables, some fruit, some pastry I always say."

Their conversation was interrupted by a loud crash coming from the pantry. They looked at each other and got up and hurried toward the area where they found the two resident Siamese cats looking up at them innocently while standing on top of a number of fallen baking and cookie sheets which they had just dethroned.

Chapter One from The Book of Cat: In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth, and the earth was without form and void, and everything was quiet and peaceful because God had not yet created Cat, so He set about correcting that oversight right away.

"Don't tell me," said the man as he addressed his two furry wards. "Criminals broke in and knocked the baking sheets down onto the floor and then they ran away in order to frame you both. Is that what happened?" He started picking up the trays and putting them back where they belonged.

The cats looked at each other as if to say, Well, that sounds about right, especially if you believe it. The eight-pound female arched her back and rubbed against Qwilleran's legs while looking up at him with her pretty blue eyes which were tinged with violet. He bent down and picked up some trays while Connie picked up the others. Then he scooped little Yum Yum up in his arms and received her grateful affection as one who had just been pardoned for a crime. Yum Yum didn't need an excuse to be affectionate, but she was particularly feeling that way at the moment. Her ten-pound male companion was an outgoing cat who liked people, but was usually not the cuddle bunny she was. Koko was more of an adventure cat as far as personalities go. He liked to provide clues in various ways which helped his human solve crimes, always knew in advance when the phone was going to ring, could type on a typewriter (in a manner of speaking), use a dictionary (in another manner of speaking), and always let his caretakers know if one of his meals was late in addition to his many other talents. He wasn't one to feel guilty about anything he ever did, so he had already forgotten his part in the noisy act of mess-making in the pantry. It was so written in the chapter on Transgressions: Nothing's Ever Your Fault-No Matter What from The Book of Cat which Koko was bound to whenever he was in the mood. Not one to employ finesse when audacity would do, he opened his brilliant blue eyes wide and started yelling loudly that he was hungry and wanted his lunch immediately.

"Yow yow yow yow yow!" said Koko.

Having been trained well by the determined meezer, Qwilleran replied, "You're in luck. We have turkey!" Eight noisy paws galloped the short distance to the kitchen as they both serenaded the man while he opened the fridge and took out pieces of dark meat turkey which he proceeded to cut up and heat gently in broth on one of the cooktop burners.

"I have to ask you something. Why in the world didn't you feed these little stinkers regular cat food when they first came under your care when they were young cats? I mean, aren't you sorry now that Mr. and Mrs. Highness here prefer real turkey and fish and crabmeat to the usual stuff cats eat?" asked Connie. She loved the cats dearly and would feed them anything they wanted if it was safe for them, but was wondering now how they had acquired such elevated taste in cuisine.

"When I'd leave the Press Club eatery late at night when I worked for the Daily Fluxion down below I didn't have time to forage up anything for them to eat, so they got leftovers of really good stuff I brought them from their kitchen. If it ever occasionally occurred to me to grocery shop the usual way I didn't seem to have much luck getting them to eat regular cat food and I didn't press the point. I just gave them people food and it worked." The cats were served and they ate their turkey with gusto as their personal house humans went back to their pastrami sandwiches.

The rest of the day went quietly for a change. The week had been fraught with interviewing, filling out employment paperwork and tax forms for the individuals they hired, learning about pressing grapes and bottling wine from the experienced processors who had thankfully quickly rejoined the winery, receiving shipments of related supplies, and a host of other things neither Connie McCloud nor Jim Qwilleran with a W knew anything about. That they managed to pull everything off with accuracy and aplomb was due largely to Connie's highly organized business mind. Not long ago, when she had first come to join him 400 miles north of everywhere, she imagined she would spend the rest of her days doing the things she really enjoyed-cooking and cleaning and leading a stress-free life. Fate must have decided that she'd had enough relaxation though, so now she was directing the operations of the winery. Having lost her husband some years earlier in his early forties to a heart attack which had killed him instantly, she found this new level of busy to be to her liking. She had no children to concern herself with, so keeping her mind occupied was now like medicine. She had no complaints about her job as the Klingenschoen heir's live-in cook and housekeeper before all the winery business had made its way onto her plate, but she found herself actually glad to be doing something in the professional business realm once again. She was also glad that she worked for a really nice man whose company she truly enjoyed.

After his divorce many years prior, Qwilleran had developed a bad drinking habit which had cost him his dream job as a crime-reporter and ruined his reputation in that field down below. The irony of the current situation was not lost on him. So, you eat a bunch of grapes, no problem. You squeeze the juice out of them and put it into oak barrels and age it a bit and you have life poison to someone who cannot safely touch the stuff. He wondered if grapes knew they had that kind of power over people, along with hops, barley, and other adult beverage ingredients. He had not remarried but had gone through a string of women he could now find no viable reason for having been with, only obvious, shallow ones. The last one had been different, though. Polly Duncan had been the local librarian and they were together for a lengthy period of time after he had moved up to Pickax City in Moose County. Though he had never thought he would ever dream of doing so a second time, advancing middle-age had had him thinking about buying a ring and asking Polly to join him in matrimony. But before he could do so, and seemingly out of nowhere, she took a multi-year assignment at a library in France and never said a word. He had no clue she was discontent with their relationship, if she was. The alternative to that not being the case was that their arrangement simply had not been nearly as important to her as it had been to him. They were always happy to talk about inane subjects no one else cared about and said good night to each other in French every evening. What they had was special in his mind. He thought he had found his intellectual and emotional equal before she struck the painful blow which he even had to hear about from someone else. She had not yet returned from what began as a short trip to Paris for vacation, and had sent for her things, no less. He had not heard from her directly at all, had only heard news about her from others with whom she kept in touch. He had not understood the coldness of it all, nor had he understood how he had always been such a lousy judge of the women in his personal life. Over the past year or so, he had purposely changed his mental course in that regard, and decided that a more straightforward, down-to-earth type would make for a far better partner than the shallow types he had chosen for himself in the past. A good, long look in The Ugly Little Mirror had confirmed to him once again that the choices had all been his, and that he was done with those types from now on. The jolt Polly's leaving had provided him made him appreciate his straightforward, honest housekeeper more than he ever thought he would. Connie spoke her mind in a kind-hearted way, and her sense of humor always made him smile. He found he'd grown extremely comfortable with her. They sat in the sunroom that evening sipping lemonade and reading the Something, an activity which they normally enjoyed in the mornings but which had been delayed this day.

"Oh, look," said Connie as she perused the obituaries. "Valerie Canberry died."

"She was too young to die," answered Qwilleran.

"And Bill Emery, too. I heard he had heart trouble."

"He was too young, too." They continued reading in silence for some time.

"Do you ever wonder why all this happened?" asked Connie.

"You mean why those folks died?"

"No."

"If you mean why the vintner and his wife high-tailed it out of here in such a hurry leaving behind a valuable piece of property, yes, I've been wondering about that a lot since I found out the vineyard is mine, too," answered Qwilleran. "My years as a crime reporter aside, I smell something rotten."

"I agree with you. Something is not right. What were they trying to run away from? It's one thing to want to retire to someplace that has better weather, but the land the vines are on which includes that well-appointed processing and storage building has to be worth a bundle. It doesn't make sense. Now you drop one dead body into the mix, and there you go. A recipe for motive."

"I know. Not sure those two things are closely related, but nevertheless fishy." He was interrupted by Koko, who had decided to gallop noisily into the room at full speed.

"What's that thing in his mouth?" asked Connie.

"I can't tell."

Koko then opened his mouth and dropped a green grape on the floor. Yum Yum immediately jumped down from her perch on the cat's personal lounge chair and joined her companion in a spirited game of grape hockey. Not having actually been born littermates, their love for one another had been surgically rendered platonic and pure for one another, as sweet as that of a sister and brother.

"You two remember to pick that up when you're done so we don't step on it or slip," said Qwilleran to the cats who, of course, were not listening to him at all. "And then be sure to put it in the garbage. Right after you paint the kitchen."

"I'm wondering if they were having money problems," said Connie.

"I remember Bart telling me that there had been no liens on the property whatsoever, so if that's the case, they got out before that could happen. I'm wondering if they were getting behind on their taxes and just ran, maybe. If that was the case then I bought this house just in time to avoid delays due to a lien scenario. And they got out long before the body was found. Whatever happened, I'm glad we're here, even if we are now winemakers. At least we don't have to stomp the grapes with our feet."

"Maybe it's not money related. Something stinks but I'm not exactly sure what the deal is. Did I tell you I figured out how to make sorbet from grapes?"

Grape hockey had apparently become boring, so Yum Yum jumped back up on the lounge and went quickly to sleep. Koko on the other hand, was not done with his grape. He left it on the floor by a small table which he then jumped up on. As cats are prone to knocking things down on purpose just for fun, he then pushed a book off the edge of the table. Then he jumped down landing on the book he'd just dumped on the floor.

"Stop it, Koko," said Qwill as he went and picked the book up. "Now look what you did. You had to leave your grape where it would get crushed when you dumped the book off the table? Really? I should make you clean it up."

"I'll get a paper towel. I'm going into the kitchen anyway to get us some grape sorbet." Connie looked at the guilty party. "Sorbet: Grapes which were neatly crushed within the confines of a Pyrex bowl in order to make a scrumptious dessert, not left on the floor by a messy meezer. Really, Koko, are you feeling a teeny bit guilty right about now?"

The cat sniffed his indifference. Guilt? What is guilt? His human servants cleaned up after him as Koko joined Yum Yum on the lounge for a nap.
Chapter 3

It didn't take long for young Alvin Lake to fix the semi-functioning latch on the screen door in the kitchen.

"There you go, Mr. Q. She works like a dream, see?" said the part-time carpenter/fixit man as he worked the handle and lock back and forth for the homeowner to examine. Not being handy himself, Qwilleran was glad the full-time registered nurse liked to busy himself with repair work in his spare time.

"That's great, Al. We like keeping the inside door open so we can get a breeze flowing through the house in the warm weather, but you know we had problems with a certain wandering she-goat there for a while. Not looking for her to invite herself to breakfast again anytime soon."

"You must be talking about Linda. Poor old Abel Derrick tries to keep up with her but she just keeps getting away. That animal's quite a character. She's famous in town for her unwelcome behavior. She's always getting into something she's not welcome to get into, just chewed up some toys Shoobie Willis put in a little inflatable pool for her grandkids the other day. I hear Shoobie got so mad she started yelling and took off after Linda and almost brained her with a wrench! Good thing goats can run fast," grinned Al.

"As far as her dastardly escape talent goes, she has even defeated steel fencing. Her catalog of crimes includes eating all my flowers, leaving goat pellets in my yard in strategic places for me to step in, which I did, and coming into the kitchen uninvited and stealing my donuts," said Qwilleran. He didn't mention that the goat had managed to heroically save his life recently, though a sudden wave of gratitude proceeded to wash over him upon reflection.

"Well, she won't be pushing this screen door open again. Got that all taken care of."

"Al, can you take a look at some windows and screens while you're here? I have a couple rooms where they need new latches. I'm thinking maybe I should just replace all the windows with new modern ones. Do you have the time to take a look?"

"Sure. Lead the way." They went into two bedrooms and inspected the locking mechanisms.

"What do you think? They only seem to work intermittently. Koko seems to know how to let himself out of this screen, too, whenever the window is open-a new trick of his."

"Yeah, they both need replaced, and so does this screen. I can pick up the parts and come back later this evening and install them if you want. I don't go on shift again till eleven tonight. Night shift this month at the hospital for me. I hate it. Night shift is for vampires and long-haul truckers, definitely not for anyone else."

The older man smiled. "That's a good way of putting it. I'd love it if you'd come back later and replace the broken parts for us. What do I owe you for the screen door?"

"We'll get square when I finish the windows, no need to do that now, Mr. Q." The younger man looked reflective suddenly. "I miss Miss Fanny. She was a great old gal."

"I miss her, too, Al." Fanny Klingenschoen had always thought of Jim Qwilleran as a son. Even so, the reading of her will leaving him hundreds of million dollars had come as a complete shock to him at the time. Existing investments in her portfolio had now put that figure considerably higher, and it was all his. Nicknames given to him by the fair citizens of Pickax City included Mr. Q. and A.B., standing for Accidental Billionaire. He gave tons of the money away to good causes, but it just kept finding him again.

"Ok, I'll see you later on then."

****

Thump.

"Koko, stop it."

Thump.

"Koko, I said stop that."

Thump.

The man sighed heavily and walked over to the books his Siamese had just dumped on the floor. Upon picking up the second one, he found a green grape underneath it, crushed and oozing juice onto the floor.

"Quick, someone call PETA! I am going to kill him!"

"What do you suppose has gotten into his little head? It's like he knows we're in the business of crushing grapes to make wine now and he wants to help!" Connie laughed and shook her head as she went to get some paper towels. "You've got to admit it's a hoot when he does that."

"A sloppy, juicy hoot, sure! I'm just glad we catch him in the act so we get to wipe up the mess before one of us slips on his attempts to make his own brand of Chardonnay. We work for you, Koko," said Qwilleran.

"Yow yow yow!" said Koko. Then he exhaled his breath forcefully as cats do when they're annoyed.

"Gee, you'd think he was the one cleaning this up," said Connie. Then she smiled at the naughty meezer and patted him on the head. She cupped his little face in her hands and zoomed in for a couple of kisses on the end of his soft, dark brown nose. Koko's eyes crossed as he looked at the tragedy that was unfolding at the end of his field of vision. His nose was being assaulted and there was no acceptable action he could take in order to do anything about it! Help! Help!

"I keep telling you he is not the overly cuddly type, Connie."

"Well, that is going to change if I have anything to say about it. Isn't that right, Koko?"

Being that cats understand us perfectly whenever they care to pay attention, Koko's ears shot up straight in the air and he took off and ran out of the room. He really loved both his humans, but every cat has his limits. And his dignity.

"That's fine. I will just spoil our little Yum Yum. Come here, sweetheart."

As if on cue, Yum Yum jumped into Connie's lap and allowed herself to be lavished with affection, after which she fell asleep.

"She's out like a light, Jim."

"She'll stay right there, too, as long as you keep holding her," he smiled.

After several minutes, Koko reappeared with another grape in his mouth.

"Jim, he's got another one!"

"I'll get it! You stay right there, young man!" Qwilleran cornered the cat and picked him up. Just as he tried to take a very large grape out of Koko's mouth, the Siamese bit down and crushed it between his teeth, dribbling juice all over his chin, the man's hand, and down his arm.

"WHAT is going ON with you and GRAPES all of a sudden? HUH?!"

Connie snickered at his frustration, but not loud enough to disturb the little female she was holding who continued to sleep away. Qwilleran took Koko over to the kitchen sink and pried the grape out of his teeth despite the cat's protests, then washed his triangular face gently with warm water which set off a sneezing fit. Then he wiped the cat's face dry and set his ten-pound captive free before washing his hand and arm where the juice had dripped.

"Grapes can make cats sick, are you sure you got everything out of his mouth?"

"Every bit including the juice. I even dried his tongue."

Koko rebelled loudly voicing his displeasure with all of this.

"I am officially banning the bowl of grapes from the kitchen table. In the fridge they go."

"Good idea. They look pretty there but they taste better cold anyway."

"Do I see a package of t-r-o-u-t in the fridge?" The commonly held belief was that if you spell a word, cats don't know what you're saying. Koko ran back into the room.

"YOW!"

"I knew better. I know he can spell. I knew better."

"YOW YOW!"

"Well, I wasn't going to cook dinner yet but I guess I will now," said Connie as she stood up and deposited Yum Yum gently on the chair. I'll cook theirs first and then get to fixing our dinner."

The cats could not wait for the frying pan to heat up nor for the fish to fry, so they serenaded Connie with the song of their people the entire time they waited for their food to be cooked and served to them. The fact that they were made to wait till the cooked fish cooled off long enough for it to be safely served to them did not win their appreciation.

"I love you both but you're giving me a headache already! Here! Eat your fish!"

Dishes were put on the floor and the cats gobbled up their fried trout. As Koko weighed twenty percent more than Yum Yum did, he was given more than she was in the hopes he would get full and leave her food alone. Nope.

"Koko, get your nose out of Yum Yum's dish!"

Each cat was then given more fish and Qwilleran stood guard over the little female's portion to make sure she got enough to eat.

Potatoes went into the oven to bake while homemade coleslaw was mixed and put into the fridge. Green bean salad had been made and dressed earlier and was chilling away. Qwilleran's former dislike for salads had disappeared when Connie took over the duties of food prep in the house, everything she made was that good. There was enough apple pie left for dessert, and a new container of ice cream in the freezer to go with it. Their trout was fried and dinner was a hit. When Al returned to tend to the window latches and one new screen he'd agreed to work on earlier in the day, the work went quickly. After a few minutes, both windows were secure with firmly locking mechanisms in place.

"I wanted to get these in here now to make sure things were secure right away, but to answer your question of this afternoon, it wouldn't hurt to put new windows in all around. These don't look awful, but they're not exactly the newer type either. You can get vinyl windows which are hard to break and have great insulation qualities. Wouldn't hurt to put all new frames in around them at any rate. Since you told me you are no longer renting it and that you bought this place that's what I'd do if I were you, Mr. Q."

"Duly noted. Here. Thanks very much," said Qwilleran as he tried to give Al some money.

"You do a lot of good for the town, Mr. Q. Not charging you a thing. It was my pleasure."

"That's mighty nice of you, Al, but I did not expect anything for free. I still feel like I should pay you for changing my tire some time ago, and I am at least covering the cost of supplies you just installed. Here." Al reluctantly took the money Qwilleran put in his hand.

"Being neighborly doesn't cost anything, I always say. Glad I could help. Miss Connie, it was nice to see you under better circumstances this time. Gotta get to work now."

"Likewise, Al."

She resisted the urge to tell him to drive carefully as the unpleasant scene from the recent past came to mind. She had previously brought one very sick Arch Riker to the hospital only to have him plop down into a wheelchair and have an immediate heart attack just inside the hospital door. Al was the nurse who had summoned a doctor and had then run to get a defibrillator to restart the heart of Qwilleran's childhood friend. It was so close to the scene which took her young husband from her years earlier that it gave her involuntary chills to think about it once again.

"What a nice young guy. I like him a lot. Some people are just good folks and he's one of them through and through, you can tell."

"I agree, Connie. Al Lake is one good human being. And now we can rest assured that marauding forest animals cannot climb in through our windows tonight."

"Were we worried about that?"

"Not really, but you never know."

"Yeah. I do," she smiled. "Just the other day I thought I saw a rather large bunny skulking through the backyard on his two back feet with lock picking tools in his front paws and a knapsack on his back."

Qwilleran grinned. "At least Linda hasn't figured out how to come in through the windows yet. I almost hate to say this out loud, but have you noticed how she hasn't been around here much lately?"

"Or is it that we don't tend to notice her around here much because she isn't committing her usual catalog of crimes on our property since you've been leaving her donuts by the mailbox near the end of the driveway?"

"Every good criminal has their price. I pay ours off with donuts."

"It's working. She hasn't destroyed anything or left pellet piles on the property in quite some time. I say keep buying donuts. It's cheaper than additional property insurance."

"I also hear she had her babies recently. Bet she's just concentrating on tending to her little ones. That would explain why the donuts haven't been disappearing lately. Let us pray her children don't develop her tendencies to roam and cause a ruckus."

"Our Father who art in Heaven, please help Linda's children to grow up rightly," prayed Connie.

"Amen to that!"
Chapter 4

"Sulumogradish Lavibduqois."

From his chair on the front porch, Qwilleran peeked over the top of his newspaper and weighed his options before answering, but couldn't come up with anything.

"Sulumogradish Lavibduquois," repeated the man now standing in front of him.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak your language," said Qwilleran as he blinked rapidly a few times.

"Sulumogradish Lavibduquois." The man extended his hand and smiled. "You can call me Su."

"Oh! It's nice to meet you, Su!" And it's even nicer that you're not going to make me remember your entire name or repeat it back to you, Qwilleran thought to himself.

"I'm here to discuss the Merlot with you."

"Ok, shoot."

"Are you aware that you have several gallons of first class vinegar in your storage units out back?"

"Come again?"

"We've discovered a fault in the cooling system in the processing building and a lot of the wine from previous harvests has gone bad. It will, however, make really nice vinegar."

"And how do you know this?"

"I am your chief winemaker. It's my job to notice these things."

There was no good way to admit he had no idea the man even worked for him, so he just nodded a few times.

"I should have come and introduced myself when I signed on, but the lady had things in hand very well and we were so busy from the get-go that little task kind of fell by the wayside. My apologies," said Su.

"That is perfectly all right. I rely on Connie to do so much around here that I don't interact with the staff here as often as I should. That's my fault. So, how much of the Merlot did you say is now ruined?"

"I would say roughly a quarter of it from the tests we've run so far. But alternately, we can relabel it and sell it as sophisticated vinegar which has a real volatility to it. It won't be a total loss unless you just want us to dispose of it. I urge you to taste it before you make up your mind."

"Maybe I'll come and see about this for myself. I feel like taking a walk anyway. Meet you back there in a few."

Su excused himself and left.

Qwilleran walked into the kitchen to find Connie cutting red peppers into strips in preparation for canning them. "Did you know our Merlot is volatile?" he asked.

"I know they were testing for that. Looks like we'll sell vinegar, I guess. First they have to isolate all the wine that is unacceptable. We can't afford to allow bad wine to make it to market with our name on it."

"Unless we open every single bottle how can we know?"

"Part of me is tempted to say let's dispose of all the wine in the area where they found the fault in the cooling system. That would be the safest way to deal with the situation. Or, we could open each bottle, taste it, and rebottle in smaller sizes and relabel it as vinegar and sell that product when we come upon those which don't qualify as wine any longer. I guess we can't control what we didn't know was happening in the first place, especially before you even bought the place. Makes you wonder how long this place sat empty and things went unattended. But sometimes you have to cut your losses, make vinegar from wine, and do the best you can. To think they just fired everyone and walked away from the place still gives me pause."

"I told our chief winemaker I'd take a walk out back and take a look at what he was telling me about."

"Su was here? Of course, how else would you have known."

"I was on the porch and he came up and introduced himself, left a few minutes ago."

"Well, wait till I wash this knife and dry it and I'll go with you. And since I don't want to pick freshly sliced cat toys up from off the floor when we return, let me stash the pepper slices in this box while we're gone."

****

Bottle after bottle of Merlot was opened to reveal lush tasting vinegar.

"I think we've got it now. This entire room was not properly cooled and when we open bottles from these adjacent rooms, those are perfect. How do you feel about it, Jim?" asked Connie.

"You and Su are the Einsteins here, not me. I'll sign off on whatever the two of you agree on and recommend."

"I'm thinking we should take down this section here and have HVAC experts replace everything they see that they don't like. I think we should taste and bottle vinegar as soon as I design a label and order smaller bottles after we determine how much vinegar we actually have. Su?"

"I agree with you, Connie. I would do that if it were up to me," said Su. "And as far as vinegar goes, the stuff is tasty. We could do different herbal and spice mixtures and accidentally wind up with a great line of products in different varieties here."

"I love that idea. We're in the vinegar business! Now off to find a good HVAC company."
Chapter 5

"Thirty-six thousand dollars? It will cost thirty-six thousand dollars to fix the cooling system in the winery? You've got to be kidding me!" said Qwilleran.

"Jim, it's not a house where you throw in a unit for a few grand and poof, it's chilly again. I priced a total replacement for the entire winery as the whole system is the same age. For a hundred and sixty thousand we can get a completely new system, top of the line," said Connie.

"What?!"

"The building is old, and in my opinion it's only a matter of time before we have other cooling related issues. You might want to consider nipping that problem in the bud," said Connie.

"I'm not even sure I want to keep making wine in coming years! That's a ton of money!"

"Said the billionaire. So you are going to let the vines die next year, or what is the plan, exactly?"

"I hadn't thought that far ahead."

"Well, as the Brits would say, you need to have a think on that. Money just keeps throwing itself at you and you just keep ignoring it."

"How much money does a person need anyway?"

"Your car is twelve years old and has been acting up. You need to have a think on that, too. You still think like a poor person. Thank you for the SUV, by the way. They should finish custom making the interior and have it ready within the next couple of weeks. The old van knows I'm about ready to replace it, is offended, and has been acting up accordingly. So glad you lost that bet."

"If I have to play smoochie-woochie-kissy-wissy face like you did to finally get Yum Yum to take her pills then that's not a good option for me. I'm not a smoochie-woochie kind of guy."

"Because you were having so much success for two days trying on your own to force the medicine down her throat which promptly caused her to spit it out every time. Sure. And all I did was talk to her, then she understood and gave me permission to put a pill into her mouth and she swallowed it right down. Finesse and communication are key. You know they understand us; why didn't you just talk to her?" The house phone rang as Connie finished her question. She answered it and then said, "It's for you-Sara Boros from the morgue." He walked over and took the phone.

"Qwill, you old coot, how are you? The dearly departed haven't danced or played the piano since you were here last-it's been boring around here! I miss the special effect you had on my guests!" said the coroner.

"No one else has disappeared either? You had some lively ones down there as I recall, please excuse the term."

"I'm sorry this took so long," said the woman on the other end of the line. "Near as I can tell the samples I sent off for testing for you got misplaced at the lab I sent them to somehow. I just got the results back today, and your suspicions were right. Fifty percent match; same father."

He paused briefly before he spoke. "We've been so busy around here lately with the winery and such that I just about forgot about it. Let me ask you, do you trust the accuracy and quality of this lab?"

"They haven't messed up a single thing since I took over as coroner for Moose County a few years ago to my knowledge. This little delay is the first incident, if you even want to call it that. Otherwise, I'm satisfied with their service. Say, when are you going to bring Koko back to the morgue for a visit? He had a great time here and I like that little guy, such a sweetheart!"

"For you only, Sara."

Qwilleran was remembering how the cat had laid in her arms playing cuddle bunny with the woman right after he had told her his cat was not overly affectionate. Another reminder that cats ultimately run things.

"Say, I don't suppose you have any info on the dead man who was found at my property line here at the winery?"

"I do, but I'm going to hold you to another visit, and you'd better bring Koko with you!"

"How does tomorrow afternoon sound?"

"Be there or be square! Wait! Dead man walking! Get back there, you! Ha!" Click.

****

"Jim, Su wants to see us at the plant," said Connie. "We can take a short jaunt before dinner."

"Sounds good. But why don't you drive?" They got into Connie's van and drove to see the chief winemaker.

"Connie, Mr. Q. We have a problem."

"Another one?" asked Qwilleran.

"The main press seems to be partially blocked. It's only allowing about twenty percent output as it relates to the amount of grapes we're putting into it. If we can't figure this out soon we'll have to shut it down and take things apart in order to troubleshoot the problem. We could potentially lose a lot of grapes if we do that. This thing is super high capacity as you know."

"The way I see it, some losses are unavoidable," said Connie as she stared at the gigantic machine. "How long has it been gummed up?"

"It's been slow all day but it's getting worse. I'm thinking if it doesn't pick up in the next hour-" Su was interrupted by a very loud noise suddenly coming from the presser.

"Shut it down! Shut it down before something blows up!" shouted Su. A worker immediately punched a large red button on a console with his fist and the presser stopped.

"Well, there's your answer! If that noise is any indication, something's broken and the decision has been made for us. Sounds to me like you'd better leave the machine off and start taking it apart," said Connie. His lack of expertise on the subject left Qwilleran standing on the sidelines while the grown-ups discussed the immediate goings-on.

Su said, "When I said we'd have to take things apart, I meant the manufacturer will have to come out and do so. This thing is beyond our ken when it comes to taking it apart and reassembling it. I'll put the call in." He disappeared into his office and made the call before rejoining the pair.

"They have to travel, but they can have someone here day after tomorrow. I'm surprised we don't have to wait longer. Seems they're sensitive to how much financial loss can occur if a substantial quantity of grapes are sacrificed."

"Well, that's good news. Keep us updated, Su."

The couple returned to the house and Connie prepared dinner while Qwilleran worked on his column which was due to the paper immediately, if not sooner. It would be later in the evening before he would be able to take a break.

****

He took a short walk down the driveway to get the mail they had forgotten about, then walked back and sat down on the porch. Nothing but junk advertisement. It didn't take long before the test results Sara had relayed to him earlier in the day came floating to the surface of his mind. Fifty percent match. Same father. Same father. Same father. What father? There had been no father. That person had died long, long ago, and Qwilleran had never known him. A younger half-brother? How could that be? Based on photos of his dad which his mother had shown him, Qwilleran had grown up to look just like his male parent.

Half-brother Winston Dana LaGrange had been part of a scheme perpetrated unsuccessfully by one of Qwilleran's former attorneys. Shortly after beginning his past assignment, LaGrange was murdered. The body was then dumped in dense woods off of Ittibittiwassee Road where Qwilleran managed to find it with help from Koko, of course. *(See The Cat Who Climbed A Tree, Book One.)

The scheme was a deeply complex one using a double for the wealthy Scotsman, and the most striking part of it was the resemblance LaGrange bore to Qwilleran. When Sara had finally pulled out the correct drawer at the morgue to show him the body he had unceremoniously tripped over in the woods, a shiver had gone up his spine as he looked down at a face that looked to be a near duplicate to his own. He continued trying to call it a coincidence but something kept nagging at him to the point where he felt impelled to ask Sara to test his DNA and the corpse's to see if they had any parentage in common. Fifty percent match. Same father. Fifty percent match.

Family history as it had been told to him indicated that he had been an only child whom his mother had raised by herself. She had told him that his father had died long ago when he was tiny, which explained why Qwilleran had no memory of the man. All he could learn about his father was that his maternal grandparents had hated him so vehemently that they had cut off all contact with his mother after she became involved with his father, and that he had been shot and killed in the act of an attempted robbery in which he was the robber. His father's name was Dana Qwilleran, and Winston Dana LaGrange was now revealed to be his half-brother. The odds that the DNA test had incorrectly identified LaGrange as his half-brother who just so happened to have his father's first name as his own middle name were non-existent in the man's mind.

What other lies had he been told? Had his mother intentionally lied to him, or had she been lied to? At the time of his father's reported demise, and without the technology then in place, there had been no way short of physically going to the City Hall of a given place to check these things out for accuracy. Wasn't the corpse/twin Sara had shown him in the morgue recently from someplace in West Virginia? Did LaGrange have siblings? If so, how many? And if what he suspected was true, what other family did he and the petty criminal share?

And who of those, if any, were still alive?

****

"McDowell. There's no city named McDowell? It's a county? Ok. How would I go about getting my brother's birth certificate? I'm not sure exactly. Well, he passed away recently and I just found out he was my brother. I never knew him so I'm trying to piece together missing family history. I am quite a distance away from West Virginia. Is there a way to do this by mail? A request form? How do I get one of those? Come to the City Hall? That would require my driving several hundred miles, again, in order to do so. Can these things be requested online by chance? Yes, I'll be happy to pay a fee. Yes, I'll be happy to pay the credit card processing fee also. Absolutely. Winston Dana LaGrange. I'm sorry I don't know the city he was born in, McDowell County is all the information I have and he was forty-seven when he died a few months ago. I would be happy to wait." Some minutes passed while Qwilleran waited on hold.

"YOU DID?! Yes, yes, here is my credit card information, are you ready?" He gave the information to the clerk on the other end of the phone who took his address and promised to US mail him a copy of the birth certificate he was after.

"Can you tell me a couple of facts from the certificate? What was his mother's name? City of birth? Date of birth? Father's name?" Qwilleran wrote furiously as the clerk answered each question. "I eagerly await receiving the copy you're sending me. Thank you so much, I appreciate this more than you know!" Click.

He sat back in his chair staring at the scant bit of information he was able to get the clerk to tell him over the phone. It didn't amount to more than a few scribbles, but he kept reading it and rereading it over and over again.

Little did he know how his life was getting ready to change thanks to those scribbles.
Chapter 6

"Sara, sorry to interrupt, looks like you're mighty busy!" said Qwilleran.

The coroner turned around to face her visitor. She had a scalpel in her hand which she had just used to cut open up the chest of a guest who was lying on one of the hard steel tables in the morgue. Her visitor made sure to avert his eyes so as not to accidentally get a look at the man's internal organs.

"Qwill, how've you been? Is that our little Koko? How is this beautiful meezer?" Sara smiled at Koko as she took off her gloves and took the cat from his human. "Oh, beautiful boy, such a sweetheart!"

Koko lounged in her arms contentedly and looked over at Qwilleran as if to say, I can do this all day. He temporarily suspended the squalling and bawling he would usually indulge in if someone picked him up and tried to hold onto him. Qwilleran was convinced his cat did such things to best him, which he did with regularity. Gotcha.

"I'm well. Yourself?"

"Oh, I'm fine. The hubby and I just returned from vacation, and I came back to three new guests my assistant had put in the coolers for me to work on. Have you met Tiffany? Guess not, she hadn't started working here yet when you last paid us a visit. Tiff, meet Jim Qwilleran."

A young woman in her early twenties smiled and said hello as she walked past him carrying what looked like a roaster pan full of someone's innards. Qwilleran averted his eyes again and wondered how he had ever managed to cut up chickens for roasting on the rare occasions when he would actually cook himself a meal.

"Say, they call you Mr. Q, don't they? I think you know my boyfriend, M.A. Mazola, am I right about that?" asked the girl.

"Yes, I know M.A. well. He was instrumental in the success of the museum that opened this year. How is M.A.?"

"He's wonderful! I'm wonderful! We're getting married!" she said as she set the pan of giblets down and peeled off her gloves to show Qwilleran her engagement ring.

"Well, congratulations, Tiff! M.A. is a great guy and I get the feeling you two will be very happy together. I seem to remember M.A. mentioning your name when we worked on the museum murders a while back. Please tell him I said hi."

"Oh, sure!" Tiff was now petting Koko as the Siamese serenaded his two admirers with loud purring. "Can I hold him?" Sara turned the cat over to her assistant.

"What can I do you for, Qwill? I suppose you're here to learn about the dead body found on your property."

"You would be right about that."

"Come over to my desk and I'll get the report." He followed her to a separate area off to the side of the room which housed guests awaiting their post mortem details. He sat in the visitor's chair while she seated herself at her desk.

"Let's see." She shuffled through papers in a manila folder. "Here we go. Name: Louis Canton Varney. Age: 38. Born here in Pickax City. Married to Cynthia Ann Varney, maiden name Lotrell. He had no criminal record. Cause of death: Internal hemorrhaging due to a gunshot wound in the abdomen. He was hit in the back of his head, too, but the bullet is what killed him."

"Can I see him?"

"Sure. Come on back." They walked back to the refrigerated section and Sara pulled out a drawer, then uncovered the face of the dead man.

"Wow. Poor guy. Wonder who was mad enough to shoot him to death? And why would you bother to hit him in the head if you could just shoot him outright?"

"Looks like someone hit him with a bat in the back of his head. As you can see, his face is untouched, but someone clocked him but good."

"Do you know if there are any leads? Ever since the chief of police died, I lost my best inside source there. It seems the current chief doesn't appreciate my 'meddling' in police business."

"You and Father Brown. Haven't you heard? He's outta there! Up and quit and went out west somewhere, nobody knows where or why. Poof, just up and left! I'm surprised you haven't heard. Been a few weeks already. The guy who used to serve as assistant has taken over that office now, Roy Briggs. You know Roy? Boy, I hope he runs for election when the time comes. We're lucky to have him."

"Yes, I do, met him recently at an event and he seems like he's a great guy! I'll have to stop by and say hello."

"Don't suppose you want to take pictures of this guy since he was found on your property and all?"

"I wasn't planning on it but it couldn't hurt. You know I like to snoop around a good mystery, and I feel the urge coming on regarding this guy."

"Snap away. I'll put him back when you're done."

Qwilleran took out his phone and took a couple of shots of the man's untouched face and then walked out to collect Koko and say goodbye.

"Say, Qwill, did I hear you're running the winery now? You bought the land the vines are on along with the house?" asked Sara.

"Well, I didn't intend to, but you are correct, I am now the town vintner, or one of them anyway. Glad you mentioned that. I have to get home to check out a problem with the presser, the repair people are coming this afternoon."

"Well, it's going on two, so I guess we have to give Koko back to you unless you want to leave him here. We could use a good morgue cat."

"Oh, no. I'll take him back home with me. Yum Yum would miss him too much. So would Connie and I." He smiled as he took Koko from Tiffany and put him back into his carrier.

"Say, when are you marrying that woman?" asked Sara.

The sudden bluntness of the question took him aback, and he looked at her blankly but didn't know what to say.

"Oh, come on, Qwill. Everyone knows you two are for each other. All it takes is one look at the two of you when you're together. Who are you, the last one to know? Men!" huffed Sara.

"And on that note, I will take my leave of you. Thanks very much for the information. It was nice to meet you, Tiffany. Please tell M.A. I said hello. What is he up to these days?"

"He's still working at the museum for Miss Garver while he's earning his master's degree. He took a year off but now he's back at school. He'll finish up before we get married next year. I'll tell him you said hi."

Qwilleran left and headed home.

****

"Something's jammed in there and we'll have to take it apart. This will take us a while. We got here as soon as we could but not sure how much we can accomplish today. We've finished testing the different parts of the machine, but it would be better if we could start the dismantling tomorrow. We had a long drive and would love to get a meal and a good night's rest if that's all right with you."

"Are you okay with that, Su? I tend to agree," said Connie.

"Absolutely. Please go ahead and get some rest, you've had a long day. Tomorrow is fine," said Su.

The repair crew left the processing area and headed back to check into their motel as Connie went back to the house.

****

The evening was quiet and everyone turned in early. Morning came soon enough and there was plenty of work to do. Connie fixed a delicious breakfast and then excused herself to go into the office and get some paperwork done. Accompanied by the two curious cats she loved dearly, she sat down at her computer intending to open the spreadsheet she kept on the costs associated with running the winery on a month-by-month basis. In an attempt to help her human in true feline fashion, Yum Yum laid across the keyboard and gazed lovingly up at her.

"Now sweetie, I need to do some work," said Connie as she removed the cat and set her on the floor. Yum Yum immediately jumped back up on the desk and put her paws on Connie's collarbone and licked her cheek. How could you get mad at that? Connie took the little cat in her arms and hugged her while cupping her little face in one hand. Loud purring followed. She knew the signs that indicated the cat was getting ready to take a nap even though they hadn't been up that long.

"Sweetie, I really need to get some work done. Will you help me? If I put you on the chair next to me with Koko, will you let me do that? Hmm?" She gave the meezer's nose a smooch and deposited Yum Yum on said chair and opened the spreadsheet she had composed, then created a new tab which she titled "Repairs".

She noted the HVAC costs both to repair and replace in two separate columns. Switching back and forth from sheet to sheet, she noted the projected sales for the pre-existing currently aging harvest that they would sell this year. Then she noted costs due to losses of the wine that had turned to vinegar and then figured in the profits from possible sales of gourmet vinegar flavors she and Su had thought up. It had taken her a lot of research and studying to come up with the figures she had, and she was confident she'd done a good job in that regard. Rehiring past employees had served her well as they were generous with all the information they had in all areas. The new labels she had created and 12-ounce dark glass bottles with shaker tops had arrived in preparation for mixing, labeling and sealing the vinegar. They would be pitched to existing wine customers and also sold to stores without licenses to sell alcoholic beverages. She'd started a new potential customer list and was adding to it daily. Sample packs would be sent out for tasting. All told, Connie was more of a marketing expert than she gave herself credit for. The fact that she was thoroughly enjoying her new job duties was an extra bonus, along with the generous bump in pay Qwilleran had given her for all the extra effort she was expending on winery issues. And then there was the new SUV he was giving her as the result of the bet he had lost. She stopped typing for a minute as she realized once again that Jim Qwilleran, whose company she truly enjoyed, was a really nice man as well as her very good friend. Life in Moose County had turned out to be an enjoyable choice for her, and one which kept steadily improving. Not knowing what to expect of the area before moving there, life 400 miles north of everywhere was turning out to be just grand. Ninety minutes passed while Connie worked on the spreadsheets and lists. Then out of the corner of her eye she saw Koko lift his head and stare at the phone which rang eight seconds later. A very excited sounding Su was on the other end of the line.

"Connie! Can you come quickly?! We have a problem here!"

"Another one?"

"PLEASE! JUST COME!" Su sounded panicky.

"Ok, I'm on my way!" She got into her van and drove rather than taking the time to walk to the processing building; Su had sounded so upset that she didn't want to waste any time. She parked and walked into the building and hurried to the pressing area.

"What is it?"

"They've found something and you're not going to believe it!"

Su took her arm and walked her to a spot in front of the crusher rollers which had been dismantled and removed.

"What am I looking at?"

The repair crew was standing there staring wide-eyed at the area the juice normally poured out of. The team lead spoke:

"Ma'am, it would appear we found the obstruction." He cleared his throat.

"Ok. That's good. Can the machine be fixed? And how long will that take?"

"Ma'am, you need to take a closer look," the man said.

Su took her arm once more and moved her somewhat closer and indicated she should bend over a bit and look inside the vat feeding the rollers. She did so before standing bolt upright with a stunned look on her face.

"Someone call the police!" she shouted.

****

Qwilleran picked up the phone.

"Jim! Get down here to the processing building! ASAP!" Connie was breathing hard.

"What's wrong?"

"JUST GET HERE!"

The man didn't bother with the car. Due to the urgency in her voice, he ran through the vineyard the entire way to the building to see what was happening. He entered and ran to the area where everyone was gathered. Sirens sounded off in the distance and grew louder upon approach. He suddenly noticed that his mustache was beginning to tingle.

He didn't get a chance to speak. Connie took his arm and walked him to the exact spot where Su had positioned her earlier.

"Bend your head and look there!" She pointed to the spot.

"What am I looking-'" he bent his head as instructed and stopped cold as his eyes struggled to take in what he was looking at. He blinked rapidly several times as his brain was not yet making the needed adjustment. Then his mouth fell open and he stepped back suddenly. There was a body in the feeder area where the grapes were dumped and fed into the crusher.

And it belonged to Polly Duncan.
Chapter 7

"Man, what a way to go," said Officer James Fay of the Pickax City police department. Names of everyone present and their reasons for being at the property were all recorded by the detective. "Does this person look familiar to anyone? Do any of you know her?"

Qwilleran was as close to being in a state of shock as he had ever been. But he somehow opened his mouth in order to reply. "Her name is Polly Duncan."

"How do you know her?"

"We were together for some years. But last I heard she was living in France. She went on vacation there and wound up staying. It happened suddenly without notice." His mouth felt dry. Connie looked at him as a feeling of compassion mixed with more shock overtook her face.

"So, she was a local?"

"Yes, she was the local librarian till she took a job that was offered to her in France while she was vacationing there."

"So, when was the last time the two of you spoke or saw each other?"

Qwilleran answered the question. The look of bewilderment on his face was unmistakable.

"Can one of you get this man a chair?" asked the cop.

"Please use my office," said Su.

"Nobody touch anything here. This is a crime scene and our team is arriving now to gather evidence." Qwilleran, Connie, Su, and Officer Fay went into Su's office.

Su gave background as to how the body was found and the exact time.

He then outlined that the crusher had been malfunctioning and had made a loud noise right before they shut it off. He then answered questions about building security and was asked how someone could get in, who had keys, alarm system questions, and the like. The chief winemaker supplied precise answers to every question he was asked. No, he had not known the victim. As the detective turned his attention back to Qwilleran, Su looked at his boss and felt sorry for him. It was clear to anyone listening that the man had at one time had deep feelings for the woman whose body had been found that day.

"You said the victim left suddenly without notice? Was there bad blood between you? Lover's quarrel or something along those lines?" asked Fay.

"No. Nothing like that. She just up and decided to remain in France. I was shocked. She didn't even tell me. I had to hear it from a third party she was communicating with." The look on his face made the detective feel sorry for him, too. Qwilleran felt as if he had just been undressed in front of a room full of onlookers.

"In my experience, women just don't up and leave in that sort of fashion unless they're deeply upset about something, and they're usually lashing out in order to cause as much pain as possible to their target. And you're telling me that the dead woman had no animosity toward you at all? But she just left you after being with you for years, and didn't even bother to tell you herself?" Sorry or not, the cop would do his job.

"No. She did not bother to tell me herself. And she never communicated with me again, either."

"That's a bit much to bite off, Mr. Qwilleran, wouldn't you say?"

"I guess I didn't know her as well as I thought I did." The Scotsman looked down.

"Do you have any idea who would want to kill her? Did she have any enemies?"

"Not that I knew of. I don't know of anybody who would have wanted to kill her."

"How did you feel when she left and didn't bother to tell you herself? Were you angry? Hurt? What was your reaction? After all, that was a pretty cold way to end things." Connie started to squirm internally as her embarrassment for the nicest man she knew increased. Su excused himself and left the office.

"I was shocked, and, of course, it hurt. You don't spend years with someone you care for and not suffer if they do a thing like that." He had never mouthed words to that effect before. Talking about emotional things did not come easily to him. Now he felt really naked.

"Did you know she was back in town?"

"No, I did not. As far as I knew, she was still in France."

"So, you're saying the first you knew of her return was when her body was discovered in the presser this morning?"

"Yes."

The cop had to admit to himself that Jim Qwilleran's reaction to seeing Polly's body was genuine shock and disbelief if he had ever seen it. Nevertheless, he had to ask every question that needed to be asked just as if Qwilleran had killed the woman himself. He had to consider all the possibilities and rule him out as a suspect if possible, or classify him as a person of interest if necessary. He then turned his attention to Connie.

"So, you never knew the deceased?"

"No, I never met her."

"Are you and Mr. Qwilleran involved?"

"No. I work for him."

"Funny, you two look like a couple to me. My mistake." Background questions were asked and the details of the machine malfunction were gone over again.

"Well, if things were going along merrily and the machine suddenly started slowing down, I'd say the body was in the machine when it was turned on that particular day, but not till after it was turned off the day before. Narrowing down timelines here. I'm going to go interview the repair crew and the rest of your winery staff. I'll be in touch if I have more questions." Fay left the office and joined the investigators who had since arrived and were busy photographing everything and dusting for fingerprints.

"Jim, we should go back to the house. You look like you need to lie down. My God, what a shock for you!"

"You're right, Connie. I feel a headache coming on. I think I will lie down." They got into her van and drove back to the house where Qwilleran fell into an exhausted sleep even though it was barely noon.
Chapter 8

"I have empty space, Qwill! Why do I have empty space?" cried Arch Riker. "Please don't tell me you forgot your column was due today!" The managing editor of the Moose County Something sounded exasperated, but concerned. His old friend was more reliable than this.

"Oh, God, Arch. I did forget. We had an incident at the winery yesterday and frankly, it kind of blew me away."

"This better be good. If I have to dig up something to fill your space and appease the advertisers who want their ads on the same page as The Qwill Pen, this had better be good."

"There was another murder, and the body was found in the malfunctioning grape crusher at the winery. The cops are still all over the place looking for clues."

"What the hell?!" Arch exclaimed.

"It was Polly."

His childhood friend fell silent for a few moments, then spoke quietly. "What?"

"It was Polly Duncan."

"My God, Qwill, I'm so sorry. Forget the column, I'll rerun one of your greatest hits. Geez, Qwill, I don't know what to say!"

"There's nothing you can say. I was blindsided when she decided to stay in France, and needless to say, this latest development defies description. If you'd punched me in the face yesterday I don't think I would have noticed it."

"Do the police have any leads yet? Who the hell would want to kill Polly? What was she doing back here? And why in the world would they...put her in that thing? Mildred is going to be so upset. I cannot even begin to imagine how you're feeling."

"Thanks for understanding about my column, Arch. You know I never miss."

"You never do. Understandable. Is it okay with you if I work with the police to compose a small article on this? Word will be around town in no time and everyone will be beating down your door. If we can allay some of that, I'd like to tell folks what we know. You do understand I'm not trying to capitalize on this, right?"

"I know you better than that. It's your job to report the news, so yes, please go ahead. Don't hold anything back. Report what they know. Just don't quote me or write anything I tell you myself."

"Never. How is Connie with all this?"

"She's shocked and feels badly for me. You know how soft-hearted she is."

"Yes, she is, and she certainly has a soft heart for you, buddy. I've got copy to approve, gotta run. You call me if you need anything, and I mean anything."

"Ten-four."

****

Qwilleran ate his breakfast in the sunroom the next morning. His appetite said he only wanted oatmeal and some coffee, so, that was what all he was having. Yum Yum was attracted to the smell of the maple syrup on his oatmeal, so she climbed up onto the arm of the chair to see if she could manage to get herself a taste. The man offered to let her have some right off of his spoon, which delighted the curious cat who licked every last morsel off the utensil. He had eaten what he wanted, so he left a few spoonfuls for her and put the bowl on the floor. She enjoyed her morning treat and looked up at him adoringly when she had finished licking the bowl so clean that he could have put it back into the cupboard without washing it.

"Yow yow yow!" said Koko from the other room.

Connie walked in with her coffee and sat down in the sunroom.

"I don't suppose we can ignore him," she said.

"Only if we want him to-"

"Yow yow yow yow yow!" said Koko.

"-yell louder and then-" CRASH!

Qwilleran went into the room where the big dictionary was kept to find Koko standing on top of a decorative metal tray he'd knocked off of a display shelf.

"Yow?"

The mischievous cat then jumped on top of the table the dictionary was on and dug his claws into the side of the book as he was prone to doing at times when he wanted to point out key clues in order to help his human solve mysteries.

"All right, young man. What is the word of the day today?" Qwilleran picked up the tray and set it back on the shelf. Then he opened the book to the page Koko had left his toe in. After satisfying himself that the correct page had been opened, Koko then stood on the page with one front foot in the air and his other front foot underlining two words which composed one entry. His house human read aloud:

"What do we have here? 'Machine gun: Adjective, characterized by rapidity and sharpness; Noun, a gun for sustained rapid fire that uses bullets: an automatic weapon.' Thank you, Koko. I have no doubt this pertains to something important, I just don't know what that would be yet. With all the violence of late, would you be telling me I ought to buy a gun?" He scratched the cat's ears. Koko purred in reply and flopped down on the dictionary so that the adoration could continue.

"I know it makes you happy to know that I am not one to kiss those of your kind, but know that you have my deepest affection, and one day hopefully soon, I'll know what you're trying to tell me." It then occurred to him why Koko had previously been crushing grapes.

"So he's telling us someone is going to be murdered via machine gun now? Great," said Connie. The doorbell rang and she went to answer it. She came back inside carrying a box and went back into the sunroom to open it. She examined the contents as she held each piece up one-by-one.

"I didn't know you'd figured out online ordering yet. Your stuff is here."

"What stuff?"

"Oh, I think you should take a look for yourself."

He came padding into the sunroom and took the box from her and sat down. He dug out the first item and held it up. He quickly put it down and took the next item out, which he also quickly put back down. Each item was more embarrassing than the last, and he finally quit and shut the box.

"What's her name?" asked Connie.

"What? Who?"

"The woman you bought the black and bright red particularly raunchy lingerie for? Hmm?" A smirk turned up the corner of her lips though she wasn't feeling particularly amused at the moment.

"I did not order any of this! You know I can barely turn a computer on!"

"I see you just went back to using your smartphone which you previously said was too smart for you. Because it has a better camera, you said. Whatcha been takin' pictures of, Qwill?" She never called him Qwill, and the look on her face was making his face turn an even brighter shade of red than the lingerie had.

"Smartphones can order things for you quite easily once you set your profile up. Did you know that? Or did you order that stuff on the laptop? The label says to you from you. I set up a profile for you on this vendor's site, you remember when we ordered you that pair of ducks?"

"I did NOT order this stuff! Who would I give it to anyway?"

"I dunno. You tell me, Qwill," she teased.

Not one to be easily rattled, he chalked up his embarrassment to the events of late having shaken him to a degree he didn't care to admit.

"Koko did it! That's my answer. Koko did it. He has learned how to use the computer and he did it. I'm sure it was him." The accused had relocated and was nowhere to be found.

"Yes, that's it. Koko has learned how to access your profile and order things from the Internet. That makes sense. You don't have to tell me who you ordered the stuff for. But you forgot you could have had it delivered to the lady directly. I apologize for opening the box. I slit it open before I looked to see who it was for. I thought it was some more vinegar labels I ordered."

"I did NOT order the stuff. Is there a way to see who is accessing my account?"

"Well, let's look at your order history."

They went into the room where Connie had left her laptop and saw that it was on.

"That's odd, I finished my spreadsheet work and left it on? I never leave it on." They couldn't help but notice Koko lying on the desk next to the machine.

"I can't believe I left it on! Oh, my God! He's turned the browser on! He accessed the Internet! Koko! How could you?!" Upon hearing his name, said cat yawned and began licking one of his front paws.

"Oh, say it isn't so, say it isn't so!" Connie saw that Koko had opened up a popular shopping site. She checked the order page. Not only had the naughty cat opened up the shopping site, he had managed to order the lingerie which had turned Qwilleran's face red. "Oh, no!" Connie put her hand to her forehead. "Overnight delivery, no less!"

"Well, well, well, Constance. What do we have here? The guilty always accuse the innocent. It's a well-known attack strategy to put the innocent on the defensive. I see how you are now. I'm shocked and amazed, shocked and amazed, I tell you." He wore a self-satisfied grin.

"Well, I'll print out a return label and send the stuff back. Geez, that was expensive for a few scraps of fabric! Koko, you naughty boy, you!"

"We live with an opportunist, you know that. I forgive you, by the way, for exposing our boy to things he should not even know about. He is an innocent who gained access to sinful things, this is how it happens, the downhill slide of civilization," clucked Qwilleran, continuing to grin.

"I can't believe I left my laptop on, I NEVER do that! My apologies, Koko. I accidentally led you down the path to ruin. I am sorry." Koko ran out of the room.

"You have corrupted a minor. I believe you can get prison time for that. I'm afraid I'm going to have to make a citizen's arrest. I arrest you, Connie McCloud, and sentence you to go out for Chinese food with me to my choice of venues this evening."

"I accept my punishment with humility, your honor."

Then Koko came running back into the room but something wasn't right. He jumped up on the desk to reveal the fact that he had something on his head and back. Upon closer examination, his dark brown nose and beautiful blue eyeballs were sticking through an opening in the pair of bright red panties which had one key part missing.

Against all odds considering the goings-on of late, laughter could be heard all over the house.
Chapter 9

A voice came on the phone: "Roy Briggs."

"Hello, Roy. This is Jim Qwilleran. We met at the Pickax Street Fair a while ago. How are you?"

"I remember you. I'm fine, thanks. Having a busy day, I'm sure you can imagine why. Sorry about your friend."

"I hadn't seen her in quite some time."

"It had to be a shock to find her in the crusher at your property. Sara Boros took the body to the morgue and is working on her now. She doesn't have anything conclusive yet, though."

"I've been known to frequent the morgue before but it's different this time. I don't know if I have the heart to do that considering the circumstances. Sounds like there's no known cause of death yet?"

"Not since I spoke to the coroner earlier this morning there isn't. I understand you're some kind of Tom Barnaby when it comes to solving crimes."

"Who is Tom Barnaby?"

"The lead investigator on Midsomer Murders, one of my favorite British TV shows. I was giving you a compliment."

"My cat's better at it than I am, but thanks. I hear it's being noised around that the townsfolk wish you would run for chief of police in the upcoming election. Any interest there?"

"Providing you don't run against me I think I have a chance of winning. Yes, I intend to run. At the rate dead bodies are being found on your property, somebody needs to take on the mantle of the chief's office. Might as well be me."

"I was working my way around to that. Do we know anything about the first victim? The man who had his head bashed in right inside my property line just outside the last row of my vines?"

"I've got information on him but to be honest right now I can't spare the time. Can I get back to you when things quiet down a bit here? Maybe tomorrow or the next day?"

"Certainly. I'd also like to discuss some things about my purchase of this house and some things I suspect are going on."

"Is everything okay? Are you all right? Do you need me to send a car out there?"

"No, no. I just think it's fishy the way the people I bought the house from just threw it up for sale and ran to wherever they ran to without giving much thought to the vineyard and who would take care of it in the interim, but that's a discussion for the lunch I'm going to buy you when you can chisel out the time for us to sit down."

"Like I said, give me a couple of days and I'll take you up on that invitation and we'll chew the fat."

"Sounds like a plan."

****

"What are you saying, Shoobie?"

"I'm telling you the dead guy had connections to the folks your fella bought his house from. He was their accountant fer cryin' out loud!" said Shoobie Willis.

"How do you know this?" exclaimed Connie.

"I know his wife. She runs that motel on the outskirts of town-The Little Ray O' Sunshine they call it. That's her dump."

"That's where our repair crew for the pressing equipment is staying!"

"Well, I hear she's getting ready to up and leave town real soon. Heck, her husband was just murdered a short time ago and she's getting ready to take off. What a shock. Who could blame her for wanting a change of scenery?"

Either that, or she killed him herself and is going on the run before she gets caught, thought Connie.

****

"Louis Varney. Yes, he was my husband. Yes, that's right, one million. We've had that policy for about eight years now. Can you tell me when the funds will be deposited to my account? No, I don't want a check, just deposit the funds directly. When? Why so long?! Who knows how long an investigation will take, I need that money now! Then you just go ahead and talk to the police, and good luck with that!" Click.
Chapter 10

"Word's around town like wildfire about Polly, Qwill. All of Pickax is in a state of shock, that much I can tell you. I was real sorry to hear about that myself. Such a nice lady. I served on the street fair committee with her for a few years, real nice lady. It's always hard for me when someone I knew and liked winds up on my table." Sara Boros' usually chipper demeanor was thoughtful and subdued.

"I didn't want to come here, but I had to. At first I didn't think I could. Part of me doesn't want to see her, but part of me has to," said Qwilleran.

"Well, that's perfectly understandable seeing how the two of you were an item for years. Perfectly understandable. I'm finished with my work on her so the body is in the cooler. Listen, if you want to turn around and go back home sight unseen I wouldn't blame you. It will take some time for the lab I use to return the test results to me anyway but I can tell you this much: She was shot once in the gut, and from what I've been able to ascertain that alone could have killed her but I can't make my final determination on that till the test results come back to me."

He stared at Sara as an incredulous look overtook his face. "I want to see her."

The petite woman led her tall visitor back to the refrigerated area and pulled out a slab, then turned to go back to the work area in order to give him some privacy. "Take as long as you need."

He looked at the figure in front of him but didn't lift the sheet right away. When he summoned the courage to pull it back he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach and became suddenly dizzy. He put his hand on the slab to steady himself and took a couple of deep breaths. Her face was peaceful and placid, her hair was down and had been combed through. He pulled the fabric back to reveal a small bullet hole in her abdominal area and then quickly pulled the sheet back up over her face. "Oh, Polly," he whispered quietly as if not to disturb her. "You did not deserve this."

****

"Yes, I want to buy the museum building back, Bart. See what they want for it, will you? I know they were trying to sell it years ago but couldn't find a buyer. That should make them flexible on the asking price. They can't even be making enough on the rent to cover their property taxes. Fanny owned it at one time as you know, so I think it's time to welcome the place back into the family. It can remain a museum as long as Loretta Garver wants to keep it open, not going to kick her out. Her spooky little cast of characters is still drawing them in from what I hear. I had no idea people were interested in that alien and monster stuff to the degree they are. Takes all kinds. Let me know."

"So, you're interested in buying the museum building now, are you?" asked Connie.

"The place draws me, it has a certain kind of appeal, wouldn't you say? I woke up thinking about it this morning for some reason."

"I think you need a new hobby, that's what I say. But I would like to know more about its history, and why someone built that tunnel underneath it. I'd really like to know what that was all about."

"Me, too," said Qwilleran. "We need some little old historian person to appear out of nowhere and clue us in."

Sometimes you have to be careful what you wish for.

"I know that the funeral is tomorrow. I'd like to go with you if that's okay."

"That's perfectly okay with me. I welcome your company. It's at ten in the morning."

"I'll be ready."

****

"I'm sorry it's taken me a while to get back to you, Qwill. Things have been hectic. I like this place. They have excellent shrimp fried rice," said Roy Briggs.

"It's one of my favorite places to eat. So, the election is coming up soon but you'd never know it."

"Why do you say that? I submitted my name to run for police chief."

"Yard signs. I don't have any nor do I see any around as I drive through town. You need yard signs, Roy. Fred Drucker's are out. I'll take six of yours for my property."

"Sure. The committee will be dropping them off to you this week."

The conversation ambled smoothly as the men got to know each other better.

"Something's changing in Moose County, Qwill. Two shooting deaths within a few days of each other and the bodies were found on your property not too far apart. Somehow I get the feeling there's another one coming," said Briggs.

"God, I hope not!" exclaimed Qwilleran. "Polly's funeral is tomorrow at ten and I'm not looking forward to it. Enough already."

"Nevertheless you'll be interested in this fact: The gun that killed Louis Varney on your property is the same gun that killed Polly Duncan. The results came back late yesterday and the bullets are the same caliber and the marks on the bullets due to firing are a dead match. I wanted to have some information to give to you but I did not suspect things would take this turn."

Qwilleran sat back in his seat and stared at his companion. "That's a stunning fact, Roy. Are you saying the killings are related?"

"All we know at the present time is that the same gun killed both people. What we don't know is why or who did it. We're investigating but we don't know much yet. I'll be sure to keep you in the loop."

"Thanks for that. Did you know the vintners well? The ones I bought my property from?"

"Not that well. They seemed nice enough, were always involved with the town goings on. Wasn't personal friends with them though."

"There's something fishy about the way they suddenly threw in the towel and left town. Threw their house on the market and just split. I can't even find anyone who knows where they went."

"You might just be onto something there. Did you know Louis Varney was their accountant?"
Chapter 11

It seemed the entire town of Pickax turned out for Polly Duncan's funeral. The day was filled with condolences and tears. The funeral director had been sworn to secrecy. No one would know that Qwilleran had paid for everything. The deceased had no family to speak of and this last gesture of caring provided a small portion of needed closure for the Scotsman, as much as he could hope for without knowing why Polly was killed or who pulled the trigger. He felt as if the more he learned, the less he knew. The same gun had killed both people. What was the connection? And what had caused her to return to Pickax?

The afternoon wore on with a catered reception at the museum main room, of all places. Guests munched appetizers while they checked out the displays of The Stranger Than Fiction Exhibit. Loretta Garver had graciously given her consent to use the museum considering the circumstances, and the free PR the place was getting didn't hurt either.

"Loretta, it's been a while, how are you?" said Qwilleran.

"Soo faaine, soo faaine. Soo serry habatt yherrr fhrennd," the museum director spewed in her own personal version of Mystery English.

"Thanks for allowing us to use the museum for the reception."

"Nutettahll."

"I thought I'd mention that I'm trying to buy this building and the grounds. You'll be able to host one exhibit after another if it suits you. I'll underwrite it all for you. You've done a fine job here."

"Uhhh! Yherr soo kaaind!" swooned the director. Though she was born and raised in New Jersey, the woman had had a close encounter of the third kind years earlier which had left her traumatized and nearly impossible to understand under most circumstances. Lucky for her new benefactor, Connie swooped in and saved her boss from further attempts to understand his soon-to-be newest employee. She took his arm and began walking him away.

"I just remembered something I wanted to mention to you, Jim. You know how we were talking about how strange it seemed that the vintner and his wife just up and left town in a flash leaving the whole vineyard at risk of failure? It turns out the dead man found on the property was their accountant! How's THAT for fishy? Hmmm?"

"Roy Briggs just told me the same thing at lunch yesterday, I meant to bring it up last night but I forgot. Fishy isn't the word." Qwilleran then bumped into a super large towering stuffed figure of Bigfoot, spun around to look at it, and shuddered as thoughts of gratitude to Linda the goat washed over him.

"And you're not going to believe this: The same gun that killed the accountant killed Polly!"

Connie's eyes grew wide. "Machine guns! Koko thinks it has to do with machine guns!"

"We've got to dig into this, Connie! Koko is never wrong!"

Just then a fresh-faced young man in his early twenties came up and greeted them.

"Hey, Mr. Q! Haven't seen you in a while! Tiff tells me she met you at the morgue! Can you imagine I'm marrying a girl who eviscerates the dead for a living?! I love her so much!"

"Say, M.A., congratulations! Tiffany seems like a lovely young woman. She told me you're working on your master's degree, good for you. Connie, you remember M.A. Mazola, don't you? He helped Loretta coordinate the museum exhibit you helped cater some time ago?"

"Of course, I do. Nice to see you again, M.A. Congratulations on your engagement."

"Thank you, Miss Connie. I can't wait to marry the girl of my dreams! "Say, Mr. Q, did you ever figure out what that crazy tunnel downstairs was used for? I've wondered that a lot."

"No. Seeing as I'm attempting to buy the building and the grounds I'd really love to know."

"No way! You're buying up all this? How cool!"

"I was just saying the other day I'd love to meet a town historian who could fill me in on that very bit of information about the tunnel." Qwilleran felt a hand on his arm. He looked around to find a tall woman of distinguished demeanor who looked to be about eighty years old standing to one side, listening to the conversation.

"My name is Candonella LaFleur. May I have a private word?" He thought he heard a trace of a southern accent accompanying a low voice.

"Ms. LaFleur, I'm Jim Qwilleran, how nice to meet you!" M.A. and Connie excused themselves.

"I know who you are. Why don't you get us somewhere to sit and we'll talk privately. Call me Candy, please."

Qwilleran found two seats off in a quiet corner and they made themselves comfortable. He was surprised to see how smoothly the woman walked and moved considering the age she looked to be. Her broad shoulders were accompanied by a thick blonde wig that came several inches below her chin and heavy makeup in what he assumed was an attempt to look younger, but it wasn't doing her any favors. She wore a long dark skirt topped by a long-sleeved turtleneck tunic made of metallic fabric. She tapped the table with a long fingernail.

"First off, I am not the sort to waste words, so if you miss something, stop me and I'll revisit it immediately. Other than that, I don't like having to repeat myself. Secondly, I am old, I am not deaf, so do not shout at me, and see you keep everything I tell you to yourself. Third, why do you want to buy this place?"

"It was in my extended family at one time, my Aunt Fanny owned it in the past, and something is pulling me back to it, you might say."

"Fanny was a good friend to me before she left us. Anything I can do for her family is a joy. You want to know about the tunnel?"

"Yes, I do."

"I will proceed if you agree to keep what I tell you to yourself and never to mention to anyone that I ever told you a thing. Understood?"

"Yes, agreed."

"Smuggling. It was used to smuggle bootleg liquor during Prohibition. You notice how it lets out near that development that borders on the lake? Before there were houses there, bootleggers used to cook their mash and make their booze in this building. Then in order to get around the old police station which used to be right across the road before they tore that down long ago, the booze was smuggled down the basement of this very building we're in now. It was then spirited through the tunnel to waiting boats literally in the lakefront backyards of the houses which are there now, and distributed throughout the Great Lakes area. All that came to a stop in 1933 when Prohibition ended. But for the thirteen years it was in force, the tunnel helped to keep many a folk well-stocked with alcohol."

"So, that's it. It makes perfect sense if you're looking to move some kind of illegal goods out of the area fast."

"Or into it."

He wondered why she was concerned about others finding out she had told him a tale from back in Prohibition days, but a deal was a deal. He also wondered how she had just happened to wander over to him as he was saying he wanted to know exactly what she was telling him.

"The Coast Guard didn't bother with this little area much back in the day, so smugglers operated with impunity. Plus, a well-placed twenty bought a lot of silence around such goings-on. Word had it half the police department was on the take anyway back then. What will you do with this building if you are successful in acquiring it, if I may ask?"

"I'm going to allow Loretta Garver to continue functioning as museum director and she can keep the exhibit she has on display now, and organize new ones as she likes. I understand people from all over the country are coming to see this exhibition now. She has a hit on her hands thanks to all her hard work."

"Be careful of this place. They might not be done yet," said Candy.

"Done? With what?"

"Using the tunnel."

"Why would anyone be smuggling alcohol through there now?"

"You have a vivid imagination."

"You have me at a disadvantage," said Qwilleran with a confused look on his face.

"I didn't say anything about what they're smuggling now, did I? And remember to keep your trap shut. I may be ancient but I don't want to go before my time. Look in the ground."

And with that, she stood up and walked away.
Chapter 12

"Something is wrong with Yum Yum. She's limping!" said a concerned Connie.

"She wasn't limping a minute ago," answered Qwilleran.

"Come here, honey. Let me take a look at your foot." Yum Yum limped over to Connie who picked her up and stroked her head. The little meezer purred loudly.

"Let me see that foot, sweetie." Connie examined Yum Yum's foot half expecting the cat to yelp in pain, which she did not.

"I'm telling you, she's faking. Remember all the attention she got when she hurt her foot a while ago? I'm telling you, she's looking for the kind of attention she got then."

"Oh, yes. I'm sure she wants you to wrestle with her and repeatedly shove a pill down her throat so she can spit it back out. That worked out so well, if memory serves," said Connie.

"Skipping that part of the debacle, she wants attention, pure and simple." Koko suddenly came thundering into the room with a small mouse toy in his mouth, stopped short, and dropped it on the floor for all to see. Yum Yum instantly leapt off Connie's lap and ran to get the toy which she then absconded with for her own amusement. During this lapse in attention, her limp magically disappeared. She was temporarily distracted by her deep seated belief in Acquisitions: If You Want It, It's Yours from The Book of Cat. Yum Yum the Paw had struck again.

"You little stinker! You had me worried, little girl!" exclaimed Connie.

Qwilleran wore a look of "I told you so" incorporated with a big smile on his face, cleared his throat but said nothing. He turned a page in the newspaper and resumed reading.

"Pastrami is on sale at the deli." Ever since he'd inherited money from Fanny, he'd acquired the odd habit of reading sale ads though he certainly didn't need to.

"I'm making a grocery run in a bit. I've got that on my list. Any special requests?" The man rattled off a few things in reply.

"Oh, and plenty of f-i-s-h for the children, that's all, but you always get that anyway." He was careful to spell the word out even though Koko knew how to spell, he had to try. Some days you lose anyway.

"Yow yow yow yow yow!" said Koko. It was lunchtime. Why did he always have to remind them? There was no training house humans.

"I hope you don't mind beef for lunch. We are out of fish at the moment," said Connie as she went to warm some up for the cats.

"Yow yow yow yow yow!" It would have to do even though his palate wanted trout. Yum Yum appeared and followed the others to the kitchen and chimed in her desire for lunch to warm up faster.

"How can such little bodies make so much noise?" said Connie. "They should be the size of Peterbilts for all the noise they make."

"It's a breed thing. Siamese are known for being prolific talkers who have a volume level and pitch other cats just don't have."

"Don't forget the lovely musical tones they sing to us in."

"Another unique feature of their breed."

Even though it wasn't fish, the beef was consumed with gusto. Then Koko and Yum Yum retired to their lounge chair in the sunroom to bathe and begin the first installment of their nineteen-hour-a-day napping schedule. Connie joined Qwilleran and the cats in the sunroom. She brought with her two cups of spoon-melting black coffee and set one down on the side table next to the man of the house. They sat and sipped the brew and enjoyed the peace and quiet. After the goings on of late, it was just what they needed. Koko lifted his head up and looked over at the house phone in the corner. Per usual, it rang ten seconds later. Qwilleran went to answer it.

"Better today, thanks. Did you call to give me some good news?" The voice on the other end of the line had called to do just that.

"Well, you're not gonna believe this, Qwill. The previous owner defaulted on the property taxes before Loretta rented the museum from them, so Moose County took it back from those owners eventually. All the county wants is for you to pay the back taxes which comes to around twelve thousand dollars, and the museum building and all the land associated with it are yours. I pitched that to them and they went for it. They do ask that you keep up with the tax payments after you take possession. They've had to take it back before and they're tired of having to do that. The county needs the revenue. How's that for a deal? It pays to be you," said Bart.

"Now that's what I call a deal. Good work, Bart. Get the paperwork ready and let me know when you want me to come in and sign it," said Qwilleran. The conversation ended and he turned to his excellent housekeeper/cook.

"Constance, my dear, we are now the proud owners of the museum and the surrounding grounds."

"We? Who's we? You got a rat in your pocket?" she smiled back at him.

"I think you would be a great business partner. I'll pay the expenses, you manage the money and such for me. Sound like something you'd be interested in?"

"Let me think about it. Yes!"

"Good. I'll have Bart make you half owner with my trust always responsible for all related expenses. If we ever get rid of the aliens Loretta has in there now just think of the uses we could put the place to. If Fanny made a success of every business she ever operated there when she owned the place long ago, I know whatever use we ultimately put it to will benefit the community."

"Because God knows you don't need more money."

"No, we don't."

"There's that rat in your pocket again. I'm going to the market."

"When are they going to be finished with your SUV? I hate seeing you drive around in the van. It looks like it's on its last legs."

"I got a text saying I can pick it up tomorrow. I can't wait," said Connie as she grabbed her purse and walked out the door.

"Don't forget the pastrami!"

****

A couple of days passed without anything new being brought to light about the murders at Qwilleran's vineyard property. He parked the car and he and Connie walked into an office building to sign paperwork regarding his purchase of the museum building and the grounds associated with it. They sat down at a table.

"Please read the document, Qwill. I know you hate this stuff, but please read it anyway," implored Bart. "Connie, I know you will."

"You're right, I do hate this stuff. Legalese might as well be Greek or Chinese for all the sense it makes to me. Okay, I'm reading," said Qwilleran." He finished in a minute. "Sign here?"

"Yes. And initial where the other two tape flags indicate."

Qwilleran signed and initialed where he was supposed to, and handed the documents to Connie, who read them thoroughly and then signed and initialed. She gave the documents back to Bart.

"I'd like to get another look at the drawings you showed me a while ago depicting the original structures that stood on the property I just bought. Do you have them handy?"

"Sure do. I scanned a copy just in case. Let me get you the originals from the file."

Bart dug in a drawer and pulled out a manila folder full of drawings and handed them to his client.

"I'm going to take these home and have a good look at each sheet again. I need to study a few things. I'll bring them back when I'm finished," said Qwilleran.

"Keep them as long as you like. As I said, I scanned them all just in case, plus the original originals are at City Hall. I'll send this signed purchase paperwork over to the county along with a check for the back taxes to seal the deal. The change in ownership should be reflected in the assessor's roles no more than a month from now, possibly earlier. You just bought yourselves a large building and a lot of real estate surrounding it. Congratulations."

Qwilleran took the file and drove Connie home, then drove to the museum. He sat in the parking lot examining the different drawings. Then he got out of the car and began walking the grounds all around the building. He glanced at specific drawings as he walked. Look in the ground. What had Candy meant by that? Where, exactly? And why the need for guarded secrecy? What was being smuggled through the tunnel currently, if anything? Were these the musings of an old woman who had nothing better to do than garner attention by spinning tales? And why had he himself wanted to buy the place anyway? A sudden urge had just hit him and he didn't really know why. The macabre thought occurred to him as he walked that he now owned two properties at which murders had occurred, not something to brag about. He stopped walking as that thought ran through his mind. Something wasn't right. He looked around and then looked at one of the drawings again. He was standing on flat ground where another building used to be. He turned the drawing around to make sure he was in the correct location, and he was. At some point in time the building had been torn down. He saw an outline on the ground of where the outer walls had been. Look in the ground.

He looked around to see if anyone else was in his immediate vicinity. A few patrons had pulled in and parked across the way and had gone into the museum, but no one was near him nor was anyone looking at him. Still, he felt as if he was being watched. Had one conversation with a woman he had not previously met made him paranoid? "I didn't say anything about what they're smuggling now, did I?" Her words rang in his head. Who was Candonella LaFleur anyway? Fanny had never mentioned her nor had he heard her name bandied about by anyone in the years he had lived in Pickax. He may not have known anything about her but he got the strict impression she knew what she was talking about regarding the tunnel underneath the museum building. He also got the impression that she knew a lot more than she was telling.

He went over to the area where the rear of the missing building had been. The earth there seemed loosely packed, and a scant bit of a wall was in evidence. Nudging a couple of bricks with his toe, he found they moved a bit. He bent over and pulled at them with his hands. That wasn't going to do it so he went back to his car hoping he had something in his trunk which would help. He dug around till he found a shovel, of all things, which he did not remember putting there. No one had ever accused him of being a neatnik which was a good thing in this case. He went back to his previous spot and pushed the shovel down into the ground. He began digging and just when he had grown tired and it seemed the earth would yield nothing of value, the shovel hit something. He began scraping away dirt from atop an object that seemed to be taking the shape of a very large box made of some type of metal. Several more minutes of digging and scraping revealed the box-like object to be much larger than originally thought. Qwilleran stood up and straightened his signature orange baseball cap and smoothed down his copious mustache, which had begun to tingle. He silently prayed that did not mean he was about to find a dead body, but such sensations emanating from the sizable cookie duster were actually notifications, and they were never good. As he removed more and more dirt from the object, he realized he'd need mechanical help to get the item out of the ground. He looked around but though he could see no one, he could not shake the feeling that someone was watching him. His back was beginning to hurt and hunger was getting the better of him. He packed his shovel back in the car and drove to Shorty's Diner for a bite while he contemplated how to get the mystery box out of the ground and opened. A waiter took his order promptly as snippets of intellectual conversations floated throughout the place while he waited for his burger.

"Ah'm tellin' ya, the thing was eight foot tall!"

"You can ask him if I'm lying. Of course, I'm lying! Can't you tell?"

"Caught mahsef a gator wif a fishin' hook last time Ah wuzzair!"

"Got more hair'n a Wookie."

"If trees could talk, I'd be in jail."

"Choot 'em!"

The man looked up to see a familiar figure making its way to his table. Sara Boros didn't wait for an invitation before she plopped herself down across from him. He was hungry for sure, but he didn't know if he had the wherewithal to eat food now, especially if the coroner planned to employ her usual sense of humor while he tried to eat. Not one to waste words, she got right to the point.

"The blood tests came back on Polly Duncan. The bullet was definitely the cause of her death. Same exact thing with Louis Varney. Roy Briggs tells me the same gun shot them both," said Sara. "44 caliber."

"Now all they have to do is find the gun. And the person who used it." A waitress came and took Sara's lunch order.

"Have you ever met Candonella LaFleur?" asked Qwilleran.

"Who? Say that again?"

"Candonella LaFleur. Tall, thin woman-lots of makeup, looks older than dirt. Goes by Candy."

"I've never heard that name, sorry."

"Yeah, neither have I. She said she knew my aunt."

"I wouldn't know anything about that. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, just curious. I met her the other day. Thought I knew all of Fanny's friends up here, she talked about them a lot, but I never recall her mentioning Candy. Oh, well, no big deal." He twirled a straw through his fingers slowly. The conversation meandered here and there and he managed to eat his entire lunch without having to listen to remarks about cadavers or their innards.

"Say, did you ever find any more family on your half-brother's side?" asked Sara.

"You know, with all the commotion of late, it kind of slipped my mind. I promised myself I would do a search for more family but I haven't quite gotten there yet. The DNA test is a technological milestone for law enforcement and coroners if you ask me," said Qwilleran. "Thanks for the reminder."

Sara stood and picked up her check.

"Qwill, I have guests I need to get back to. Gotta go crack open a chest, take off the top of a skull, and slice into a brain! Don't forget to bring Koko to see me again! Later!"

He willed suddenly intrusive graphic images to abate and his stomach to remain calm as his lunchmate strolled out the door.
Chapter 13

"That's right, fifty-nine-ninety-nine per night. I'm gonna need a deposit," a woman of around thirty-seven said into an old-fashioned wall phone receiver. "Yeah, gimme the number." She began writing down a credit card number with the rest of the required information. "Yes, you got the room. Three nights, you got it. What? If by chance your card doesn't work, I'll call you so you can give me one that does. Right. See you then." Click.

"Say, that's some mustache you've got there, mister," the woman said in a friendly tone.

"Thanks. My name is Jim. What's yours?"

"I'm Cindy. Do you need a room, Jim?"

"No. I need your help. I'm looking for a contractor who came to town to do some work for me and I think he might be staying here. Do you have a Wayne Mancuso as a guest currently? I've tried and tried calling his mobile phone without success."

"I don't normally give out information on guests. You have some type of emergency or something?"

The man then started coughing and was having a hard time stopping. He made a sign with his hands that he needed something to drink to stop the coughing.

"Let me run and get you a bottle of water! Be right back! You hang in there!" The woman took off down the hallway.

The man kept coughing as she disappeared from sight. Then he stepped behind the desk and, still coughing, shuffled through some papers he had seen lying there while he had stood talking to Cindy. He glanced through them until his eyes landed on one sheet in particular. Making mental notes, he stepped out from behind the desk just in time as the woman returned. She opened a bottle of cold water and put it into his hand.

"Here ya go! You all right?"

The man gulped half the bottle of water down and cleared his throat a few times. "Yeah, I think so." He coughed a little more before he stopped altogether.

"Look, I'm sorry we don't give out guest's names unless the guest tells us it's all right to do so. I can't help you there.'

"I understand. Would it help if I spoke to the manager?"

"I am the manager. Sorry I can't help you out. You seem like a nice guy but if I passed out info on our guests that could wind up being a disaster. Do you remember reading about the Motel Killer from down below several years ago? He'd go into a place like this one, ask for a woman by name. When they didn't have that name on their list, he'd ask a second time and they'd go over their list again so he could see the names of the women who were there, then he'd go knock on their doors and murder the unlucky woman who answered her door first. I would help you out if I could, but I just can't. Our company put a total stop to us giving out info when that started happening just as soon as those details hit the news. Corporate's viewpoint is that it's our guest's responsibility to tell their guests how to find them."

"That's okay, Cindy. I understand. I'll just keep trying his number. What do I owe you for the water?"

"It's on the house."

"Very kind of you. Thanks very much. Sorry to waste your time."

"Not at all."

The man walked out to his car and sat in the far end of the parking lot and made some notes on a piece of paper on the pad he had on the front passenger seat. Cindy then came out of the office carrying her purse and some papers in her left hand. She turned and locked the door behind her, got into a sedan and left. He was about to leave himself when another car pulled in and a young guy of around twenty or so got out and unlocked the office door and let himself in. Night shift. Bingo. He gave the younger man a couple of minutes and then walked in again.

"Hey, got a minute?"

"Yeah, sure. Do you need a room?" The younger man wore a name badge that said "Keith".

"No, not really. I am trying to remember the lady's name who manages this place. I met her at the street fair and owe her some information. Don't suppose you could give me an address, could you?"

"Well, no, I can't do that. Wouldn't do you any good very much longer anyway. Cindy's moving out of town this weekend."

"Would you be able to forward information to her new address for me?"

"I'd be glad to if I knew it. She hasn't told anyone where she's going. It's like the great secret or something. She just lost her husband recently; it's taken a toll on her."

"Oh, that's too bad. Well, we never know what life has in store for us, do we now? So, I guess they were happily married then?"

"No idea. Seemed like a nice enough guy the one or two times I saw him."

"She seems kind of young to have lost her husband."

"Poor guy was all of thirty-eight, I think." The young man looked out the window to see if anyone was near, then said quietly, "He was murdered."

"You don't say? How awful for her. Did they catch the person who did it?"

"I don't think so, haven't seen anything saying they got him yet. I feel sorry for her. Nice lady."

"Why do bad things happen to good people. Well, thanks for your time, Keith."

"No problem."

****

"She didn't do it, Connie."

"Who didn't do what?"

"Cindy Varney did not kill her husband. I would swear to it."

"And how would you know that?" asked Connie as she chopped up vegetables in preparation for making seafood soup for dinner that night.

"I wandered over to her motel today. She's not the killer type. There goes my first stab at whodunnit regarding Louis Varney. Met her employee today, too, and he likes her. Said she's a nice lady."

"Well, of course, he's going to say that in front of her."

"I made two little trips there today, she wasn't there when I met Keith."

"Oh, that's Keith Willis, Shoobie's stepson. I forgot he works there."

"You should have lunch with Shoobie and see if she has any other information which might be interesting regarding the case. How well did she know Cindy Varney? Has she had recent contact with her? Was the Varney marriage a happy one? Where is Cindy moving to this weekend? Address?"

"I don't suppose you want to write that down on paper for me?" Connie teased.

"Well, I for one would like these murders solved. Did you tell me Shoobie likes to imbibe the grape?"

"Yes. I told you she likes to get drunk from time to time, which is why you wound up judging the livestock at the fair last time because she 'came down with something'. The only thing she came down with was a hangover. So, I suppose you want me to help her indulge in that regard and then pump her for information she might not otherwise impart? Just take a chance and see what comes rolling out of her mouth?"

"Yes."

"Well, I guess that's direct enough. Okay. Let me get something set up. You know I was thinking that the wife probably did it."

"Don't think so."

"I will carry out my assignment and we can compare notes."

"I will cover all your expenses."

"Of course, you will," said Connie with a smile.

"And I never knew Polly to have connections to the vintners or the winery; she never mentioned anything along those lines. Ask Shoobie if she knows anything about that. The cops aren't coming up with a suspect or a motive for her murder. Can't hurt to ask."
Chapter 14

"You two little monkeys stop that!" said Connie as she grabbed the yarn she was working with away from the cats. Eyes wide and ears perked up, Koko and Yum Yum waited for the next opportunity to grab the tantalizing plaything away from Connie, who was fighting to keep the yarn on the crochet needle where she kept putting it every time a dark brown paw would whisk it away. "I can't even do a chain let alone a granny or a shell with you two beastie cats grabbing my yarn! Stop that!"

Qwilleran came into the room and rolled a small ball across the floor in the opposite direction. Both cats took off after the ball and batted it back and forth till it rolled underneath a piece of furniture. Their effort to free the ball from its tight prison then occupied their time as they tried to squeeze themselves into impossibly small spaces to retrieve their toy.

"It's a matter of redirection, that's all," said the man.

"Well, you can keep rolling the ball around for them while I finish this sweater, please. The cooler weather will be here before you know it and I'd like to have a few of them done in time for fall."

He poured fresh coffee for the two of them and brought it into the sunroom where Connie and the cats were and then went to fetch the mail and the newspaper. He settled comfortably into an upholstered chair and glanced over at his two felines.

"Look at them. If Yum Yum gets any flatter she'll turn into a fur pancake."

Both cats had worked their heads underneath the small sideboard the ball had rolled under, and were trying to figure out how to squeeze their ribcages under there, too. Then they turned on their backs so that their bellies, back legs, and tails were hanging out on display for those who cared to admire them.

"I wish I was as agile as they are," said Connie. She had decided to use a shell stitch for the sweater she was crocheting for herself.

"At least your fingers are. My mother used to crochet, too," said Qwilleran as he shuffled through the mail and began opening envelopes. He opened the one from McDowell County, West Virginia and pulled out a piece of paper. He had just finished reading through it when his mobile rang.

"This is Joe from Pickax Construction. I understand you're looking for some backhoe work to be done? Our company can do that for you."

"Hang on a second, Joe." Qwilleran got up and walked out of the room to speak privately.

"I just bought the museum building and the acreage around the building and need some digging done. There is a large item stuck in the ground and I need it dug up. A large box, it looks like."

"We can help you. What timeline are you looking at?"

"How about the sooner the better?" asked Qwilleran.

"Lucky for you we have a backhoe sitting idle this entire week."

"I'm going to need some people and another machine to help maneuver the box, too, once it's dug up."

"I can send all the equipment and extra help you'll need." The two men talked machine rental charges and agreed the digging would start the next day at 8 a.m. and ended the call.

****

Pickax Construction rolled onto the museum grounds early the next morning and followed Qwilleran as he waved them back toward the hole he had dug. A bit of discussion took place and then the backhoe operator moved the giant machine into position and began removing earth from around the large box. Care was taken not to damage anything as the hole around the item grew larger with each bucket of earth which was removed. When it was finally freed, a large claw was deployed and came down to grab the box and pull it up out of the hole and set it on the surface several feet away. Once it was standing on the same level ground they were, the box looked to be about five feet square by about forty-two inches high. It was made of some type of metal and was locked, of course. The next call was to a locksmith as the construction crew began putting dirt back into the hole.

The locksmith had been napping soundly when the phone rang. He took Qwilleran's call and agreed to go to the museum grounds straight away. The construction crew was pulling out as he pulled in. Qwilleran was cleaning dirt off the lid of the box.

"I'm sorry about the dirt, Emmet. This thing was just dug out of the ground. I hope you can get through the dirt in order to unlock the locks."

"Sonny boy, the lock hasn't been built that I can't pick! Buried treasure hasn't stopped me yet! Stand back! Emmet Draznik is on the job!"

Waving his tools up in the air for dramatic effect, the elderly man picked one and got to work as a smile came on Qwilleran's face.

"Oh, these are vintage locks, I see. Well, no matter."

The man began unlocking the first of three locks. As he finished the third one, he started to pick up the lid and open it when Qwilleran put a hand out and stopped him.

"Emmet, I must apologize for the mysterious treatment here, but I can't let you see whatever might be in the box. How much do I owe you?"

"So, you got yourself a mystery here, okay, I get it. That'll be seventy-five bucks."

"I don't know what's in it myself yet, but I have to keep that information quiet right now. Thank you for coming out so quickly. I appreciate that."

"Enjoy your buried treasure, matey!" called the locksmith as he pocketed the cash he'd just earned and drove away.

Qwilleran had instructed the backhoe operator to position the box so that it wasn't out in the open. It was mostly hidden behind bushes now, and he could open it in private. He lifted the lid partway and did a doubletake. Then he opened it all the way and took a step back and gazed at the contents for several seconds. He took his phone out and began shooting pictures. He'd have to call Roy Briggs.

Koko was, once again, a genius.
Chapter 15

As if someone had lowered a huge curtain, the sky grew suddenly dark. Cracks of thunder could be heard distantly, then near. Qwilleran just got the lid of the mystery box closed as rain began to pour down in sheets. He made a mad dash for his car and was half soaked before he got inside. He wiped dripping rain from his moustache, which was tingling now. Lightning lit up the dark sky as more thunder cracked loudly around him. The fierceness of the storm was a shock as the rain continued to pour down amid lightning and thunder which was now up close and personal. He didn't remember rain in the forecast, and he desperately wanted to get away from where he was. He started the car but it was raining so hard he could not see out of the windshield; the wipers had no hope of keeping up. Waiting was his only choice. He picked up his phone and tried dialing the chief of police, but could not get a signal. After a few more attempts, he gave up. If he could at least drive around to the front of the museum, he could dash in and be out of the weather. The rain began to slow, so then he thought he'd try driving to the police station instead to talk to Roy. He pulled out onto the road but didn't get too far before the rain became heavier, but not as bad as it had been at first. Traffic had all but stopped, so he drove slowly till he arrived at his destination where he was greeted by two familiar faces inside.

"Perzackly how did ya drive here in dis rain?" asked Jeff.

"Very dangerous, specifically," said Mutt.

"I'm looking for Roy Briggs. Is he here?"

"He's in 'is office. Lemme ring 'im." Jeff dialed the phone and spoke a few words. "Ok, go on back."

Qwilleran made his way to Roy Briggs' office.

"You look worse for the wear. You're dripping," said the newly elected police chief.

"Yeah, I got caught in it for a minute and now I look like I jumped into a lake face first," said Qwilleran.

Briggs dug into a gym bag on the floor behind his desk and threw a clean towel at his visitor. "Fresh out of the wash, see if this helps. What's on your mind, Qwill?"

"I had a strange encounter with one Candonella LaFleur just recently. Do you know her? The conversation we had led me to do some excavating on the museum grounds. I need you to see what we dug up."

Fumbling in his jacket pocket, the man pulled out a mobile phone with a black screen indicating his battery had totally drained.

"Roy, my phone is dead. Any chance you have time for a drive to the museum?" As he finished his sentence, thunder cracked so loudly it sounded as if the station had been hit by lightning.

"Holy cow!" shouted Briggs as he jumped up from his chair and ran out of his office. The two men ran to the front desk.

"We've been hit, boss!" yelled Officer James Fay. "I'm going to run out and check to see if we're on fire!" He raced outside into the pouring rain. Thunder continued to crack loudly all around the police station in what sounded like an evil assault on all that is good.

Worried chatter took over the station as police department personnel waited for Fay to return with news. He suddenly burst through the front door, sopping wet.

"The roof is on fire!" Fay shouted.

Briggs grabbed the closest phone and dialed. Sheeting rain continued to pour with the promise of helping to extinguish the blaze. The fire department arrived and put the blaze out with considerable effort. It seemed the raindrops then strategically chose not to cooperate after all as they fell around the building but not many seemed to fall on it. One of the firefighters said it looked like a big hand in the sky was shielding the building from any assistance the falling water might have provided. As soon as the fire was out, heavy rain pounded the entire property again, including the station.

"Well, there's your answer to is God real," said Fay. "He must be because He sure seems to have an enemy!" He had changed into dry clothes. "Boss, the roof is leaking in some of the cells. There's already an inch of water on the floor back there."

Briggs turned to Qwilleran. "Buddy, I've got my hands full at the moment. I'll have to make that trip another day after we get this place cleaned up and secured."

"I completely understand. I doubt the stuff is going anywhere, so give me a call when you can spare a half hour or so. Repairs are on me."

****

"Where are the cats?" Qwilleran asked Connie as he took his wet, muddy shoes off outside the kitchen door and left them there as he padded into the kitchen.

"There are a couple of lumps under the comforter in the first floor guest room. They hate all this noise. I doubt they're asleep what with all this thunder. I think they crawled under there thinking if they couldn't see it, they shouldn't be able to hear it. I see you got caught in the rain. You're soaked from head to toe!"

"I am heading up for a good hot shower and some dry clothes. Chat with you later."

He went upstairs, peeled off his wet clothing and deposited it on the bathroom floor before stepping into the shower. It was cool outside for this time of year and he had taken a chill, so hot water had never felt so good. As he got into some clean, dry clothes, he sat on the bed to put his socks on. The next thing he knew, he was crawling into a comfortable position. He pulled the comforter up and fell promptly and heavily asleep in spite of all the noise the weather was making. At some point he began to dream.

He was standing in the museum parking lot looking up at the sky. It was night and he could see lights above him. He heard a motor droning as he continued looking up. The lights were illuminating the spot where he stood. Just as he thought he was going to be sucked up into a spaceship and abducted by aliens as Loretta Garver claimed she had once been, the craft moved up higher and away. The scene then switched and he saw a marine in camouflage clothing wading through a deep swamp in pouring rain. He heard gunshots and woke up.

The cats had climbed under his comforter and situated themselves on and around him in an attempt to escape the horrific storm sound effects. Yum Yum was on his chest sleeping with her nose against his chin and while he usually was not so cuddly, Koko was pressed full length up against one of the man's legs. Qwilleran picked his head up as little Yum Yum yawned and opened her beautiful blue-violet eyes and touched his face gently with her right paw. She settled her head back down and purred.

"Little ones, I need to get up." He reached back and picked Yum Yum up and brought her to the kitchen with him. Koko decided to remain under the comforter in an attempt to go back to sleep.

"What happened to you? You look like you just woke up from a nap. Maybe you're turning into a Siamese," said Connie.

"I did fall asleep. Did you hear gunshots? Or did I dream that?"

"I heard thunder but I did not hear any gunshots. What were you dreaming about?"

"I just went blank. I was dreaming about something, but then all I remember is hearing gunshots and then waking up."

"Maybe it'll come back to you later. Are you feeling all right? Not funny to get soaked on a cool day and stay in wet clothes. You've been gone since 7:30 this morning and it's going on 4 o'clock already."

"I didn't realize it was that late. I feel okay, although I'm hungry-didn't get any lunch."

"I can make you a snack that won't spoil your dinner. Sound good?"

"Yes, please."

Connie made a salad and toasted some bread and set it before him. "So, what have you been up to today?"

"I was checking out the museum grounds to consider some possible projects which could be developed there."

"So, are you going to build onto the existing building? Or build new ones? What did you come up with?"

"I don't know yet. I'd love your thoughts on the situation, especially as you're half owner now."

"I nearly forgot about that. If I'm going to be running things behind the scenes without disturbing Loretta as you've implied, I guess I need to be in on any projects you're thinking about."

"Well, let your brain percolate on that for me. I really want to know what you would like to do with that property. This bread is good."

"I made it from buckwheat flour and it turned our rather tasty if I do say so myself. Unlike you, I ate lunch so I am forcing myself to wait for dinner to have some more of it."

"I'm glad I ran to the market this morning before the rain started. That seafood soup turned out so well a while ago that I thought I'd make it again. Don't tell the you-know-who's but I got fresh cooked crab legs this time to go along with the oysters, shrimp, and fish I put in it. I'll leave the canned crab for the cats."

"I don't know how you infused the soup with so much flavor but yes, I would love some more of it. Tonight?"

"Tonight. I'd better start on the veg and get my ingredients together."

He sat at the table and read the latest National Geographic while she chopped, sautéed, boiled, and simmered. The house filled with tantalizing aroma. The crab legs were boiled to reheat them and some of the water served as the start of the base for the broth. All the shellfish was cooked and set aside to cool on one of the counters while the rest of the preparation took place. The cats seemed to be unusually absent after they had eaten their fill of canned crabmeat late that afternoon.

"I can't believe they're staying out of here, can you?" said Connie.

"You had to say it out loud."

Just about that time, they turned their heads to see Koko sneaking out of the kitchen with a gigantic crab leg in his mouth.

"You little dickens! Come back here!" Connie took off after the determined meezer, who started to run down the hallway. He then broke into a full gallop and ran straight into a table leg and got the crab claw he was wielding at the end of the leg stuck there. Giant crab legs and claws can really obscure a cat's vision. Koko threw a cautious if somewhat guilty look over his shoulder as he tried in vain to extricate the giant piece of crab from its predicament. In this case, it would be noted that the guilt mentioned referred only to the fact that he had gotten caught, not that he felt he was actually guilty of anything at all except perhaps not being fast enough at the moment.

"Grab it, Jim!"

Qwilleran bent down and freed the crab leg as Koko looked on, pupils large, waiting for the opportunity to reacquire.

"Young man, you've outdone yourself this time. This is not for you," said the man. "We will think fondly of you while we are eating it tonight, however." Koko huffed and exhaled his breath forcefully. We'll see about that!

The crab leg was washed off and the meat removed. Connie and Qwilleran both contributed to the process of cracking the rest of the legs and claws and removing the meat. The base was finished and then broth and cream were added along with seasonings. Lastly, the peeled cooked shrimp, cooked oysters, and crabmeat were added and rewarmed gently to ensure the shellfish did not overcook. A dash of cornstarch thickened the soup to just the right consistency without turning it into gravy. They dug in.

"Now this is even better than the last batch you made! Spectacular, Connie. My hat is off to you. I am lucky to have you."

"I made enough for seconds."

"I will definitely take advantage of that. What's that noise? Is that a siren?"

They put their spoons down and listened. Then they got up and walked to the kitchen door and opened it a bit to hear better. A noise like an old air raid siren was blasting loudly throughout the neighborhood. The rain had not let up, so they shut the door quickly and looked at each other. Connie then grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV in the corner of the large kitchen. Sure enough, they were still broadcasting weather warnings but something was different now. The runner at the bottom of the screen was reading TORNADO SIGHTING! TOUCHDOWN HAS BEEN SPOTTED! A TORNADO IS ON THE GROUND IN MOOSE COUNTY! GET TO A BASEMENT OR OTHER SHELTER IMMEDIATELY! TORNADO SIGHTING!

The siren seemed to get even louder immediately.

"I thought they didn't have tornados up here?!" exclaimed Connie in an excited tone.

"I haven't heard of one since I've lived here, but we'd better grab the cats and get to the basement!" yelled Qwilleran. The two frightened cats were standing behind them a few feet away, pie-eyed with terror. Qwilleran scooped up Koko and Connie scooped up Yum Yum and they headed quickly for the cellar stairs which Connie went down first. The electricity suddenly went off. Qwilleran reached up on a beam with his free hand as he got inside the basement door and grabbed a well-placed flashlight he'd put there a while ago-just in case. He shut the door behind him and quickly descended the stairs. To his surprise, things were different in the basement than he remembered them being. Someone had thought to outfit the area for a second living space, and they had done a fine job of it. One could easily eat, sleep, and do all the other necessary affairs of life in this newly appointed basement. They arrived at the bottom of the stairs and heard a strange noise intensifying as they looked out the windows which were now being pelted with large hail.

"My God, Jim! That's the sound of a train! Get away from the windows!"

But the man was already grabbing his companion and pulling her to safety. They got down on their knees each hanging onto a cat, and then laid down near a thick inner cement wall well away from any openings. He shielded the woman from behind with his body and put Koko in her arms as he held Connie. She protected both cats in her arms up against the inner wall. Qwilleran reached around and helped restrain the cats while he held Connie. The tornado locomotive noise grew very loud very quickly as the two humans and their two cats panted uncontrollably. The noise grew louder and louder. Suddenly, windows began breaking and shards of glass were blowing all over the basement. The wind devil was passing their property right now! Passing, right? Not hanging around?! They both knew it was right upon them and braced themselves for the worst. Though they could not be heard even with their loud and distinct Siamese voices, the cats were crying hysterically, but Connie and the man of the house held on tight and did not let them escape as it was their instinct to run in such situations. The noise continued till they all thought they could endure no more and then it began to fade. They had not heard the upper floors of the house being pried from their foundation, so that was good. They remained still till the noise grew dim to the point where the couple felt safe enough to get up from the floor.

"Are you okay?! Are you okay?!" Qwilleran yelled at Connie who nodded in response. The man stood up and helped her to her feet. She was still clutching the cats tightly, tears in her eyes. They walked over to the beds in another section which the anonymous interior decorator had provided, and sat side-by-side on one of them. Qwilleran put his arm around her and watched as Connie put her face between the cats' heads and smooshed them with a big hug. "We're all right. We're all right. Everything will be all right," she said gently to the two cats who were still panting. She began stroking their fur and kissing their noses. This time, Koko didn't mind it one bit. She kept comforting the little felines and discovered that it calmed her as she did so. "We've got to get them some water so they don't go into shock. Cats go into shock very easily when super stressed."

Qwilleran rose and went over to a sink and then said, "I'll shut this door here because there are no broken windows in this little room. I don't want them making a break for freedom through a broken window and jumping out and going outside."

"In the cabinet underneath," said Connie. The man took out two conveniently placed water dishes, filled them, and put them down near the bed. He sat back down next to her as everyone finally caught their breath. Connie set Koko and Yum Yum carefully down on the floor. The cats walked over to the water bowls and both began lapping up the cold liquid.

Connie said, "I'm almost afraid to go upstairs to check for damage." Her words fell on deaf ears as Qwilleran looked at her.

"I'm stupid."

"What?"

"I'm a stupid man."

"Why are you..." she was stopped in mid-sentence as Jim Qwilleran took her face in his giant hands and suddenly kissed Connie McCloud and told her that he loved her. She returned the sentiment immediately.

Turns out there were two tornadoes in Moose County that day.
Chapter 16

"Yes, we had damage from the tornado. We counted a bunch of windows blown out in the basement and several on the same side of the house on the first and second floors. I'm having a roofer come out to inspect the roof to see what else happened up there. We also lost our vines and our processing building took a lot of damage-we couldn't get in to see how bad it was inside but the outside looks absolutely awful. No, I don't know how Sally McBride's place fared. I thought I'd go drive down there and check on her in a bit if the road is passable. I want vinyl windows this time. And I want every single one of them replaced along with the framing and screens and everything else that goes along with installing new windows on every floor including the basement. I didn't even know we got tornadoes up here. Talk to you later."

"Who was that?"

"Al Lake has a friend who owns a window company and he's giving them our information so the guy can come out and install all new windows. You might say the guy has his hands full at the moment, but we're on the list. This plastic we put up will have to do for right now."

"You sure you don't want to hammer in some two by fours, too? You wouldn't want Bigfoot to get any ideas, would you? I hear he likes seafood soup," said Connie with a smile.

"Speaking of which, do we have any left? I could go for a bowl. I'm calling Al back to see if he will hammer some two by fours in for us till his friend can come out." The call was made.

"What did he say?"

"He will be by in a couple of hours and fix us up."

"If I had had children, Alvin Lake is the son I would have loved to call my own. What a sweet young guy he is," said Connie.

"I agree wholeheartedly," he said as he watched her heat up the remaining soup. He went and got out the leftover buckwheat bread she had baked and cut four slices and toasted them. "I think this is my new favorite bread, Connie."

"I'm glad you like it. I got the recipe off YouTube." She noticed the blank look in his eyes when she said that. "YouTube is a place on the Internet where people talk about anything at all and demonstrate how to do things in video format. I watched a lady named Titli Nihaan make this bread and wrote down the recipe. The dough is like thick, heavy batter that you mix, you don't knead it at all. Simple. I'm going to put some pecans and flaxseeds in the next batch I make."

"That sounds delicious."

They were interrupted by a knock at the kitchen door.

"Is that the famous Mr. Q. I see in there?" a male voice called out. The inside door was open and a pleasant looking man of around thirty appeared in their line of vision from where they were sitting at the table having their soup. He was wearing jeans and a tee shirt with a picture of Bigfoot on it which read "Keep it Squatchy".

"Oh! Sorry to interrupt your lunch. I'm Will Murphy. Al Lake asked me to check out your windows for you. I was just down the road from your house when I got his call a bit ago so I thought I'd take a quick look for you. I see you lost a lot of them in the tornado."

"I'm Connie and this is Jim. We're happy to meet you, Will. But we really didn't expect to see you so soon. Thanks for getting here so quickly. We're just glad the damage wasn't any worse. Love your shirt," said Connie as she unlocked the screen and let him in.

"Isn't it cool? I got it at the museum. That place is so cool, they need their own expanded store!" said Will.

A light bulb went on in Connie's brain and she looked over at Qwilleran.

"There have been a lot of sightings recently in our area, why can't I be lucky enough to see the big fella?!" said Will.

"Qwilleran said, "You mean Bigfoot really does roam the woods around here? I thought he lived in Washington state or thereabouts?" He threw a glance at Connie whose warning about putting up two by fours to keep the gigantic critter out was in jest, wasn't it?

"Yessiree, he sure does! Bigfoots live all over this country and the entire world! We get reports a few times each year about him being seen in our area alone! I head up the Bigfoot research group in this area. I believe the big fella has an entire family up here with him. Some folks have seen little Bigfoots, as well as the man himself and his mate. We take down incident reports and catalog sightings, and I organize groups of interested folks and take them out on overnight trips into the woods to do calls and knocks to see if we get replies. The ultimate goal is to see one sooner or later, and to get pictures and clear, unmistakable video, of course, which can in no way be refuted."

"Bigfoots? Don't you mean Bigfeet?"

"No, sir. We in the Squatch community indicate multiples by using the term Bigfoots."

"Okay. Do calls and knocks? What does that mean?" asked Qwilleran.

"Sasquatches make calls over long distances that sound like loud howls in order to communicate with other Squatches. They also take a piece of wood and knock it against the trunk of a tree for the same purpose. If we could only figure out their code we could probably get closer! Did I mention they have their own verbal language?" said Will.

"No, no you didn't. You mean like other apes make sounds, right?"

"No. They actually have their own words! They sound like crazy Samurai warriors when they get going!" Will then demonstrated the verbalizations he was talking about. He sounded exactly like an agitated Samurai warrior talking very fast.

"So, then, how does one tell a male Bigfoot from a female Bigfoot?"

"Females are somewhat shorter, and when they're lactating, the females have full breasts like human women do. Hairy ones, but you get the idea. This is why it's believed the one from the famous Patterson-Gimlin film shot in 1967 was female. Patty had full breasts. Some think that is the case with the females whether they're nursing or not."

"Patty?"

"That's the nickname she picked up. Say, can I interest you in participating in an overnight with the group I'm taking out next month?" asked Will. "We stay out all night walking the woods most of that time, so you have to sleep a lot the day before."

"You know, I think I'll pass on that invitation, Will."

"Suit yourself, Mr. Q. Let me know if you change your mind. Miss Connie, we get lots of women who come with us if you're interested."

"No, thanks, Will," answered Connie as she glanced away.

"Okay, then lead the way and show me every window in your house."

The couple took Will on a tour of the first and second floors of the house, showing every window to Will. Then they went back down the basement and showed him the damage there. He counted and checked things off on a template which he'd brought with him and wrote notes on two pages as they went along.

"You really need to get some two by fours up. Plastic isn't going to cut it for long."

"Al is stopping soon to put up two by fours for us."

"Good thing! We wouldn't want any wandering Squatches coming in through the bathroom window now, would we?! They're curious critters! HA! Well, I've got to be getting along, got lots of other folks to visit and quote. Which is the best number to text you at? I'll get the quote together and get that to you later today or tomorrow."

Connie gave him her mobile number and the man in the Bigfoot shirt left.

"Say, Connie, is it a coincidence that you and Will both happened to opine that Bigfoot might breach our boundaries unless two by fours are put up over each broken window?"

"Not really. They're known for being very nosey."

"You believe in Bigfoot?"

"Well, I saw one so I guess I don't have any choice in the matter now, do I?"

Qwilleran stared at his other half to determine if she was having him on or not.

"You saw one?! Where?! When?! And why didn't you mention it to Will, of all people?!"

"I did not say anything to Will because I didn't want him interviewing me for an hour about it, his excitement was too intense just talking about the subject in general. I do not talk about it because people have a tendency to look at you like you're nuts, so I just don't bring it up. Unless you see one, you just don't believe they're real unless you have a personality like Will's. I am trusting you to keep my secret. It was about five years ago. I was on vacation in Ohio to visit family. We were driving through a highly wooded area of Chardon one day which is about thirty miles east of Cleveland and wham! One of the things walked right in front of us across state route 44 and disappeared near the 84 Lumber on the other side of the road. My cousin was driving, and she jammed on the brakes and the giant ape stared into our windshield from maybe fifteen feet in front of our car and just looked at us for a bit before it started walking again over to the other side. My cousin and I froze. When I regained the ability to speak, I had to tell her to accelerate and get out of there fast before it decided to come back for a second look. Poor Lindsey was in shock. Then she started to cry so I took advantage of the lull in traffic and switched places with her and got us out of there. It was broad daylight, but I've since learned that they don't usually come out till dusk or dark. Usually."

"With all the museum involvement we had getting Loretta's exhibit up and running I am amazed you stood right in front of that thing and never said a word to me."

"You mean the huge fake one she had standing in one corner? Or the huge guy they paid to put on a suit and mingle with patrons who eventually decided to chase you down and try to kill you-twice?"

"Both."

"Well, let me just say I was not super comfortable with either one of them. So, do you think I'm nuts now?"

"No. But though I've never seen one myself and have no desire to do so, I believe you when you say there are gigantic, hairy primates roaming the countryside. Geez, where is Al? He can't put those two by fours up fast enough as far as I'm concerned!" said Qwilleran.

"He should be here in a couple more hours. Let's go into the kitchen and finish our soup."

"Sounds good."

They made their way back to the kitchen to find two empty soup bowls on the table. Pieces of red pepper could be seen outside the bowls where the cats' finicky palates had demanded they discard them.

"Oh, God! They got it all!" said Qwilleran. He went on a hunt to find the soup stealing saboteurs, but couldn't find them.

He walked back to the kitchen where Connie pointed to the top of the refrigerator. The two thieves were now side-by-side on their large blue cushion up there cleaning themselves fastidiously.

"You've been licking your fur for a half hour and now you're both going to smell like shrimp!" Yum Yum shot him a guilty look for a total of one second. "You know I share my food with you but I was really looking forward to a bowl of that soup. Connie cooks for me, too, you know! Look how big your bellies are sticking out now! You little piglets!"

"Well, you'll be glad to know that I have more and I'm warming it up now. I do suggest we not leave it alone for even a second, though. It'll be warm enough to eat in another five minutes. Good thing these antique gas stoves didn't rely on electricity in order for the pilots to light like I understand a lot of the new ones do. Good girl," said Connie as she patted the side of the fully restored antique Glenwood stove, which they kept despite the fact that a very new cooktop also lived in the completely remodeled kitchen of the old house. Electric power had not been restored yet, though a lineman could be seen up on a pole through the kitchen window tending to that very issue just down the road from them.

"I'll heat up the coffee," said Qwilleran as he flipped on another of the Glenwood's burners. The end of his sentence was punctuated by the sound of a large burp coming from one very surprised Koko, who seemed to enjoy the sensation immensely. You come upon culinary treasure which you know is not for you and eat it up before anyone can stop you and it's totally delicious, and then later on you get to taste it all over again?? WOW!!

"What? Do cats burp?" said Connie.

"Ours apparently does. I've never heard him do that before. That's what you get for stealing our soup, young man!" said Qwilleran to the larger of his two charges, not realizing Koko had enjoyed the experience. Yum Yum had already put her head down and was quickly falling asleep. Koko was now also nestling down for a good nap and could not have cared less about the attempted upbraiding.

Take a giant crab leg away from me, will you?
Chapter 17

"I found a push broom and gathered a lot of the glass in the basement. Man, there's a lot of it," said Qwilleran as he went outside to deposit a large trash bag of the smallest glass pieces into the garbage can. He went and got more trash bags out of the cupboard and went back down the basement stairs to continue gathering up glass. "Do we have any empty boxes anywhere? I'd be more comfortable putting the large pieces of glass into boxes." Connie went into the pantry and pulled out empty boxes she kept on hand just in case. Neither of them would have guessed what just in case would have come to mean.

"Be careful, don't cut yourself," said Connie.

"Yes, ma'am." He gave her a peck on the cheek and went back downstairs and back to work. As he was pushing the broom around he saw something skittering across the floor out of the corner of his eye. He walked over to the spot he saw the skitterer go to and bent over to look. Underneath a built-in wooden shelf on one wall, he saw a small dark brown field mouse about three inches long who had a few white hairs on the top of her head. Expecting it to dash away, he was surprised when it just sat there looking up at him. He bent over and put his hand out. The mouse crawled onto the palm of his hand and continued looking into his eyes. He took it upstairs and showed it to Connie.

"Well, look at that why don't you. You've made a friend. I dare say the cats will not approve when they get wind of her presence here."

"She just crawled into my hand. I felt sorry for her. It's as if she's asking for help or something."

"Well, she's probably hungry. Look at that tummy. I'm no mouse expert, but this little one looks pregnant to me," said Connie. "I'm going to get her something to eat."

"And then I'll drive her a few miles away and let her go. One thing I know is that if you just turn them out of the house anywhere close they will make their way back in and you'll be dealing with them forevermore. I don't want the cats to have to deal with that, even if it's their nature to hunt them down and kill them."

"Well, I don't want her in our house but I don't want any harm to come to her either," said Connie.

The mouse was put into a small box with cheese and chopped up pastrami and a jar lid full of water. The little rodent ate and drank gratefully. Qwilleran then drove the mouse down the road and let her go a few miles away. On his way back, he pulled into Sally McBride's drive and knocked on the front door. McBride answered promptly and stepped out onto her porch.

"I'd offer you a seat but all my porch furniture blew away. Did you lose all your vines?" she asked, getting right to the point.

"Yes, yes, we did."

"Mine are gone, too. Near as I can tell, the twister left the other side of the road near your place and crossed over directly after, wiping out your vines and mine. Then it went through to the south and menaced the folks there. I'm glad my house is still standing."

"I've been meaning to get over here and check up on you to make sure you're all right. Most of our windows were blown out, I'm still cleaning up the glass. Anything we can do to help you out here? I'm thinking I won't rebuild our processing building or replant any vines. I'm no vintner, so I won't miss it. I'd be happy to help you rebuild your place for next year, though, if the need arises. We have staff who will need jobs, and will assist you in any way we can including helping you replant."

"That's mighty nice of you to offer. I've been rethinking this whole thing myself. We're so remote up here and so far away from any kind of chemical spraying I'm thinking of planting vegetables and having an organic farm during growing season. I have enough acreage to get a good yield. Maybe you could do the same thing with your land. We could feed all of Moose County."

"Now, that's an interesting idea. I'm going to talk it over with Connie and see what she thinks. She was running the winery for me. I trust her judgment."

"Coffee? I make it strong."

"I'd love a cup, black, please."

"There's no other way," smiled Sally as she opened the door and ushered him into her house.

****

"How bad is it? What? What? I'm on my way."

Qwilleran hung up the phone and turned to the woman in his life. "Loretta called about damage to the museum building. The insurance adjusters are there now and she wants me to observe and talk to them. I'm going to run out there and have a look around."

"I'll stay here. Will is coming to start the window install today. And don't worry, I'll make sure they put in all new frames."

Qwilleran got into his car. Just then it dawned on him that he had totally forgotten about the strange box and its contents which he'd found on the grounds of the museum. Not only had he never gotten to talk to Roy Briggs about it, he had forgotten to go back and check on it. Now there would be plenty of time for that after speaking to the insurance people. He pulled into the museum drive and parked out front. Steeling himself for an interaction with Loretta Garver, he walked in to hear the woman shrieking from the intake area in back. Looking around quickly, it didn't seem like anything was out of order in the showroom itself. He made his way to the back and saw Loretta waving her hands as she yelled at the insurance adjuster in Mystery English.

"Hah derrr yhooo!"

"What seems to be the problem, Loretta?" asked Qwilleran. A nervous looking man suddenly looked relieved as he saw the new owner enter the intake area.

"She thinks I'm trying to damage things!"

"Loook! Loook!" The museum director gestured around the intake area with her arms.

"What am I loook-I mean-looking at, Loretta? What's wrong?" Qwilleran could see nothing out of place or broken.

"I just came to check water leakage we were told was a result of the tornado, and to estimate damage and the cost of repairs, and other than that stuff, I can't find much of anything wrong. She seems awfully excited and from what I could make out, which wasn't much, she seems to think I am trying to damage something myself." The man sighed.

"Shooost laave!" Loretta barked at the man.

Qwilleran ignored that remark. "So, what have you come up with then?"

"Here's your estimate. I can show you the pipes which are damaged. They're feeding in from outside above ground and this old place needs some cleanup back here." The man showed some leaked water to Qwilleran as he handed him a piece of paper.

"This will be fine. Send a check to my lawyer. Here's his card." Goodbyes were said and Loretta finally exhaled. Before much more attempt at conversation ensued, Qwilleran excused himself to go outside and examine the large metal box to see if it had been damaged. Walking out the front door, he got into his car and drove the short distance back to the area where he'd previously discovered the box. He noticed some felled trees and was glad the museum building had not taken any serious damage from the tornado. The trees were obscuring his view of the box so he walked around a bit. The ground was still soggy and muddy so he went around the edges of where he thought he remembered the box being. He went behind tall shrubbery and tripped over exposed bricks on the ground where the remnants of the back wall of the building which used to be there decades ago had been. He looked down and around and realized that those bricks were the ones which had been attached to the old wall but which the demolition company had knocked out of the way when they were excavating days earlier. He pushed some broken branches out of his way and looked around. He walked the length of the shrubbery, and behind it, then in front of it, then behind it again. Then he walked the edges of the museum grounds and looked everywhere, including on adjacent properties and parcels. He looked for obvious signs of damage to neighboring buildings, trees, and everything else. Other than broken tree limbs here and there, the area hadn't sustained any damage that he could detect. He stood to the side of the spot where he had found the large metal box and its mysterious contents. It was gone.

He looked over the area again and something caught his eye. Though it was still muddy, he could see the remnants of boot prints close to the spot where the box had been. Who would have done it? And how? He didn't see any new tire tracks, but some kind of vehicle would have been necessary to haul the large box away. The backhoe he had hired could have done the job, so could a forklift, but that would have attracted attention driving slowly down the street carrying the box, and thieves don't draw attention to themselves provided they know what they're doing. It had rained so hard the day he found the box and the day after that no tracks from either the workers or the backhoe itself would have remained. But there were boot prints. Someone visited the museum grounds after that time and stole the box.

He walked to the back door which led to the intake area of the museum and let himself in. Loretta was busy showing a group around the showroom. He sat down at the computer dedicated to the security system which he'd had installed recently due to regular break-ins which happened as they were readying the displays for the museum's grand opening some time ago. He enlarged the screen which monitored the museum grounds from every angle, then began going through file by file, day by day. The images were sometimes clear, sometimes grainy at best, and this was going to take a while. He went through each twenty-four-hour increment in high speed watching cars zipping in and zipping out of the parking lot. Each small blip turned out to be a raccoon or other small animal. Larger blips turned out to be deer moving through the grounds. He was about ready to call it a day when something caught his eye. He saw lights in an unlit area of the grounds. He ran the video back and slowed it down to real time and there it was. The scene was recorded at 3:04 a.m. two mornings after the tornado had torn through Moose County and blown the windows out of his house. What exactly was he looking at?

The scene occurred at the edge of the area covered by the cameras and it was dark. A stream of light appeared from above and he saw something descending from the sky and landing on the ground. He had to watch it again in slow motion, then he watched it again. A man came down out of the sky and landed near the metal box. He reached up and appeared to catch something, then he began moving around all sides of the box bending over here and there. Then after a couple of minutes, the box began moving upward off the ground into the stream of light and disappeared. A short while later, the man on the ground began moving upward toward the lights, too, and then he disappeared. Seconds later the lights disappeared and nothing else moved on the screen till Loretta's car pulled into the lot close to ten that morning. As if the universe was sending him confirmation, he suddenly heard the sound of whirling rotors as a chopper passed overhead. That was how they did it. His head was spinning with thoughts as he made his way home.

He grabbed a donut, poured himself a cup of coffee, and went and sat in a comfortable chair in the office. Taking a pad of paper, he drew a line down the middle. Atop the left column he wrote: What I Know. Atop the right column he wrote: What I Don't Know.

What I Know:

  * I bought the vineyard along with the house.

    * Koko knew this and other things before I did.

  * A man was murdered on my property close to the border of my vineyard and Sally McBride's. He was beaten and shot.

    * The man was the accountant for the vintner from whom I bought this property.

    * The man's wife has hightailed it out of town.

    * The police have no leads or clues about his killer.

  * Shortly after the first murder, Polly Duncan's body was found in one of our grape crushers. Her death was due to a gunshot wound.

    * The same gun which killed the accountant killed Polly.

    * The police have no leads or clues about her killer.

  * I woke up one day recently feeling like I wanted to buy the museum and the surrounding grounds.

    * I didn't know why, but it felt important, so I bought it.

    * Loretta Garver will stay on as museum director.

      * She still talks funny.

  * Shortly afterward, a mysterious older woman gave me inside information about a smuggling operation taking place on museum property.

    * Look in the ground.

  * I dug around and found a very large metal box buried in the ground.

    * I had the box dug up and put on surface level.

    * Once opened, it was found to contain military grade automatic assault weapons.

      * Koko refers to these as machine guns.

      * I did not allow anyone else to see inside the box.

    * I tried to tell the police chief about them but the weather had other ideas and soundly interrupted us.

    * I never told anyone about the weapons; glad I took photos of them.

    * The box was stolen, airlifted out by helicopter.

  * As usual, Koko is brilliant.

  * I had a half-brother, and he was a criminal.

  * Bigfoot is real.

  * Tornadoes are really scary and I am in love.

What I Don't Know:

  * After decades of successful operation as a family run winery, why did Mark and Ella slap this property up on the market for sale and suddenly disappear?

  * Who felt threatened by their accountant and what he may have known?

    * Were Mark and Ella involved in nefarious dealings?

    * Why did the accountant's wife hightail it out of town so soon after his death?

    * What was she afraid of?

      * Who killed him? Something tells me it wasn't his wife.

  * What in the world did Polly Duncan have to do with any of this?

    * Did she have a connection to the accountant or his wife?

    * Who felt threatened by something she may have seen or known?

      * Who killed her?

    * When and why did she return to Moose County?

    * Other than her killer, who knew she was back in town?

  * How coincidental is it that Candonella LaFleur told me that something was going on at the museum, and then the box of weapons was stolen directly afterward?

  * Who was professional enough and serious enough to acquire the weapons in true action movie style?

    * Is Candy involved?

    * Was Candy really a friend of Fanny's? Fanny talked about every single one of her friends, but I never heard anything about this one.

    * Is she legit?

      * Other people I've asked don't seem to be familiar with this person, either.

      * I need to find out more about her.

Qwilleran sat back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. At the same time, his moustache began to vibrate and tingle. He prayed that didn't mean corpse number three was soon to be revealed but he couldn't shake the feeling. He combed his cookie duster with his knuckles as Connie walked in.

"There's going to be another one."

"Another what?" asked Connie.

He sighed heavily. "Another murder." He combed his moustache again.

Having come to know he would never joke about something like that, she rubbed her forehead with one hand. "Oh, no."

"Yep."

"Well then, maybe that explains this." She put a piece of typing paper on the desk and pushed it toward him.

He looked at the paper which was blank except for three small letters near the top. "big" was all it said.

"Unless you typed it, our son has been at it again."

"How do you know Yum Yum has not taught herself how to type? Hmmm?" said the man.

"Oh, your moustache is saying differently now, is it?"

"No. He did it. I prefer when Koko shows us pictures. I have no idea what he's trying to convey via this word."

"Maybe he means Bigfoot is going to pay us a visit," teased Connie.

"Oh, that's really funny! I won't be going out at night now until we find out exactly what this clue means."

"Remember, I saw one in broad daylight."

Qwilleran frowned. "Or maybe it has nothing at all to do with that. Who knows what it means? Pictures, young man, bring us pictures."

The sleepy cat was quietly snoring on the couch in the office, and did not bother waking up to acknowledge his new assignment.
Chapter 18

"Is there a way to check ownership of property or a business?"

"Yes, there is providing you're dealing with an open records state, and this happens to be one. What did you want to know?" asked the voice on the other end of the line.

"Well, I'd like to know who owns this business, and who owns the land at a certain address," Qwilleran said.

"I can get you the business information, and then I can transfer you to the assessor's office and they can help you with land ownership information. Did you know you can find all this information on the Internet?"

"I never learned how to use a computer, but thanks for telling me that. So who owns the business?" He gave her the name of the business.

"Let's see. Louis and Cynthia Varney own The Little Ray O' Sunshine, LLC franchise here in town. The address listed on the LLC paperwork is listed as 3939 Townline Road in Pickax." A bit more conversation ensued and then he was transferred to the assessor's office where he asked for ownership information on 3939 Townline Road in Pickax where the actual motel itself was located.

"My name is Amber and I'd be happy to help you. I can get that information for you, just give me a minute. Say, you know you can look that up on the Internet, don't you? Happy to help, but just wanted to let you know that."

"Uh, thanks. I've never learned how to use a computer," Qwilleran said.

"Oh, my! HOW DO YOU LIVE?! Ha! Even my grandpa uses a computer and the Internet and he's like seventy-seven! You don't sound nearly that old! Here it is. That parcel belongs to Louis and Cynthia Varney. Say, didn't I hear he was killed recently?"

"Yes, that's true. Gee, thank you. I really appreciate your help. I so enjoy talking to and interacting with other folks one-on-one, I'd hate to lose all that to the Internet! You have a great day, now. Thanks again, Amber."

"You're so welcome, and you do have a point there," said Amber. He could hear the smile in the young woman's voice. As soon as she heard a click indicating the technophobe on the other end of his landline phone had hung up, under her breath she muttered, "Dumb old fart."
Chapter 19

MOOSE COUNTY SOMETHING: (Sunday edition)

This just in: A wedding reception for our own formerly confirmed bachelor James Mackintosh Qwilleran and his lovely bride, the former Constance Emily McCloud, is happening this coming Saturday! Nuptials already took place, but you're invited to the party! Gather around one o'clock in the patio/back lot of Shorty's Diner for lunch which includes barbecue, pasta, cake, beverages, games, and so much more! Super casual attire only. Be sure to let them know you're coming at www.helljustfrozeover.com. Be there or be square! (No gifts, please.)

Connie walked out on the porch and sat next to her husband.

"Jim, I just checked again and the rsvp's are coming in like wildfire! I hope Shorty can handle this kind of volume!" said Mrs. Qwilleran.

"He swore to me he could, but just in case I have a catering outfit working with him and his staff. It's a sin to run out of food," said Mr. Qwilleran.

"Spoken like a true Italian, which you are not. But I agree, nothing is worse than hungry guests. I remember one of my regular patrons at the restaurant I used to own down below telling me about the time her cousin had invited their big Italian family over for a shindig and she ran out of food. Twenty-five years later, and long after the offender had left this earth, whenever the clan would gather together again for any reason, the first thing out of someone's mouth would be, 'Do you remember the time Rose ran out of food?!' They never failed to bring it up!"

"No worries. Just keep them updated daily on how many folks are planning to show and I told them to make sure they made another twenty percent on top of the usual vittles. We'll be okay." At that moment in time, a good-looking brown and white she-goat appeared at their mailbox, then ambled up the walk to the bottom step of their porch. She was followed by two very small goats who were quite young and adorably cute.

"Well, hello, Linda! Did you enjoy the donuts I left by the mailbox for you this morning? Did I ever thank you properly for saving my life a while ago?" asked Qwilleran as he went and sat on a step that put his head slightly higher than hers. The goat looked at him quietly and he began petting her head which she seemed to like a lot. Her two kids walked up to the step and flanked their mother on either side. They were as cute as puppies and looked as innocent as babies always do.

"I haven't seen you around lately. My, your babies are beautiful. Good job, Linda. Good job." He continued to talk to the goat while petting her for a few minutes.

"Being a mom is time consuming," said Connie. "Maybe I should go see what we've got in the kitchen that I can give them in order to keep their mother calm." Just about that time Abel Derrick, owner of Linda and her kids, came meandering up the sidewalk. He was pulling a small red wagon which was empty.

"Sorry 'bout that. Good thing the little ones slow her down-helps me catch her easier," said the man as he slipped a rope around Linda's neck. She remained markedly calm which was unusual for the mama goat, who had to-date always been quick to let you know if she was unhappy about something. "She's been so much quieter since the babies came. Like a different critter. Don't even escape her pen that often anymore. Come on girl, let's leave these fine folks alone."

"Abel, I hope you join us for our wedding reception this coming Saturday at Shorty's around one," said Qwilleran. "You can wear what you've got on now, no fuss," he said to Derrick, who had on his ever present overalls.

"Mighty kind o' you. I believe I'll be there. C'mon, Linda. Time to mosey." Linda gave Qwilleran one last look, then looked down at her kids, and back at Qwilleran, and turned to leave. Abel picked up the kids and put them into the wagon where they promptly laid down. "The babies git tired o' all this walkin' trying t' keep up with their mom." Hooves clicked down the pavement as Linda walked slowly home with her keeper.

"Call me crazy, but I think she's fond of you, Jim. I believe she was introducing you to her children because she likes you."

"Well, I cannot deny the fact that she was certainly calm during her entire visit. Or that not so long ago she stomped on seven-foot-four-inch Sonny Elrod Beaver in an attempt to save my life, which she successfully did. Maybe she does like me."

"I believe she actually does. I read somewhere that they can become as fond of humans as dogs can. Did you see the way she looked at you? I'm telling you, she was introducing you to her children, showing you what she had accomplished."

"If we still have flowers in their beds in our yard at the end of the week, we'll know she likes me."

"Getting up the nerve to pet her was a nice move. You could tell she liked that. Next thing you know she'll be in love with you. How many goats risk life and cloven hoof to save a human being anyway?"

****

Saturday turned out to be an unseasonably cool day which rolled around so fast that it didn't seem possible. Connie and Qwilleran dressed in jeans and casual tops and he put on a new dark blue baseball cap just for the occasion. Having lost the orange one he had been wearing for years, he felt the need to change colors. Connie wore a long-sleeved navy blue cable knit sweater over a dark green long-sleeved shirt and her new husband donned a long-sleeved navy blue and dark green tartan plaid flannel shirt. They decided that this was going to suffice for trending wedding attire 400 miles north of everywhere, at least they were in the same color hues. Though her new husband could certainly afford a wedding which would have been really expensive, neither Connie nor her spouse found that sort of thing attractive. The simpler, the better, keep it casual, and throw a barbecue. Several hundred people showed up for the reception and everyone had a good time eating, drinking, and playing outdoor games. M.A. Mazola had volunteered to be the wedding reception photographer, and the Something had sent over one of their own to cover the biggest party the town had seen in quite some time. People were eating ribs, burgers, hot dogs, pasta bake, fettuccine Alfredo with shrimp, breaded fried shrimp, shrimp cocktail, pasta carbonara, ham, potato salad, macaroni salad, green salad, fruit bowls and the occasional healthy vegetable for those who wanted to appear to eat conscientiously at least part of the time. Cookies, cheesecakes, and pies appeared out of nowhere and servers sliced and served continuously.

"Hey, Qwill! It's about time!" exclaimed Arch Riker. "Mildred and I couldn't be happier for you two! And we didn't even have to spring for a gift!" Riker teased his friend.

"Qwill, what a great shindig! Tell me you didn't forget to get a wedding cake!" said Mildred Riker.

"It's inside till we bring it out and cut it later this afternoon. We didn't want flies landing in our frosting," he quipped as his best friend's wife bussed him on the cheek.

"You mean fondant," said Mildred.

"We don't want any fondants to land in our frosting either."

"I never thought I'd see the day you'd give up your second bachelorhood, Qwill," said Arch. "You look happy. I totally approve. Glad you asked me and the wife to be your witnesses. I could have run a story in the Something about your marriage but did I do that? Nope. Hardened newspaperman that I am, I disciplined myself to keep your secret. I am surprised, though, that no one else who had to be involved said anything. I would have thought someone at the marriage license bureau would have spilled the beans at least."

"That's because they didn't know that I am a minor local celebrity, in the words of others. Our local government is becoming filled with kids, Arch, kids who love to say obnoxious stuff like, 'Did you know you can look that up on the Internet?'"

"It wouldn't hurt you to sneak up into the twenty-first century, old man. Internet usage is mandatory for the tasks of modern life. Good thing your lovely wife is savvy in the area of technology, but that's no excuse for you to remain in your cave holding a club. Hey, Connie!" The bride came walking up at that moment. The four of them chatted for a while till Qwilleran saw the police chief.

"Excuse me, I'm going to go say hi to Roy," said Qwilleran. He walked over and greeted Roy and the two talked at length for some time. They made their way slowly over to an area where there were no other guests and kept talking. The looks on their faces indicated the conversation was about something serious. Briggs then looked at Qwilleran with a look of intensity on his face. The groom then pulled out his phone and began showing pictures to Roy, who suddenly switched from reception guest to law enforcement officer mode.

"When did you take these?"

Qwilleran gave Roy all the pertinent details.

"I want those emailed to me at this address," said Briggs as he handed the Scotsman a card.

"Will do."

"How do you feel about some excavation at the museum grounds now that all that belongs to you? No one just handles one box of something like this stuff. I bet you there's more there. And I bet your friend Candy knows that, and wanted you to break ground and dig up whatever you found, which you kindly did. Something about her doesn't smell right. No one I've talked to has even heard of her," said Roy.

"I don't mind at all. We can attribute it all to tornado damage harming my plumbing there, which did happen. I recently got the museum building drawings from my lawyer and it seems there are underground rooms I didn't find during any of my trips through the tunnel in the past. I'm curious as to what else may be down there. Meet me at the museum tomorrow and let me know where you think we should start and I'll get contractors right on it."

"I can be there at ten."

"Good. I'll meet you there at ten. But first, get yourself a plate and munch on some of the food the caterers made. Play some horseshoes, have a good time, my friend."

"I'm on my way to the barbecue table right now." Briggs turned and walked away. The festivities happily continued.

There were several beautiful sheet cakes and one special wedding cake which the happy couple cut together and served each other. Thunderous applause could be heard as the two each gently took a bite of their cake-there would be no smashing of cake into faces this day. The top layer was saved to go home into the Qwilleran's freezer, and servers began cutting the sheet cakes up for all the guests who had already eaten way too much-with gusto-so far. The groom took the microphone at one point.

"We want to thank all of you for taking the time out of your busy schedules to come and eat free food and drink free everything you could get your hands on." The crowd laughed. "I'm going to answer one question we keep getting about when we got married. A couple of days after the tornado, we were married. I knew without a doubt she was the one for me, and I wanted her to marry me before she decided she didn't feel the same way." More laughter. "Anyway, though I thought I would never want to marry again, getting to know Connie changed my mind. That, and being an ornery old coot nobody else wanted." Applause and much more laughter ensued. A live band played and folks danced. The couple mixed and mingled some more, and the groom eventually joined in a game of horseshoes.

As the game was winding up, he was holding a shoe while aligning it with the stake when his concentration was broken by someone crossing his line of vision in the distance. It was as if the Red Sea parted to reveal a tall, square-jawed man whom he didn't recognize walking in between people. Qwilleran took his turn and continued watching the man, who appeared to be watching someone else. Dressed casually but expensively, he had a headful of thick, perfectly smooth hair which was impeccably cut in a perfect American businessman's haircut, and was wearing sharp looking sunglasses though it wasn't overly sunny at the moment. Something about him was odd. You could pretty much tell the locals from the way they dressed, talked, and the kind of subjects they conversed about as well as their body language. Perfect Hair kept his eyes on his target and spoke to no one. Odds said the guy wasn't from Moose County. The mystery man was slowly following a woman who looked familiar to Qwilleran. The game finished up and he passed on playing another one. He began walking toward the tall man when suddenly his moustache began to tingle. As he got closer, the man seemed to disappear into the crowd, then reappear, then disappear again. The woman being followed caught his attention now. The groom made his way over to her and introduced himself. She seemed startled as she turned around.

"Lovely party," she said as she looked around nervously.

"I didn't catch your name?"

"Susan Atwater."

"Nice to make your acquaintance, Susan. Do you live close?"

"Oh, look at the time! Sorry, gotta go!"

And with that, she hurried off towards the parking lot. He watched her get into a silver compact and drive away. He started to turn back but something made him turn around again. He saw what looked to be the tall man in a black SUV follow her out of the parking lot, turning the direction she turned. His moustache began to vibrate on overload. Without hesitation, he instinctively ran to his car and took off following them. He got there in time to get a good position behind the SUV which was close behind the silver compact. As they got further away from town and out into the sticks, the black vehicle stayed its course behind the compact. Despite the daylight hour, Qwilleran turned his headlights on. He saw the driver ahead of him look up at his mirror and notice his lights, at which point in time the tall man slowed down and turned down a side street and disappeared.

An involuntary sigh of relief came from the newly married man as he stayed behind Susan Atwater at a distance. The overwhelming urge to see her home safely and protect her had risen up strongly in him. He stayed behind her till she pulled into the driveway of a house a few miles down the road. He pulled in behind her and hurried to approach her before she went into the house.

"Oh, no!"

"I don't mean to frighten you, Susan, but I need to talk to you. Why was that man following you?"

"I...don't...know," she replied.

He proceeded strictly on gut instinct. "I think you do. I think you saw something you weren't meant to see. What was it?"

The woman shut her eyes and shook her head. "I can't."

"You're not going to survive by keeping secrets, quite the opposite. What do you know that the man wishes you didn't?"

"Come inside please," she said as she looked around cautiously. Then she unlocked her door and led him inside. They went into the family room and sat on a large sectional. She let out her breath wearily.

"I saw him kill someone."

Qwilleran stared at her intensely. "When? Where? Do you know who the victim was?"

"It was that nice librarian lady who moved to France and came back recently. I saw him hiding in some bushes, and he shot her as she came out of a store one night."

He sat back against the couch cushion and just stared at her for several seconds. "You saw him kill Polly Duncan?"

"That's her name, yes, that was the lady. She was always so nice." He got quiet and just sat there for a bit. She continued, "That's not all."

He looked at her and waited for her to speak. "I saw him kill Louis Varney, too. He mixed me up with Miss Duncan. He meant to kill me but he killed her instead."

Then it hit him. Same hair style and hair color. Same height and build. Same manner of dress. Susan Atwater resembled Polly Duncan. That's why she looked familiar to him when he first saw her at his reception.

"Do you know who he is? A name?"

"I heard Varney pleading with him, promising to keep his secrets. I believe he called him Cam, then called him Cameron. I don't know a last name."

"Does he know your name, or anything else about you?"

"I don't know. I don't see how he could know anything about me. And I'll tell you something I heard. While he was trying to convince the guy he wouldn't talk, Varney happened to say, 'Hey, that might be how they do things in New York but that's not the way we do things here,' and then he shot him."

"We have to tell the police." Qwilleran pulled out his phone.

"He'll kill me for sure. I know that's why he was following me around. I know it!"

"I got the guy's license plate. I'll have them run it and see where that leads us. And I'll put some protection on you at all times, at my expense. This guy has killed too many people already. As a matter of fact, we can put you up at our house just in case he finds out your name or address."

"No. I don't want any protection help, thank you anyway. And I will be staying in my own home."

"All right, but I'm not leaving until the police arrive. Does anyone else live here with you?"

"No. Just me."

"That actually makes things easier. No family members put at risk." Qwilleran dialed his phone and summoned the police, then called Connie and told her where he was. More conversation ensued.

"How traumatic that you were unfortunate enough to see the same man kill two people at different times," said Qwilleran thoughtfully.

"Don't I know it," she grimaced. "I was beginning to feel cursed!"

The police arrived quickly and Qwilleran sat silently and listened to all the details of how Susan Atwater happened to be in position to hear a conversation between the killer and Louis Varney and see Varney being murdered, and then again to see the killer murder Polly Duncan. The cops promised to amp up details in her area and keep an eye on her house. He was beginning to feel drained, so he said goodbye and made his way back to the reception where things were winding down. The bride and groom thanked Shorty and the caterers, and went home to spend a quiet evening, or so they thought.

Chapter 20

The clouds which had begun to gather that afternoon were polite enough to hold their contents till dusk began to fall before they let loose. The two homeowners were glad they had installed all new windows in their house. They sat for a time enjoying the sound of the rain.

"I think I left the windows open in the kitchen to get some air circulating in here," said Qwilleran as he got up to shut them. The cats followed him to the doorway of the kitchen and stopped abruptly. The man went to the first window and shut it. Then he walked across the mostly darkened kitchen to shut the second one. He heard hissing behind him as Koko and Yum Yum were both perched up high on their toes with the hair standing up on their arched backs. A light from over the sink shone on the second window as he reached to shut it. The cats hissed louder and started spitting. When he looked back at them he could see they were staring at the open window with fear on their faces, trying to make themselves look as large as possible.

"What in the world..." was as far as he got before his eyes adjusted to the dim light and saw what the cats were so afraid of. Staring back at him through the open kitchen window which topped out at over seven feet off the ground, was a very large, strange-looking face. He stared at it and it stared back at him. A hairy head and huge hairy shoulders began to come into focus. It was cupping its giant hands against the screen around its eyes as it peered into the window of the Qwilleran's kitchen. Dusk had not yet turned to darkness, so the Scotsman got a halfway decent look at the creature. Just then, a sudden crack of thunder accompanied by a bright strike of lightning illuminated the entire kitchen as well as everything outside, giving the man a detailed look at the uninvited visitor. Reality would be forever altered as of this night. Having seemingly lost his voice, he leapt backward quickly, though it felt to him as if his feet were stuck in quicksand, moving in slow motion. The creature stood there and kept peering at him. His mouth still wouldn't work, and he began breathing heavily as his suddenly foggy brain groped for knowledge of how to proceed. No sudden moves? Too late for that. Don't yell at it, right? They are very strong and you shouldn't make them mad, right? And they're REAL! Not wanting his wife to come into the kitchen and see her second one, he realized he would have to make his way back to the living room where she was but his feet were still stuck in the invisible quicksand; he couldn't move. And how could he leave the thing just standing there looking in their window? Was he supposed to kill it or something? How? The cats grew quiet as he looked over at them for a nanosecond. When he looked out the window again it was gone, as if it had suddenly melted into nothingness. Carefully making his way back to the open window, the man looked around to see if he could see it walking away, which he could not. Then he shut and locked it, and made sure to go around and lock every other window in the house, as well as all the doors, just in case. There would be no unlocked anything in this house, ever again. He made his way slowly back into the living room and sat down quietly.

"What? No dessert? You were gone a long time just to shut two windows," said Connie. "I thought you were getting us something sweet to eat. I'll get us something." She began to get out of her chair.

"NO! No! I'll get us something! You stay right there!" said her husband. The second to the last thing he wanted was go back into the kitchen. The absolute last thing he wanted was for his wife to do so. He steeled his nerve and went and quickly grabbed two popsicles from the freezer and walked back to the living room.

"You okay?"

"Um-hmm."

"You look pale. Are you feeling all right?"

He didn't answer right away. At that point in time, the cats came warily skulking into the room from an unknown hiding place, their pupils still large. They both climbed up onto Connie's lap and asked to be held. She put her popsicle down on the wrapper paper and cuddled them. Normally, they would try to lick the little frozen rocket, but not this time.

"What is going on? You look like you've seen a ghost and the cats are not acting right. What's wrong?"

Knowing he would have to tell her, he drew in a breath and said, "It was here. It was looking in the kitchen window." He let his breath out finally, his eyes darting around the room. She didn't have to ask what 'it' was.

"Oh, no!"

"Yep. Stood there like this," he cupped his hands around his eyes "peering in at me."

After taking a few moments to process the revelation, she said, "We are going to install motion activated lights all around the outside of the house and the property, and once and for all, we are going to install a security system inside and outside of the house and on the property. Please don't argue with me about this again, Jim, please!" She had tried to talk him into it after Sonny Elrod Beaver had broken in and tried to kill him some time ago; an attempt which was unsuccessful thanks to Koko the Defender Cat.

"I agree."

"So, that's what it takes to drag you into the present, a visit from Bigfoot! Okay, then I need to make friends with this thing so it can assist me in future negotiations."

"Don't kid around!" he shuddered.

"I can honestly say I know how you feel. Kind of rearranges your entire take on things, doesn't it? It made me wonder what else is out there roaming around that we have currently determined to be nothing more than a myth. Oh, good grief! Why did it have to come here?!"

"I understand why you didn't tell anyone. I don't plan on telling anyone either. Deal?"

"Deal. The last thing I want is to have conversations about that thing with someone other than you. It's our secret."

"My God, it was HUGE! I couldn't believe my eyes! Then lightning struck and lit the thing up like a Christmas tree as if to say, 'You can't lie to yourself now!' And it smelled awful! Like Sulphur and skunk and rotted garbage all mixed together! UGH!"

"Look at these two. I think they would crawl under my skin if they could. Poor babies! I will start inquiring about security systems and motion activated lights tomorrow."

"They can't be installed fast enough as far as I'm concerned. I want you to be careful going outside. I will go with you when you want to leave the house. I don't want you outside alone."

"I love you, husband."

"I love you, wife."

Throughout the evening the couple heard strange loud howls that sounded like they were coming from quite a distance away.

****

"What did you call it? Ultracal 30? Do you have any in stock? Yes. I need a bag. A hundred pounds?! Well, all right. I'll need someone to put it into my car for me. Great. On my way." Click.
Chapter 21

"Something's not right."

"Meaning what?" asked Connie as she sipped some coffee at breakfast a couple of mornings later.

"The day of our reception while I sat in her house listening to Susan Atwater tell her story to the police I couldn't shake the feeling that's exactly what it was-a story."

"So, this is why you were so quiet last night, thinking about all this? Exactly why do you say that, Jim?"

"Part of the reason is that she offered up so many details that it seemed like she'd thought it all out carefully beforehand. Witnesses and victims being questioned by the police are not detail oriented, they forget stuff and remember it later or not at all. She wasn't like that. She even offered reasoning as to why Polly was killed. How exactly would she know that? She was trying to get the cops to believe what she was putting forth, think along those lines. She also said she didn't report the murders she supposedly witnessed because she was afraid for her own life, and the cops seemed to buy it. I originally started following her away from our reception and the other car I told you about out of what I thought was a desire to protect Atwater. Now I'm not so sure. The longer she talked, the more I began to feel that she was lying."

"I've run into her briefly around town a couple of times since I moved up here, but I don't know her at all.

"She had an answer for everything. Under similar circumstances, nobody does. She didn't even have to look around or think about the questions the cops were asking her. Everything was so automatic it just wasn't right. And then there's LaFleur."

"You know, I still haven't found anyone who knows Candonella LaFleur. Nobody has even heard of her. How long did she say she's lived here?"

"I never got a chance to ask her. There's something really weird about that one, too. I would bet you dollars to donuts she was no friend of Fanny's as she tried to tell me she was. Dollars to donuts."

"What exactly did she want to talk to you about that night?"

"Let me put some more information together before I tell you about it. Strange things are happening around here, Connie. Strange things."

"That's putting it mildly."

The doorbell rang and Qwilleran went to answer it. He looked at his visitor and then stared down at the shirt he was wearing.

"Will, how are you?"

"Just fine, Mr. Q. May I come in and speak with Mrs. Q?"

Will Murphy was led into the sunroom where the lady of the house had relocated and was sipping her coffee between shell stitches while fighting to keep her yarn away from the cats. She looked up to see her husband standing next to the young man, who was wearing a red tee shirt with a large white figure of a Bigfoot on it with the words "Respect the Squatch" written underneath. The newlyweds exchanged glances.

"You two stinkers! Cut that out!" Connie tried to grab the yarn out of Yum Yum's paws but the little female managed to turn it over to her brother who hung on and began chewing on it.

"I'm telling you I'm going to lock the two of you in the bathroom if you try to chew my sweater yarn again! STOP THAT!" The frustrated woman grabbed the yarn away from Koko only to have him grab it back again.

"Connie, Will is here to see you."

"Hey, Mrs. Q! Those kitties keeping you on your toes?"

"They're keeping me on the edge of my chair, Will. STOP IT!" She grabbed her yard back from Koko again.

"I'm here about the security system you inquired about. I'm sorry it took me a couple of days to get here, been so busy. I have my window company and then I do home security systems, too, my other company. I can show you the usual systems we install and then we can customize indoor and outdoor systems to do whatever you want them to do, too. Is there someplace I can spread out some brochures and things for you to look at?"

"So that was your other company's Internet address I wrote to the other night. I didn't realize that but I'm glad. Let me tuck my yarn into the dispenser so Frick and Frack here can't mutilate it." A large hard plastic box was opened and the partially crocheted sweater and the attached skein of yarn were deposited therein. Connie shut the lid and clicked a clasp shut to secure everything before leading Will into the kitchen where he began showing her home security system products and possibilities.

"We're going to need a lot of motion-activated lighting outside, too. And I want it all over the property," said Connie.

"Okay. Here's what I recommend for your doors and windows, including your basement." The conversation went on for a bit and Will did an inventory of all the doors in the house and pulled up the template he had made of all the windows in the house after the tornado hit. "Now let's go outside and you show me what you're thinking about."

They walked the perimeter of the property including the detached garage area. Connie pointed out places she wanted to ensure would be covered.

"You realize every deer that comes onto your property is going to trigger a light to come on, and a notification, don't you?" asked Will.

"That's fine."

"I assume you want the same treatment for the garage?"

"We're actually going to have it torn down and then we're building a new one which will be attached to the house. Demolition starts next week."

"Well, we can certainly get things moving in the house and on the property in the meantime, then I can come back and install lights and alarms as appropriate when your new garage is finished. You know you can have pictures taken and even videos recorded of every incident, too, don't you, Mrs. Q?"

"I was going to ask you about that next. I'd like video of every incident, and I'd like the files saved on a permanent basis. Can we arrange to have files transferred to our in-home device? I'll buy another laptop and dedicate it to that purpose."

"I can do whatever you like. If you want to keep files permanently, I also suggest you save them to a USB flash drive periodically. We can do a multiple screen viewing monitor for you, too, in addition to the fact that you'll be able to access the entire system from your smartphone. That way, you'll be able to scan the house and the property at any time you choose to. I'm talking about the kind of screen you see security officers using at their stations on TV shows. Know what I'm talking about?"

"Yes, I do. I'd like that. I want to be able to glance around the property and see what's going on per an individual camera view if that's all I want for the moment, or in multiple views simultaneously if that's what I choose to do."

They came back toward the house and Connie was careful to lead Will away from the spot at the kitchen window where the gigantic visitor had stood a few short nights ago, peering in at her shell-shocked husband. The ground had dried and she knew the footprints were still there. The last thing she wanted was for the local Bigfoot aficionado to see them and realize what had gone on at their property. She set a mental reminder to take care of that situation.

"I'm going to go back to my office and lay out a schematic that clearly marks every light, alarm, and camera as well as explains all the abilities of the multi-screen with complete instructions on how to use and upkeep everything. I will personally attend anything that requires adjustment or fixing of any sort whenever you need me to. I'll prepare the quote and get everything to you for your approval within a couple of days if that's okay. I would normally get this back to a customer within one day but I'm just so swamped right now. I'm sorry about that, Mrs. Q."

"Not a problem at all, Will. How long does installation take once the plan is finalized?"

"This is a big job and I'll have to bring in another guy who works for me to help. That being said, we'll get it all done in a day and have you up and running real quick. The only holdup might be if I don't have enough stock on hand and have to order some cameras or other things, but I'm pretty well stocked up right now so I don't think that will happen."

"I look forward to seeing the plan all laid out. I'll feel better once everything is up and running. Thanks for coming out, Will."

"Mrs. Q., Mr. Q. I'll be off now." The hard-working young man tipped his baseball hat to the couple and left.

"You don't see that every day," said Connie.

"I know. Come to find out this hard working guy has two businesses, is smart, is polite enough to indulge in an old-fashioned tip of the hat, and installs one helluva window! There's hope for humanity after all, Connie, hope for humanity."

"I like Will. It figures Al Lake would have friends who are good people, too. I haven't seen Al in a while. Don't we have something around here that needs fixing? Go break something," Connie smiled.

"Come to think of it, there's some shelving in the basement that came loose when we had the tornado. Been meaning to call him."

"Good! I'd love to see him. Say, isn't your column due today?"

"I'm almost finished."

"Well, deadline is looming. Chop, chop!"

He smiled as he went to his typewriter which was located in the other side of the house. Other than rebukes from Arch Riker letting him know that time had run out, no one had ever reminded him that his column was due, or overdue in Arch's case. He began thinking about all the perks of being married to Connie. She was sweet, honest, funny, always true to her authentic self; she loved the cats, was a fabulous cook, had a head for all aspects of business and took care of all their affairs, excelled in common sense, and cared enough to remind him that his column was due. He had the right gal for him, that was a sure thing. Other than the murders of two people, one massive weapon theft, a tornado, and a close encounter of the gigantically hairy kind, life was currently pretty good for the ex-crime reporter. Two murders. He would have to get back to thinking about them later. He sat down and scanned the last paragraph he had written for his column, then got busy typing. With any luck (and some inspiration), he'd be done in a jiffy.

Across the house, Connie reached into a tall cabinet in the kitchen and took out a plastic bucket. Then she gathered up measuring cups and went out to the garden and got herself a trowel. Lucky for her, the footprints were located not far from an outside water faucet. She opened the deck lid of her new SUV and slit open a large box full of Ultracal 30. Reading the instructions, she mixed proper amounts with water and used the trowel to get the concoction nice and smooth. Then she carried the bucket to the spot where the footprints were and set it down. She took her phone out of her pocket and put a long ruler next to the first print to measure its length, then photographed it at different angles with the ruler in the shots. Then she took shots of the ruler measuring the width and depth of the print. When she had done that to each of them, she photographed the entire series of footprints together, and then started pouring the wet cement material into the first print, then the second, third and fourth. The instructions said the material could take up to an hour to set, so she then went and got herself an old-fashioned vinyl folding chair from the old garage, and sat down to watch over things as the casts dried. No marauding squirrel was going to come along and mess up her giant footprints, not gonna happen. The hour passed uneventfully while Connie dug into a new mystery novel she'd picked up recently and sipped coffee. When the hour was up, she tested the casts by poking them and trying to lift them up to see if they would droop from being too soft and wet. They were as hard as they could be, totally dry and stiff. She gathered them up and put them on a piece of an old sheet in the cargo area of her vehicle for safe keeping, and covered them up with another piece of old fabric which had outlived its usefulness before closing the deck lid. She wasn't sure how soon Will would be returning to start installing the equipment they would come to agree on, and she didn't want to take any chances that he would see something lying around that she didn't want him to see. She didn't feel she could destroy the footprints themselves for some reason, so she got hay from one of their storage sheds and put it over that area so it would look like they had laid down new grass seed. No one would pay any attention to it. As she headed for the porch stairs, a police cruiser pulled up in the driveway. Officer James Fay got out.

"Good morning. Do you have a minute? You're Mrs. Qwilleran, correct?"

"Yes, I am. What's up, officer?"

"We've been going around to ask residents if they've heard any strange noises lately or had any unusual activity on their property. Anything odd happening here lately?"

The question took her aback and she fumbled for an answer, so she shot back with a question instead.

"Have there been burglaries? Is that what you're referring to?" she asked cautiously.

"Not exactly." Oh, God. He knows. How does he know?

"What kind of activity do you mean?"

"Have you seen any...strange animals...or anything like that?"

"Strange animals?"

"Yes."

"What kind of strange animals? "He looked at her as if he was trying to decide whether he could trust her or not.

"We're not really sure. Anything further I would say would have to be held in the strictest confidence. I know Mr. Qwilleran, he's a great guy."

"Got it, okay."

"I shouldn't be telling you this, so please don't pass it along. Your neighbor just down the road here reported seeing a very large ape peering into her window last night."

Considering what she was in hiding in the cargo area of her SUV, Connie was now doing an impressive job of acting like she had no idea what he was talking about.

"A gorilla? You're saying there is a gorilla on the loose here in Moose County?!"

"Not exactly." The cop cleared his throat. She lifted an eyebrow while she waited for him to come out with it.

"Mrs. Qwilleran, your neighbor Sally McBride apparently had a visit from Bigfoot last night. Or so she says." She stared at him.

"I know it sounds ridiculous, but that's what your neighbor told us."

"Well, I know Sally McBride and she is not the kind to make up tales. All the same, this is just too fantastic, wouldn't you say?"

"I've heard it said unless you've seen one, you don't believe it."

"Do you believe it, officer?"

"I'm just paid to follow up on things, Mrs. Qwilleran. My opinion doesn't matter."

"Do you know Will Murphy?"

"Yeah, he's a friend of mine. How did you know?"

"I didn't. But I do know about one of his key areas of interest because he told us about it while he was replacing all our windows and sashes after the tornado broke most of the old ones. You strike me as a person who thinks it's possible, maybe even likely."

"You're good. I disavow any knowledge of what you're talking about, but you're good." A broad smile broke across his face.

"That's all right. I won't go around telling the whole town that one of our finest in blue believes in Bigfoot. That won't be me. Say, I baked a fresh pecan pie this morning and it's cool enough to cut and eat now. Can I interest you in a slice?"

"Pecan pie is my favorite! I'd love one! But please don't tell anyone I eat homemade pie on the resident's dime!" They started to laugh as they went into the house.

****

"I'm done. I actually got my column in a half hour before deadline. Arch will faint. I usually have plenty of company while I'm typing away but not today. Have you seen the cats?"

"I was outside for a while. Last I saw them was in the sunroom. I wonder where they are?"

"That translates to 'I wonder what they've gotten into now?'" The man got up to start looking for the pair of adorable house criminals. He walked into the sunroom and glanced around. "I think you had better come in here!" he called to his wife.

She walked in and saw yarn everywhere, wrapped around table and furniture legs, crisscrossed all throughout the room. The sweater Connie had started crocheting had been unraveled almost back to the beginning stitch. "What have they done?! WHAT have they DONE?!" cried Connie. "I locked everything in..."

"No, you didn't. Take a look."

She took a few steps closer and looked into the now open hard plastic box she was sure she had closed and fastened tightly with the yarn and the beginning of her sweater inside of it. The box was now turned on its back with the open lid flat on the floor. Koko and Yum Yum were tucked comfortably inside the unopenable box wrapped around each other, snoring away. For the moment, she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"You know, I was going to tell you that if they see how you open or close something, chances are they can do it then. Like when you shut the box and moved the clasp into position to supposedly 'lock' it. Koko was very intently watching you do that. I saw a friend's clever cat work at turning a fluted doorknob once, and the little bugger got that door open."

Connie cleared her throat. "I should buy a large birdcage and put them in it and lock it with a combination lock when I crochet. I should make them watch me yanking on all that yummy yarn they wouldn't be able to get to!"

"You wouldn't last ten minutes. You'd feel sorry for them and you'd let them out. Face it, unless they're asleep, you are going to have to crochet in a room by yourself with the door shut, or put them in same. It won't kill them. Your choice. I could use a couple of sweaters this winter myself." He cleared his throat and grinned. "You go take a break. I'll gather this yarn up and wind it up into a ball for you. Go on."

He started winding the yarn for his frustrated wife as she left the room. Koko woke up and became fascinated with this endeavor to the point where he tried to help his house human by grabbing at the yarn repeatedly as the tall man wound it around his hand.

"Koko! Stop it! I said stop it!" The determined meezer kept helping his father but he didn't understand why the man was still yelling at him. He would grab the yarn faster. That would be better.

"Oh geez, Koko! Gimme a break here!" Just then Yum Yum ran by with something in her mouth.

"What do you have there, little girl?"

Yum Yum's ears pointed straight upward as her eyes grew large and surprised. She skittered sideways across the floor with her prize.

"What do you have in your mouth?!" yelled Qwilleran.

Yum Yum's eyes grew even larger as she realized that the man might try to take this new thing away from her before she could bring it to him as a gift-after she finished playing with it, of course. She began to run out of the room but didn't make it in time. She skittered sideways back into the room away from the long legs that had blocked her escape clutching her prize between her teeth.

"Is that one of the fireplace matches?! You've never touched one before! What is this? A new trick?!" he grabbed the long red-tipped match out of the little female's mouth as he scolded her.

"Row row row row!" yelled Yum Yum. A combination of anger and hurt sparked in her blue-violet eyes. That was her gift and she was going to give it to him! Eventually. How dare he snatch it away?!

"Yum Yum, you CANNOT play with matches! With my luck you'd scrape it on something and burn the house down!" He scooped her up and kept the coveted item away from her.

"I don't understand it! You two have never demonstrated interest in the fireplace matches before. No new tricks, please!" he said as he put the match back into its holder alongside the fireplace. He cast a wary glance at Yum Yum who was now sulking on the lounge chair as she licked the fur on her tummy furiously. She stopped for a nanosecond to shoot a disgusted glance at the man of the house. Koko was still assisting his father with the yarn.

"Oh my God! What would it be like if we had three of you instead of just two, huh?"

"Row row row row!" yelled Yum Yum again. Normally a gentle little soul, the look on her beautiful face could have melted glass. She was not in the mood to tolerate any disrespect.

"I see you're missing me," said Connie as she reappeared in the doorway holding a can of cold pop to her lips. She smiled as she watched her husband losing his battle with a total of eighteen pounds of cat flesh.

"We have naughty children!"

"They are on a roll today, that's for sure. What did you do to Yum Yum?"

"She stole a fireplace match. God knows what she was planning to do with it!"

His words were punctuated with a loud crash as the guilty party had now pulled the entire match holder off its hook on the side of the fireplace. Matches cascaded all over the floor and the scramble was on.

"Grab her, Connie!"

Yum Yum had grabbed another match and was now running out of the room. The lady of the house just managed to grab the little cat before she made her escape. Wresting the match from the grip of some very sharp feline teeth, Connie successfully got the thing away from the suddenly rambunctious cat. Yum Yum shot the woman a disgruntled look as she jumped down onto the floor. She stared at Connie intently, then exhaled her breath forcefully as she flattened the tops of her eyes into a straight line as cats do when they've had it with you. Connie shooed her out of the room into the hallway.

"Our little cupcake! What has happened to her today?" asked Connie. "What did you do to her, Jim?"

"Nothing! I just took the first match away from her. I've never seen her act like this!"

"Okay, we are losing this entire battle. I am going to put Mr. Partner In Crime out in the hallway and we are going to rewind this yarn. That is, I will sit down and you will unwind it from all over the room as you volunteered to do, and give it to me to rewind. Fair?"

"Fair. And obviously the only way this mess will ever be cleaned up. It'll never happen with them in the room."

Koko was deposited in the hallway as the door shut behind him. He made his unhappiness known with several yows.

"Me thinks thou dost protest too often," said Qwilleran in the direction of the door. Then something odd happened. There was silence in the hallway. "You mean all I had to do was misquote a little Shakespeare and that stops the complaining? Wish I'd known that years ago." The man smiled as he continued unwinding yarn from all over the room. Connie rewound her yarn as it was freed up. The couple chatted for a few minutes.

"What was that?" she asked.

"What?"

"That!" A loud crashing sound followed by a louder one now came from the pantry area. The couple started running down the hallway toward the noise. More crashing happened before they could get to their destination.

The cats were up on a shelf behind some ceramic dishes busily pushing service for twelve off the shelf as it crashed to the floor piece by piece. They looked up at their humans and managed to push a few more pieces off before they were soundly grabbed and restrained, but not before they had destroyed a minimum of service for four and one large serving bowl.

"This is why we can't have nice things!" shouted Connie. Then she put her free hand to her forehead as she surveyed the damage. Shards of dinnerware were everywhere. There's no use crying over spilled milk. What was done was done, what was broken was broken. The cats had triumphed over the humans completely at this point in time. Eighteen pounds worth of Siamese feline ingenuity had totally won this skirmish. The yarn was wrecked, the matches were all over the floor along with their holder, and the dishes were broken and scattered everywhere. Cats: three. Humans: zero.

"They have not only wrecked things, they have outwitted us! I can hear their strategizing now: 'They threw us out of the sunroom! We'll show them! To the pantry!'"

The chapter on Revenge from The Book of Cat clearly states: Training is never complete; Revenge belongs to us!

"What a mess! What were you thinking?! Hmmm?!" Connie exclaimed to the cats who were still being restrained.

"I think they need to go into their carriers till they calm down. I'm afraid to let them loose seeing they're in the mood to murder our things," said Qwilleran.

"Sounds like a good idea. Must be a full moon or something. Say, where is that bottle of flower oil we bought? The one that calmed Koko down so well when we had to take him to be bathed and dried at that place?" At the mention of flower oil, Koko's ears flattened and his pupils quickly grew to cover both of his eyeballs completely.

"That's a brilliant idea. It's in the cabinet in the bathroom off the kitchen. I'll get it."

Koko was handed to Connie as Qwilleran went to get the solution for the situation. He tried furiously to get away, but he was now tucked securely under one arm as Yum Yum was tucked firmly under the other. Connie also had hold of the front legs of both cats and she wasn't letting go.

"There. A little dab'll do ya," he said as he rubbed some oil first into Koko's ears, then into Yum Yum's. Two dark brown cat noses worked overtime sniffing and wrinkling themselves up in distaste. The carriers were brought out and one cat was put into each. The doors were shut securely and set on the kitchen floor. It was the only way to stop the rampage.

"I make a motion we eat lunch first and clean up the messes afterward," said Qwilleran.

"I second that motion!"
Chapter 22

The police chief rolled onto the museum grounds at a couple of minutes to ten the next morning as promised. The new museum owner was waiting for him and gave Roy a tour of the grounds, paying special attention to the spot where the large metal box had been sitting before it was stolen. Instead of bringing a police photographer with him, Roy took photographs of the entire area himself. Pickax Construction had already confirmed the facts regarding the removal of the metal box from its underground prison to Briggs. The two men went inside and toured the intake area before descending the secret stairs Koko had formerly discovered to the lower level. They walked through the tunnel and back again. Blueprints of the building and the grounds revealed that two buildings which used to be on the property were no longer there, and that there were a number of rooms along the underground tunnel on either side of the extra long hallway.

"I don't see any doors," said Qwilleran.

"I was looking for them, too. Where are all these rooms the blueprints indicate are supposed to be here on either side of the hallway itself?" pondered Roy.

"We know that they were here. I figured that when I found the metal box containing the assault weapons because I could see bits of internal walls in the hole I had dug. Now the prints are telling us that there were a lot more."

"Look at this," Roy was pointing to a number of points on the prints. There was an entire labyrinth of rooms underground at one time. I'm betting you they're still here; blocked off for some reason, but still here. Let's take another stroll down the tunnel."

As the two men walked, Qwilleran checked the prints. "There." He pointed to a spot on the wall. "There should be a room right here. Why are there no doors?" Both men started knocking on the walls till the sound returned went from solid to hollow. "We need a sledgehammer. There's one in the corner of the intake room that the remodelers left behind when they were changing the building for the museum grand opening. I'll get it."

With one mighty blow to the wall, a formerly hidden room was revealed on the left side at the beginning of the hallway. Qwilleran kept swinging away till a man-sized opening was created. Roy shined his flashlight around and the men stared inside, and then at each other.

"We need miner's helmets with lights on them."

They stepped inside and made their way into a large room as their eyes adjusted to the darkness. The police chief took out a professional tape measure and began walking the length of one of the walls as his host held onto the tab at the beginning of the metal device. When he reached the end of the first wall, he jotted down a measurement in a small spiral notebook he kept in his breast pocket, and then wrote the number one atop that page. The two men measured the other walls in that room and notes were made of all measurements they took. Two medium sized cardboard boxes sat against one wall. When opened, empty one-quart glass jars with metal lids stared up at the pair. Together, they started working their way from location to location in the tunnel hallway wherever the blueprints indicated there was a room. They would first locate the hollow sounding area, then take turns breaking through the thin wall before numbering and measuring each room till they had found half of those noted on the drawings.

"Where are we?" asked Qwilleran.

"We've done six rooms," answered Roy. "Been a while since I've swung a sledgehammer. My shoulder is cussing me out."

"I wonder if the other six rooms are as empty as the ones we've been through so far. You could fit several of the large metal boxes I found into each one. I could use a sandwich. You?"

"I'm famished. Let's go grab a bite and pick this back up after we have some lunch. We'll take my cruiser."

"Let me have a word with Loretta upstairs so she knows to keep an eye on the intake area. I'm going to leave everything open. I doubt anyone will storm the place in pursuit of our secret basement."

The men ascended the hidden stairway. Loretta Garver was back in the intake area looking for handouts to give to two men she was showing around the museum.

"Noothenng! Theh now noothenng!" she huffed at the visitor's obvious ignorance of the museum's various subject matter. "Moust now soomthenng!" she sputtered in Mystery English. The fact that Qwilleran now understood every word she said was actually making him somewhat uncomfortable.

"Loretta, we've started a demo project downstairs, so please keep an eye on the intake area and the staircase. We don't expect any intruders, but wanted to make you aware so you can keep an eye on things for us. We're going to go get some lunch, should be back within an hour or so."

"Sooo fainne. Hannchoy!" the museum director from New Jersey said as she turned to go back to the two visitors.

As she did so, Qwilleran peeked out from a curtain which hid the intake area to see two men standing there waiting for Loretta to return. He noticed both of them were tall and muscular. They were dressed in black tee shirts and fatigue pants with boots. Military guys killing some time before returning to the Army base a few miles to the south? The museum owner suddenly felt uneasy, but his stomach then reminded him that it had not been fed recently, so he shook the feeling off. Not so easy to shake off were the vibrations happening in his moustache. Exiting through the back door in the intake area, the two men got into Roy's police SUV.

"Roy, I've got a weird feeling. Those two guys set my teeth on edge."

"Let's wait around a while then."

Roy drove around to the front of the museum and parked out of the way where they could watch what was going on in the showroom. Loretta was standing at a counter while the two men exited the place, got in a large black RAM pickup and left. Roy then drove to Shorty's Diner.

"I am being painfully reminded that I am not as young as I used to be," Qwilleran said as he rubbed his sore right shoulder.

"I know what you mean," replied Roy. "To be twenty-five again."

"Or smart enough not to bust down walls with sledgehammers at our advancing ages."

The server apologized that the kitchen was running slower than usual as he took their order. An oven and one of the cooktops were malfunctioning, so their wait would be longer than usual and the place was packed, of course. They were actually glad for a bit of an extended rest before going back to the backbreaking work they'd started. Bits of conversation drifted through the place.

"Sixty pound catfish tried to kill me!"

"Never used t'be like 'at. Not in a hunnert yars. Ah know. Ah wuzzair."

"That's like saying cats throw up in your bed because they love you."

"Sick? Oh, yeah! My, y'know, was like a fire hose doin' mach twenty!"

"Hired killers I tell ya! Hired killers!"

"Come and listen to a story 'bout a man named Jed."

"She had four teeth and was playing the banjo."

"I spent eighty thousand dollars on college tuition only to discover I am eminently qualified to be unemployed."

"If Ah tell ya, Ah gotta kill ya."

"Oil that is! Black gold! Texas tea!"

"The Bird of Prey was the first ship to have a cloaking device, circa 1966."

"Lima beans should be illegal."

It took forty minutes for them to get their burgers and sides. Good thing the coffee flowed freely and without charge while they waited. It would help them recharge for the tasks that lay ahead of them that afternoon. They continued chatting while they ate, and another half hour plus passed before they knew it. They were just getting into Roy's cruiser when the radio crackled full blast. There was an emergency in the far western part of the county and he was needed there right away along with every other able-bodied officer of the law.

"Qwill, I can't stop to drop you off! The chemical factory is burning!"

"That's okay! Bring me with you and we'll just figure things out from there!"

The police vehicle sped down the road blasting its siren at full volume. They drove several miles before eventually pulling up to a huge parcel of land containing a very large industrial building which had reportedly blown its top.

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Roy. Qwilleran stared, open-mouthed.

As they pulled up they heard another explosion as a second area of the building blew up. It was burning fiercely as flames reached well over a hundred feet in the air. Fire crews from three surrounding counties had come to help Moose County's own gain control of the blaze which seemed to be a lost cause at the moment. The inferno looked like something from a movie-firefighters were everywhere. Cops were keeping the public at bay as they turned traffic back and rerouted it, but a lot of cars just pulled off the road and watched from an empty field across the way. The entire place was a melee of confusion being sorted out by several dozen dedicated public servants on-hand with more arriving by the minute. Every single one of them stationed within a forty-mile radius was there working hard to gain control of the fire while getting people on a safe route to wherever they needed to go. The blaze was so large and intense that lines of folks were pouring out of their cars aiming their phones at the horrible sight as they videoed it for their social media pages and dinner conversation that night.

Qwilleran had seen some blazes in his time as a crime reporter down below and he had seen some big ones, but nothing he had ever witnessed could hold a flame thrower to the inferno happening in front of his very eyes at this moment. Ambulances were lined up as EMT's took care of the factory employees who had come pouring out of the building when the fire started before the first grand explosion had occurred. Some were suffering from smoke inhalation and there were a few being treated for burns. Every time a squad would pull out to take someone to a hospital, a new squad would return and pick up someone else. Most people had run out of the building quickly at the first sign of trouble due to the chemicals all around them, but a few had tried to put out the initial fire with equipment on hand; these were the folks who had gotten a few burns though thankfully, none were serious. As the fire had spread internally, they realized they had to get out, so they did so via any door they could get to or window they could jump out of.

Time seemed to stop as the scene continued to unfold. Six hours later, the flames were still shooting into the sky and the firefighters were exhausted. Qwilleran had made a few calls and was having food and beverage trucked in for the exhausted public servants. It became evident to everyone at one point that the chemicals had to be allowed to burn off because there was just no chance of putting the fires out. The best that could be hoped for was for the blaze to be contained so that it didn't spread to neighboring structures. Connie had called her husband earlier in the day to see if he knew what was happening at the plant as she watched the news. She was shocked to learn he was there and asked him if he wanted her to pick him up. He said no, he wanted to stay and see if he could help. As it happened, he wound up helping overtaxed EMT's load people onto stretchers and get them into ambulances all day. He had even seen a man jump out of a window to escape the flames, breaking his leg in the process. Running over to assist, he picked the man up and helped him hop to a safe area till another ambulance appeared to pick up this latest casualty. He also manned the food and beverage setup station and handed out pizza, sandwiches, pop, and bottles of water to those who were hungry and thirsty. Roy Briggs came over to touch base with his lunchmate.

"How ya doin', Qwill? I'm gonna have to put you on the payroll," said the police chief as he grabbed a bottle of water and a slice of pizza and sank into a folding chair.

"Compared to the cops and firefighters I have no right to be, but I'm exhausted, Roy," said Qwilleran as he grabbed himself a slice of pizza and some pop. He sat down next to his friend.

"It'll be interesting to find out what caused all this to happen. We're going to have to interview every employee when this is all dealt with here."

"I helped one guy who broke his leg jumping out a window to keep from burning up. He's one of their engineers. He said something about how he noticed a fire in some testing area somewhere which spread like lightening. Then he said it was odd because there was no testing going on all week long, and he couldn't figure out how a fire could start where there were no chemicals anywhere around that particular area."

"Could have been electrical wiring, who knows. Don't suppose you got his name?"

"Joe Fazio. I heard him tell the EMT as we loaded him into the ambulance."

"I'll want to talk to him for sure," said Roy as he jotted the man's name down in his little spiral notebook along with some notes before tucking it back into his breast pocket. Fire chief Jose Alvarado approached the two men and looked at Roy.

"We have contained this as best we can under the circumstances. I've split my team up into shifts. Some are leaving now but will return later. Some are staying but will leave in a couple more hours. The men will cycle on and off during the night. This way we'll always have eyes on the flames. It will take some time, maybe a couple of days before we can get inside to take a look around. Maybe longer. My guys are exhausted." The fire chief didn't look too full of energy himself.

"Sit down and have a slice, Jose. You look dog tired," said Qwilleran, who got up and got a slice for the tired man and a can of pop which he handed to the head firefighter as he sat down.

"I feel like I haven't eaten in three days. Didn't know pizza could taste this good," said Alvarado as he bit into the sausage and cheese goodness. "Thanks, Qwill. I think I know who the good citizen is who made all this delicious stuff appear."

"It was the least I could do."

"Yeah? I saw you running around helping with everything except manning the hoses. You get the Citizen of the Year Award in my book."

"I told him I'm going to have to pay him," said Roy.

"Your friendship is enough, gentlemen. What time is it anyway? I forgot my watch today."

"Holy cow! It's ten-thirty already! We've been here over eight hours, Qwill!" exclaimed Roy.

"The route to get back to the museum where we left my car is blocked. Going to call my wife and have her come and get me. She can take the back roads here and back. I'll worry about my car in the morning." Qwilleran dialed his phone and spoke for a few moments. Arch Riker walked up to the men and sat in another folding chair.

"This is the worst one I've seen in all my days as a newspaper man. I'm amazed no one has died."

"Thank God," said Qwilleran.

"Thank God is right. Nice of you to spring for all this stuff, Qwill. Where'd you get the chairs?"

"The nice lady who owns that house over there had her sons bring them over to help out. I can't believe this, Arch. It's the worst one I've ever seen, too."

"We've covered some stuff in our day."

"That, we have."

"It's time you and Mildred popped over for dinner some night soon. I'll talk to the wife and you talk with yours and we'll set something up."

"I'll mention it to the boss and let you know," said Riker.

The four exhausted men chatted and ate pizza as the full impact of the day began to take its toll. Before long, Connie drove up to fetch her man. Tucked safely in her SUV, he suddenly fell asleep and snored all the way home. She woke him and got him into the house as she continually glanced warily around for large, unwelcome visitors, but there were none this night. Peeling his clothes off, he stepped into a hot shower and scrubbed from head to toe before toweling off and falling into an exhausted sleep as soon as he buttoned his pajamas and crawled into bed. The weather was growing cool, so she pulled the lightweight comforter up over the two of them. She shut her eyes but they popped open again. She shut them again but they refused to remain closed. She sat up and listened. Nothing. Then she went downstairs and checked the doors to make sure they were all securely locked along with all the windows before returning to bed and finally going to sleep.
Chapter 23

The Qwillerans awakened later than usual the next morning. Connie started breakfast while the man of the house made their favorite spoon-melting black coffee and put bread into the toaster. The cats were up on top of the refrigerator sleeping on their luxurious blue cushion after a hearty breakfast of turkey with warm broth. Being in charge of humans and keeping them entertained was tiring work. Good thing their sacrifices rarely went unnoticed. Connie flicked on the kitchen TV and they watched live news coverage of the fire which was still stubbornly burning away at the now defunct chemical factory.

"How's your shoulder, hon?"

"I don't even want to move today," he replied as he rubbed the offended area. "Do we have any of that smelly stuff old people put on themselves to make aches and pains go away?"

"If by old people you mean us, yes. I keep it in stock and will rub some on you after we finish eating," she said as he buttered their toast.

"You're a life saver. I knew marrying you was good for me. I knew it," he grinned.

"Ditto. Say, have you decided what you prefer we do with the vineyard now that our vines were blown to Kansas by the tornado? I think I just saw the Wicked Witch zooming down the road on her bicycle with Toto in her basket."

"I'm thinking of going to talk to Sally McBride to see if she seriously wants to go in on an organic vegetable joint effort. We batted the idea around previously. I'm really not inclined toward putting any extra money into the winery if that's what you mean. We'd have to rebuild most of the processing building which was severely damaged, replant all new vines, etc. And to tell you the truth, I don't want any lingering memories of what we found in there that day. I'd rather just tear the whole thing down and find another use for the land."

"I agree. We need to talk to Sally McBride again. I volunteer to do that for you."

"Well, that's another thing I don't have to worry about then. Thank you." Little did he know his wife had another reason for wanting to have a conversation with McBride, too.

Bacon and eggs were plated up and put on the table. The couple ate slowly before they realized something was missing.

"We don't have our donuts. I completely forgot to go pick some up," said Connie.

"Oh, I didn't think about it either. Well, we can go swing by the bakery on the way to pick up my car. Roy and I were in the midst of a project at the museum but I can honestly say we're going to table that for now, at least until my everything stops hurting so much."

"Good idea. We'll swing by Romeo's Bakery and pick up donuts. I don't know about you but I could use a do nothing day, hon. Can I get an amen?"

"Amen!"

They drove to the bakery and went inside. The sound of mandolin music drifted through the place. Romeo was a cute, little old American born Italian man who played mandolin, guitar, accordion, and clarinet for his customers as the mood struck him, in addition to making the best donuts around. He oversaw his staff and taught them the ins and outs of donut artistry so that he could turn over the bulk of the work to his employees now. He sat in the restaurant part of the place now picking out a tune on his mandolin. Their donuts were boxed up and they went over to say hello to the proprietor, a thin little man with a moustache and half of his very old hair still on top of his head.

"Hello, Romeo! Smells delicious in here as always!" said Qwilleran.

"I hear you got married."

"Yes, I did. This is my wife, Connie. Connie, meet Romeo-the best donut-maker in Moose County!"

"In the world, you mean," answered Romeo with a little smile.

"That's what he meant, Romeo. I'm so pleased to meet you. It seems you're always in the back whenever I drop by to pick up donuts. Very nice to meet you."

"I used to perform in Vegas, you know."

"I didn't know that! So glad you came home to us!" exclaimed Qwilleran.

"They called me 'Flying Fingers'."

"I'm in awe of all the instruments you can play, Romeo. That's a talent I do not have," remarked Connie.

"I give lessons. I'll teach you. Cheap."

"I've never been musically inclined, but I will give that some thought."

"Did I tell you I used to date five girlfriends at the same time?" The couple burst out laughing as the little man smiled proudly.

"You're a card, Romeo! I wish we could stay but we have to be moving along now. It was wonderful to meet you!"

"Carry on," said the little man as he went back to strumming a melody on his mandolin. The couple walked outside.

"Is he the cutest little stinkin' thing or what?!" cooed Connie.

"And has a healthy ego to boot!"

"How old do you suppose he is?"

"I heard he's in his late eighties or so. He's a legend in Moose County."

"I just met him but I love him!"

"He's a character, that's for sure."

Their vehicle approached the museum grounds. Something didn't look right. Glancing at the digital clock on the dashboard Qwilleran noticed it was well past opening time. He said aloud, "Why are the lights off?" They pulled in and walked up to the front door. Clearly visible on the upper portion of the large glass door was a sign that read: Museum Closed Today.

"What the heck?" He tried the front door but it was locked. "Why isn't the place open?" He took out his set of keys and unlocked the front door. "I'll go in first."

He went in and looked around, nothing amiss that he could see in the display area in the front of the building. He wondered if Loretta was sick and he'd missed a text or something. He glanced at his phone but didn't see any. Then he stepped into the intake area as Connie followed him. The hatch to the secret stairway was open just as he and Roy had left it. He peeked out the window of the back door and saw Loretta Garver's car parked in its usual spot so he started calling her name. No answer. He went down the secret stairway.

"Watch your step," he said to his wife as she descended those stairs for her first time ever. They came into the little living area and he felt for the button on the lamp which adorned the fifties era kitchen table. He snapped it on and heard a sharp intake of breath come from Connie who was still behind him.

"Oh my God, Jim! Turn around!"

He spun around to see the color draining from his wife's face as she pointed to the floor while clapping her other hand over her mouth.

There laid the sprawled out body of Loretta Garver, whose head was surrounded by a pool of blood thanks to the bullet which had been fired into the center of her forehead.
Chapter 24

What seemed like mere seconds after they called 911, police cruisers converged on the museum grounds. As he had been there just the day before helping break into hidden rooms, Roy Briggs came personally to see the crime scene for himself.

"Qwill, what the hell?!" exclaimed Roy as the forensics team took over and started examining and photographing everything. The coroner arrived shortly thereafter.

"We didn't touch anything," said Qwilleran drily.

Connie was standing off to the side silently staring at the bloody scene as Loretta Garver's lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling. Her husband continued.

"We drove here to pick up my car since circumstances dictated we leave it here overnight due to the fire yesterday. So, we drive up this morning but something wasn't right. The lights were off. The front door was locked when I tried it so I used my key to get in. The place should have been lit up and open, but it wasn't. I thought maybe Loretta was sick and I'd missed her call or text, but that was not the case. I called out her name a few times but got no response. So, I went down the stairs with my wife following me. I turned on the light on this table here and Connie shrieked. I turned around and there she was on the floor."

"This was done execution style either by professionals or someone who hated this woman severely," observed Roy.

"Loretta was a little weird but she wasn't mean in any sense of the word. I don't know how anyone could hate her. You know what bothers me, Roy? Those two big muscular guys in black tees and camouflage pants and boots who were in here yesterday when we left. I got a chill up my spine when I laid eyes on them. They didn't look like the typical visitors this kind of exhibit pulls in, not by a longshot."

"I saw them briefly through the curtain when you did before we drove out front to watch and I agree they're not the usual visitor type this exhibit pulls in. I didn't recognize either one. Did you?"

"No. I figured they were probably stationed at the army base south of here. I did notice the only vehicle in visitor parking at the time was that huge black RAM pickup on steroids, the one we saw them take off in. The body was raised up several inches and it had giant tires if you recall."

"Didn't you have a security system installed here when you were having all those break-ins when the present exhibit was being set up a while ago?"

"Yes, but we didn't get a chance to go access the files in the computer because you guys showed up so fast. I'll go do that now." Qwilleran climbed the stairs and went to the desk where the computer was and clicked on the security camera icon. Connie came up with him and sat down in the chair next to his. He began scanning the previous day's files. He got to the point where the RAM pulled up in the parking lot. He paused the video and zoomed in on the truck's license plate. It was easy to read and he jotted the number down on a piece of paper. He pressed resume and watched the two men get out of the truck and come into the museum. They walked around for a bit, then went to where Loretta was standing and talked with her. She then disappeared into the intake area where she spoke with him and Roy, and went back out onto the display floor. She handed pamphlets to the two men and they left.

He tracked video which showed the comings and goings of the day. The two men returned after Qwilleran and Roy left for lunch and then walked back near the intake area. Loretta went after them at which point they shoved her into intake and continued speaking to her while taking menacing postures very close to her. One of them went down the secret stairs which had been left open. He disappeared for a minute and then reappeared and spoke to the other man. The first man took another step toward Loretta and she handed over her keys to him with a look of terror on her face. She then wrote something on a piece of paper and walked with him to the front door and taped up the sign he told her to write saying the museum was closed that day. He locked the door and pocketed the keys. Then they walked back to intake and he had her shut off the lights in the display area. The three of them descended the secret stairs where there were no cameras. The two men were then seen walking back to their truck from an outside route from the rear of the museum which came from the tunnel stairs at the far end of the parcel.

"Find anything?" asked Roy as he came up from the basement.

"They left and came back, and they forced Loretta to write the sign and put it up and made her turn the lights off. Then the three of them disappeared into the lower level."

"Well, they were busy down there. You have to see this. Just don't disturb or touch anything when you come down. They're dusting for prints now. " The men went down and went into the tunnel.

"Notice anything?" asked Roy as they walked farther.

"What happened?!"

"The visitors were apparently as interested in the contents of these hidden rooms as we were. They saved us the trouble of busting into the other six we didn't get to and cleaned them out. Look at all the boot prints. Looks like they ran up the steps out of the tunnel on the far side of the property a few hundred times." Several large metal boxes like the one Qwilleran had found full of weapons were sitting empty in all six rooms he and Roy hadn't had time to open.

"I'm going to check the outside footage now," said Qwilleran as they ran back upstairs.

They went through more video from the day before and checked the outside footage. Sure enough, not long after the chemical factory blaze started, the two men were seen loading things into an eighteen-wheeler which showed up. A third man who drove the big rig got out and helped them load. He was dressed in garb similar to that worn by the other two. They finished their task hours later. The big rig pulled out of the museum driveway and headed south towards the Interstate as the first two men got into the RAM and left. As cool as it was that day, the men had begun to sweat at one point, and took their sunglasses off to wipe their faces on their sleeves before putting the glasses into their pockets. Luckily, they did so in a way that allowed the cameras to record a good image of their faces. Bingo.

"Look at this, Roy. There's a delay between the time they forced Loretta to put the sign up and shut the lights to the time they started loading the eighteen-wheeler. Looks like almost two hours. It wasn't all that hard for us to break through the drywall, I can't imagine big, strong men like those two having a hard time. What did they leave the property to go do?" Suddenly, a mental picture of little Yum Yum sending all the fireplace matches crashing to the floor flashed across his mind.

"There was no sign of her being bound and gagged, so my guess is they killed her right away when they returned," said the police chief. They talked a bit more and then Roy went back downstairs.

The quiet was deafening between the married couple for a couple of minutes. Then Connie said, "I've never seen the body of a person who has been violently murdered. First the accountant, then Polly, and now this. Poor Loretta. Poor, poor Loretta. What is happening all around us, Jim?"

The man went and put his arms around her. "I don't know, honey. But I'm going to find out. One way or the other, I'm going to get answers to all of this." Again, he saw Yum Yum and the matches on the floor in his mind's eye.

Just then they heard elevated voices as the coroner's staff began ascending the stairs carrying a gurney with Loretta's body strapped to it. They had to angle it for the somewhat steep ascent and were careful to do so without mishap.

"Qwill, Connie, this is now a crime scene. We ask that you secure the building and not allow anyone in till we give you the all clear. That means closing the museum till further notice. Maybe you should put a notice in the Something to let folks know. At any rate, be sure to lock the other doorway to the tunnel at the back of the property and we'll let you know if we need to get back in here. They'll take Loretta's body directly to the morgue. Please don't touch or clean anything. Don't try to sop up the blood or anything yet. I know you'll be anxious to get the place back in shape, but please leave it be for the moment. After they dust the upstairs and display area for fingerprints, the rest of the forensics team will leave and then you can, too, unless you want to give me the keys and I can lock the place up for you," said Roy.

"No, no. We'll stay; whatever we can do," said Connie.

"I'm calling the locksmith. One of those guys pocketed Loretta's keys which means they can come back in here any time they please. So, I'm going to make sure those two creeps will not be coming in here again if I can help it," said Qwilleran.

After receiving Roy's permission to do so, he made a quick call and Emmet Draznik came by promptly. Draznik was instructed to wear surgical gloves the cops provided as he removed all the museum door locks which had already been dusted for prints. Then he installed new locks in each door and turned the old ones over to the police as he was instructed to do. He made sure to match and cut all keys to all three museum doors to be opened by the same key, and cut six of the new keys and gave them to Qwilleran, who gave one to Roy.

After the fingerprint team left, Connie went and got into her SUV while her husband went and locked the far entrance to the tunnel with the new key, the back door to the intake area, and the front door. Then he got into his car and the couple drove home. When they got there, Connie flicked on the TV to see how the fire was doing. It was still burning but was about a quarter of the size it had been the day before. She turned the TV off and they both went and sat down in the sunroom. The cats were already there lounging on their personal chaise. Yum Yum got down and walked out of the room.

"I put the donuts on the kitchen table but I'm not in the mood for them right now," said Qwilleran.

"Me neither."

They sat quietly for a moment. Then the little cat walked back into the room and jumped up on the man's lap. She had a fireplace match in her mouth, which she deposited into his hand. Then she jumped down and got back up on her chaise and snuggled with Koko, who was fast asleep.

"She was trying to tell us something! I get it now. It didn't click because Koko has always been the mystery solving cat around here, but he has a helper now. She was trying to tell us something!"

"What are you talking about?" asked Connie.

"The fireplace match! Fire. A big fire. She was trying to tell us about the fire ahead of time!"

"But what's that got to do with Loretta's murder?"

"I don't know yet, but when we were at the museum a while ago out of nowhere I suddenly got a mental image of Yum Yum with the fireplace match. Somehow, these two things are linked."

"So our little girl is now a crime solver, too. I wonder how many clues she's given us in the past which we've ignored? We never think of her that way. Our children should start their own agency: Murder by Meezer, Siamese Detectives."

"This chair isn't doing it. I'm going upstairs to take a nap. You coming?"

"Count me in. I'm suddenly exhausted."

They went upstairs followed by Koko and Yum Yum, who got into bed with their humans. Qwilleran laid on his side and put his arm around Connie as Koko plastered himself against his back and Yum Yum made herself comfortable on Connie's tummy. Within minutes, all four of them were snoring away.
Chapter 25

A few days passed. The doorbell rang and Qwilleran went to answer it. M.A. Mazola was standing on the porch looking brokenhearted and upset.

"Mr. Q, sorry to bother you."

"M.A., you're never a bother. Come in."

"I'm so sorry to hear about Miss Garver. Gee, I don't know what to think," said the younger man as he stepped inside.

"Neither do we."

"Who would want to hurt her? She was such a nice lady."

"Yes, she was."

"I wanted to make myself available to you to help with the museum till you find someone to run it fulltime. I'm almost finished getting my master's degree and I want to help you in any way I can."

"Well, you can help me by finishing that up and then coming on board to run the museum yourself, if you want to know the truth. I hadn't given it any thought before now, but the inspiration for that just hit me now that you're standing here."

"Really? Really?!"

"When are you going to marry Tiff? We met recently. She's a lovely girl."

"Not till June of next year."

"Do the two of you plan to remain in this area? I know how you young folks are always heading off to distant places for jobs and such."

"We figured we'd have to move down below in order for me to get a good job, so to speak. But I've always lived here and so has she, and we'd love to stay!"

"Well, we should have lunch someday soon and talk business and see if this is something that would fit into your plans then."

"Gee, I feel kind of funny seeing what happened to Miss Garver. I sure don't want to profit off of that."

"My good man, you have nothing to feel funny about. You're not profiting off of her death. You are stepping into your calling. Think of it that way."

"Well, now that you put it that way, how about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow it is. Chinese sound good?"

"Chinese sounds perfect!"

"One p.m. at the usual place?"

"You betcha! Golly! Thanks so much, Mr. Q! You just made my day! Wait'll I tell Tiff! She'll freak!"

"Well, I hope that doesn't hurt her, but okay, see you tomorrow at one," smiled the museum owner.

"Be there or be square!" yelled M.A. as he leapt off the porch and went running to his car.

"Ah, youth," said Connie as she walked into the room.

"Youthful exuberance. I remember that. Kind of."

"Do you know what would happen to us if we leapt off the porch and started to run? Broken legs, that's what."

"Which is why you won't see me doing that any time soon."

"Or me. Say, I thought I'd go talk to Sally McBride and get a feel for what she's thinking on an organic vegetable business."

"Sounds good. Want me to come along?"

"I'd kind of like to get to know her for myself on a one-on-one basis if you don't mind."

"Okay by me. I'll work on my column. I don't even know what to say this time around." He looked at the floor.

Without hesitation Connie said, "Expectations. The expectations we have of the world, of ourselves, of others. Shattered expectations."

He looked at her. "That's brilliant. Thank you." He picked up her hand and kissed it.

"You're welcome, gallant sir. I'll see you in a bit." She picked up her purse and headed out the door.

The Qwill Pen, by James M. Qwilleran

Expectations. My wife gave me this theme for today's column. What are our expectations of the world we live in? Most of us expect to awaken each day in our homes and eat breakfast before we go out to face the day. We expect food, shelter, good health, and companionship. We expect our furnaces to work in wintertime and our air conditioners to work in summertime. We expect our cars to start and we expect to get where we desire to go with a minimum of fuss and effort. We expect others to let us make a lane change when we click our blinkers on. We expect others to say please and thank you just as we were taught to do by our parents. We expect politeness. We expect our umbrellas to open when it rains and our windows to close smoothly when we shut them to keep the rain out. We expect to have enough money to pay our bills and debts. We expect to laugh regularly and experience joy. We expect our friends to be loyal and to help us when we need help as we do the same for them. We expect doctors to doctor us when the need arises and ministers to minister to us appropriately. We expect to be respected and loved. We expect to help and love others as we can. We expect civility, and in our community we're fortunate to have plenty of it. We expect to bounce back from misfortune. We expect a lot.

What don't we expect? The opposite of all these things. We don't expect to be hungry and not have food. Or cold and not have heat. Or hot and not have relief. We don't expect to die before our time. We all have expectations.
Chapter 26

Introductions were made and Sally McBride invited Connie Qwilleran in for coffee. The two women sat and got acquainted for a while before more weighty matters came up.

"Say, Sally, my husband tells me the two of you discussed using our damaged lands to perhaps plant and grow some organic vegetables. Are you still thinking along those lines?"

"Yes, I am. After giving it some thought I believe we could do it and still offer some work to our displaced vineyard employees if they would be interested. I'm going to do so myself at any rate, but would enjoy partnering with you and your man. What do you think?"

"I like the idea in general and I agree it would be a good way to offer our people jobs. I really like that."

"Well, it's too late for planting this season, that's for sure. Why don't we draw up some plans for clearing the land and get things organized for planting and harvesting next year? We'll need equipment for planting, watering, harvesting, and packing. When the tornado tore up my land and destroyed all my vines that sure got to me. I've been in the wine business for twenty-seven years. I've had people cleaning up the mess for weeks now. But I feel good about the prospect of starting a totally new business. I guess old Moose County will just have to get along with two fewer brands of local wine."

"I'm so glad to hear you say that. Our processing plant was so severely damaged nothing could be salvaged. We're going to have the remnants of the building and everything else removed and cleaned up. I brought a list of veggies I'm thinking we might grow. Here. What do you think?"

McBride took a piece of paper from her visitor and read all the way down a single column.

"Avocadoes. Don't forget avocadoes. Melons. Do we want to do a few kinds of fruit, too? Not the kinds that grow on trees, mind you. It takes too long to wait for the trees to grow and I'm in an impatient mood. Melons grow on vines just like squash does."

"Those are wonderful additions, I love it. Let's see what else we can think of."

The women put their heads together and came up with several more items from which they would make their ultimate selections eventually. Connie pretended to smack herself in the head. "How could I forget zucchini?" The women laughed as they continued to make notes on the piece of paper and drain the fresh pot of coffee Sally had made.

"You make one terrific cup of coffee, Sally. Jim and I always say if spoons don't melt in it, you got yourself a bad cuppa joe."

"That's my philosophy exactly. If you're gonna make coffee, make coffee!"

"Say, Sally, may I ask you something? Just between the two of us? We kind of don't want this getting around."

"Sure. Fire away. Whatever it is, my lips are sealed."

"One of the local cops came to my place a little while ago asking me if I'd had any large, strange visitors." Connie looked dubiously at her host.

"And he told you I'd had one of these large, strange visitors?"

"Something like that."

"Exactly what did he say?"

Connie drew in her breath. "He said you had a Bigfoot peek in your kitchen window and stare at you." There, it's out!

"Well, he said it because that's what happened. I was washing up a few dishes in the sink by hand when I felt someone staring at me. It was getting dark, so I flicked on an outside light and there it was! Gigantic monkey-like thing standing there peeking at me through the screen with its hands around its eyes like this."

"What did you do?!"

"The window I was standing in front of was open and I had a three-quart saucepan full of water I was rinsing out by hand. I threw it at the giant gorilla! He didn't like that at all, andbn spit water out of his nose and took off shaking his head. I went and got my shotgun."

"You did not go after him, did you?!"

"No, but I thought about it. I'll tell you this; if I ever see another one, or if that one comes back here I'll shoot first and I'll fire until the thing's dead. That's a promise. Now what exactly do you want us to keep to ourselves? That I saw a Bigfoot, or that you and yours saw one, too?"

The look on Connie's face said it all.

"You saw him, too! When was this?!"

"Well, it was the day before you had your visit. The darn thing peeked into our kitchen window that evening and did just what you said yours did with its hands. Jim was in the kitchen and I thought he'd pass out. I didn't see it, but I did cast the footprints the thing made after the fact. They were still in perfect condition when I went outside the next day to take a look."

"Cast the footprints? What do you mean?"

"Well, there is stuff you mix up with water and you pour the goop into the prints and let it dry. Walah, footprint casts."

Sally had a look of knowing on her face. "Tell me, how does someone who never saw one know about footprint casting, as you call it? Has Bigfoot been an area of interest to you for a long time?" The tall woman raised an eyebrow and stared at Connie with a look on her face that said 'Just spill it'.

"Well, many years ago I did see one in Ohio. It crossed the road in front of our car one day when I was out driving with my cousin. I wouldn't say I made a study of the animal, but I've managed to pick up a few facts about the thing and some of the practices employed by its followers, if you will. If there's a TV show on about them, I find myself drawn to watching it. There, I said it. Please don't tell anyone!"

"We said we would keep this entire thing to ourselves and that's what I intend to do, your part of it anyway, I will not divulge a word. On the other hand, if Officer Big Mouth goes around telling folks I saw the dang thing I don't care. Like I said, if it makes the mistake of returning I'll be quicker with my gun and I'll get him for a trophy. I can see the headlines now: Sally McBride, Moose County's Big Game Hunter!" The women laughed.

"Well, I think I've had more than my fair share of your delicious coffee, Sally. Now I think I have to go home and paint the house and cut the grass and work off some of this caffeine! I'll discuss our conversation about the vegetables with Jim and we can come up with our thoughts for action plans and whittle them down to one solid one for going forward. It's been a pleasure meeting you, neighbor."

"Same here. Talk soon."

****

Demolition on the garage having been completed, the new structure went up quickly after the refuse was hauled away. The cats were sequestered at the far end of the house in a room they could not get out of for safe keeping before slices of two walls of the house were removed in order to join the two structures together. New pavement had previously been poured and had cured in plenty of time for the new driveway and garage floor to become usable. The outside of the garage did not currently match the outside of the house, a fact that would soon be rendered moot when the exterior of the house would receive its makeover to match the gray, white, and stone exterior of the new garage. When all was said and done, it would be like pulling into the driveway of a new house.

"They're doing a great job, aren't they?" Connie said to her husband.

"They sure are. I never thought of a garage this way, but the outside of it is just beautiful."

"The extra storage in the rear behind the house is going to be beautiful, too."

"You're some architect. I'm glad you suggested that touch."

"Can I get you to look at some things?" she said from behind the screen of her laptop.

"Sure. What's up?"

"I'd like you to choose one. We cannot possibly have a brand new garage to house your soon to be ancient car. We just can't. It isn't right. My SUV is new, our garage is new, the outside of our house will soon be new. Your vehicle has to be new. This is a simple fact." She turned the screen around to display a few kinds of sedans she thought he might be interested in.

"I can save you some time and effort, dear wife. I kind of like your SUV. I want one of those."

Connie sat silent for several moments as it dawned on her that she would not have to argue with her other half in order to make this happen.

"You're just going to let me go order you a new SUV? Just like that?"

"Since you're offering to do this for me, yes. Please. I don't know the names of all the doodads your car has but I sure like them. I'd like a silver exterior with a light color interior, kind of like the color of that dishtowel over there."

"I am almost at a loss for words. My husband wants a new silver SUV with a dishtowel cream interior. I'm getting you all the bells and whistles. Then I'll teach you how to use them. It'll take a while for them to find exactly what you want or to customize one for you, but it can be done, and it shall be. Thank you for the honor."

"What do you call the thing that tells you where you're going?"

"That's the navigation system."

"I want one of those."

"And I want to see behind me when I'm backing up like your car shows you."

"That's the backup camera."

"And your car makes lights dimmer behind you."

"Auto-dimming mirrors, also known as electrochromatic."

"Gotta have those. See why it's a good idea if you do this for me? And those little mirrors in the side mirrors that let you see when something is in your blind spot."

"Blind spot mirrors. Or blind spot warning sensors perform the same function."

"And I want the back door to fly open when I tell it to."

Connie chuckled. "Flying back door, got it."

"Really? They call it a flying back door, huh?"

"More like a remote control liftgate. You are too funny. I'm just so glad you are making this concession to modernity, I don't know what to say. I will contact the dealer today as a matter of fact. This is wonderful news! You've moving into the current century!"

"Groovy, baby!"
Chapter 27

The doorbell rang and Qwilleran went to answer it. He ushered the chief of police inside and had him take a seat in the kitchen.

"What brings you this way, Roy?"

"I thought I'd update you on a few things we've found out about the factory fire. You should find them interesting." The host poured coffee for the two of them as the head cop talked.

"It seems a large black pickup truck was seen leaving the scene as the first explosion happened."

"Did you get the plate?"

"I got part of it from someone who lived across the street. Remember the nice lady who sent her sons out with chairs and stuff for us that night? Her name is Imelda Franshone but I'm keeping her identity quiet so as to discourage retribution. She caught the first three letters and the first number as it sped away."

The two men compared notes on the license plate in question. Imelda Franshone caught the part that read MCR-4. Qwilleran's version was the complete MCR-4304.

"I couldn't help but notice your neighbor's got a black pickup in her driveway as I came down the street."

"No, it couldn't be Sally. She's a straight shooter, would never be involved in anything like that. We're going into the organic vegetable growing business next year, as a matter of fact."

"Well, I checked her vehicle out just in case and the plates don't match. That, plus the fact that the pickup Imelda saw was a huge black RAM. McBride's is a Ford F-150."

"And we know whom we saw driving a huge black RAM recently, don't we? I ran back the security footage on the day of their visit again which is how I got their plate number,"

"My gut tells me these are the two we're looking for in connection with the murder of Loretta Garver. This is what I'm thinking: They created a gigantic diversion by blowing up the factory, knowing that law enforcement for miles around would rush there in an attempt to get things under control. Then they rushed back to the museum, killed poor Loretta, and loaded their contraband into trucks and high-tailed it out of these parts. I'm also betting they're not remotely from around here. We'll probably never see them again."

"My gut agrees with your gut, Roy, except for the last thing you said."

"That I doubt we'll ever see them again?"

"Yep. That is, unless we set a trap with bait they can't resist."

"Are you suggesting we advertise that we have illegal assault weapons for sale, cheap? Or what?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"I don't follow you."

"You know I have retained the ancient ritual of reading a print newspaper on a daily basis, right?"

"You're the type who would. And so am I."

"Well, quite by accident, I began seeing strange little ads in the Something the last few weeks. It took me a while to get a handle on them but it came to me all at once. The two guys who killed Loretta are communicating with their ring leader via nonsensical little ads. Someone doesn't want to take a chance on electronic communication, so they're doing it this way in the hopes of remaining hidden."

"Why would they do that when they can use burner phones?"

"Ever meet a really superior hacker? I did so recently, and the things she was telling me were not to be believed. So to prove to me what she was saying was valid, she hacked into my phone while I sat there with it in my pocket. She told me what numbers I'd called and even read the text messages my wife sent me as she continued to drag me into the current technological landscape. She told me that if I were to send her an email she would be able to crack my computer and access every single thing in it, too! Made me glad I don't use one of the things. Betcha that's why these criminals don't use electronics as their main method of communication. And based on that, I betcha their organization is bigger than we would imagine."

"So, you're saying we should bait them with one of the funny little ads? Like you've cracked their code?"

"After the fire it came to me. I remembered some weird little ads that made no sense as I perused the classifieds over the last couple of weeks. I realized someone somewhere had to know what they meant. The boots on ground killing machines were following the instructions in the ads which were written in code. I couldn't forget those strange little ads for some reason, and it finally came to me." Qwilleran took a folded up paper out of his wallet and showed Briggs the wording of the ads as he had remembered them and written them down.

"So they might use a burner phone for a quick confirm, but the actual instructions come in the ads," said Roy. "Say they use a burner one time and chuck it in the trash. I see your point about the hacker and why they would not want to chance any electronic footprint, but one time use for a quick confirm wouldn't get them found out, especially if they use the kind of service where they just load minutes into the phone instead of establishing a monthly ongoing account of sorts. You can put in false info, go into a store and pay cash for one of those cards with a code for phone minutes on it, and load the minutes into a burner phone without anyone ever knowing who you are."

"I'll give you that. But let me explain what these ads mean. See the first one? Read it."

Roy cleared his throat. "Okay. 'Bird flies to strangeness, cocks crow crow crow, dark blanket.' What the heck?"

"Remember the first museum exhibit? The one that's still running? The title is 'Stranger Than Fiction'. I believe the word 'strangeness' named the museum as the location."

"I'm obviously not good at this. What does the rest mean?"

"When I ran back the footage after the first box of weapons went missing from the museum grounds, the security camera footage showed the action in the parking lot began right around three a.m. 'Cocks crow crow crow' three times equals the instruction to do their task at three o'clock. I believe the part about the dark blanket means do it at night. Bird refers to the chopper they were to use."

"So, the message to the grunts in boots was 'Take the chopper to the museum at three a.m.' and get the weapons'. That's what you're saying that meant?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying it meant. Read the second one."

Roy read aloud: "Campfire, no strangeness queen, disinfect now."

"Take a crack."

"Okay. Because it has already happened, I'm going to guess it meant to create a distraction by setting a fire severe enough to occupy law enforcement for miles around, then they're instructed to murder Loretta-the strangeness queen-so as to leave no witness, and then I'm going to say the part about 'disinfect' means to clean the museum out of the rest of the weapons it still had."

"And the word 'now' meant do it immediately at that time, just as soon as they could get the job done. Don't even wait till after hours or till another day. You're getting the hang of it. Now read the one I composed. Go ahead, read the third one."

Roy's eyes fell on the third entry on the piece of paper as he read silently this time. The two men looked at each other.
Chapter 28

"Didja see it?"

"Yep. We move at ten tonight. Meet me at the usual place."

****

A large black RAM made its way north and left the Interstate a few miles south of Moose County. The occupants were two tall, muscular men dressed in black tees, camouflage pants, and bomber jackets. They entered a fast food joint and got burgers and fries and sat in the front window eating their meal in the brightly lit place. They discussed their instructions and how they were to carry them out later that night. One of them got up and put their trays on an empty table and sat back down. Then he pulled a large piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it as he laid it on the table between them. He began pointing to things on the paper and they discussed their instructions point by point once again. They were totally relaxed. Having done a superb job of flying under the radar thus far, they had nothing to worry about. They were being paid extra well for this job, a fact which had put them both in an even better mood at the moment than usual. The paper was folded back up and put back into the first man's pocket. He checked his watch.

"Time to move."

They stood and walked outside, got back into the RAM and pulled out of the parking lot. They drove to a spot about three miles south of the middle of Pickax City to the west and slowed down to look for their destination which quickly became evident. They pulled onto the deserted looking industrial type property and parked. Each man removed a handgun from his jacket and tucked it into the waistband of his pants. They left their jackets in the cab, then took large canvas sacks out of the bed of the truck. After scrutinizing the area, they concluded it was as deserted as they were told it would be.

"Easy money," said the second man.

"Yep."

They walked to a deserted building and shined their flashlights inside, then walked around the perimeter from opposite directions. Nothing.

"I'll get the truck."

The RAM was pulled up to a rear doorway which had been left unlocked for them. They went inside and walked up and down the aisles of the abandoned machine shop looking for the items they had been sent there to acquire. They perused an aisle populated by certain kinds of turret lathes. Then they went down an aisle of 1940's era Heald Redhead ID and OD grinders, then another filled with gear cutters. At the very back of the dark shop they found what they were looking for. Tall and wide, the vintage Universal brand surface grinders stood silently in the furthest corner. The doors to the enclosed tables where the pieces of steel were laid to be ground to size were shut, so they began opening them one by one. Each of the four yielded their prizes to the two men. They carefully loaded the contents into the canvas sacks they had brought in from their truck. Then one by one, they carried the heavy sacks to the door where the truck was parked. Each time they took out a sack, they had to wind their way all the way back to the far corner to get another sack. Less than an hour from the time they had first driven onto the property, they brought the last sack out and put it into the bed of the RAM. Then they took large tarps and covered up the sacks and tied everything down tight. Just as they were preparing to open the doors to get back into the truck, everything changed. Huge lights suddenly blinded them and they heard a loud voice.

"FBI! Freeze! You are under arrest! Don't move!"

They heard the unmistakable sound of large weapons being aimed at them and cocked.

"You are surrounded, do not move!"

Still blinded by the super bright lights, the pair could not have seen anyone to shoot at even if they would have been foolish enough to attempt to do so. They heard the sound of several pairs of boots as SWAT agents made their way to the men. The perpetrators were disarmed and handcuffed, then searched thoroughly for other weapons. When they could finally focus their eyes, they saw two large black panel trucks, a large black SUV, a tow truck, and a whole lot of large, menacing black-clad SWAT agents in the parking lot. Stepping away from the SWAT crowd, a tall man with immaculate hair stood in front of the two suspects and showed them his badge.

"Tony Janko, Kevin Drake, you are both under arrest for trafficking in assault weapons, cocaine, heroin, and for the murder of museum director Loretta Garver. _You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?"_

_Both men answered yes._

_"I am FBI special agent Ed Wingate. With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?"_

_Janko spoke: "How the hell did you know our names?"_

_"I'll be happy to explain that to you in our office. If you have nothing to say to me at this present time, you will be transported to the FBI office thirty miles south of here where we can discuss whatever you wish. Do you have anything to say to me at this time?"_

_Drake said, "Let's go to your office. We can tell you nothing or we can tell you lots of things. Depends on how good you treat us." The petulance in the creep's voice was unmistakable._

_SWAT agents removed the tarp from the back of the RAM and checked the sacks._

_"It's all here," said the lead SWAT agent to Wingate._

_"Load these two into the first truck. Hook the RAM up and tow it along with us, make sure you get their key to that truck, too. A team: move out; B team: remain and collect evidence inside the building," said Wingate._

_Each man set about carrying out his assignment with immaculate precision and professionalism. Wingate stopped the leader of A team and said to him quietly: "I want loaded weapons aimed at those two every second of the way including inside the truck. I want four of your men sitting in the back with those two. Leave nothing to chance. They haven't gone undetected this long by being bad at their jobs. Make sure you chain their ankles together, too, and beware they will try to kick your faces off anyway. They were both dishonorably discharged from the Marines for doing the same kinds of things there that they did here, I read their dossiers. They are without morals or conscience, remember that."_

The leader of A team nodded and went to carry out his instructions as Wingate went to tend to other things.

Two SWAT agents got into the truck and took up positions pointing their weapons right at Janko and Drake as the other two SWAT agents put the pair into the truck and got in themselves. They started chaining the pair's ankles together. As if fulfilling a premonition which neither man had heard spoken, both Janko and Drake began raising their legs and kicking the SWAT agents who were trying to chain their ankles.

"You've got to be kidding me! This is a gun, stupid!" shouted one of the agents who had gotten into the truck first. He pushed the barrel of his weapon into the chest of Janko and the other agent did the same to Drake. The two idiots spat at the SWAT agents while still kicking away, at which time the agents had no choice but to hit the derelicts in their heads with the butts of their weapons hard enough to knock them both unconscious. It was either that, or shoot them to death right then and there which was to no one's benefit. Their ankles were then chained together and locked down to thick steel loops welded onto the interior of the truck near their feet. There wouldn't be any more kicking for the time being.
Chapter 29

Upon arrival at FBI headquarters, the two unconscious men were unchained, dragged out of the truck, and unceremoniously dumped on the ground. The agents prodded them with their boots till the two began to stir. Then they were hauled up to their feet and made to walk into the building under their own power with their hands still cuffed and ankles still chained together while little birdies flew in circles above their addled brains.

The two men were put into separate interrogation rooms in special chairs which had more thick steel loops welded onto the legs. Once again, they were chained down so that they could not kick their interrogators.

Left to wait and stew for over two hours, the hungry, thirsty men who had throbbing headaches went on to say absolutely nothing of interest whatsoever to their interrogators for over two more hours. Then one of them broke.

"How about some food? And something to drink?" said Drake. "I might be inclined to give you something if you feed me."

Two sandwiches, chips, and bottled water made their way into the interrogation room soon after the man in charge motioned one of the armed guards inside the room to go make it so. Drake ate after his handcuffs were removed. As he was finishing up he spoke.

"Man, you can leave the cuffs off. I won't make any trouble."

"Sure, we can try that. Remember what happened last time you acted up."

Just at that moment, Ed Wingate walked into the room and sat down across from Drake as the criminal finished the last bite of his food and swigged from a bottle of water. The other agent remained in the room.

"I see you've been sufficiently fed and watered." The man with the perfect hair might as well have been talking to a horse. Though it was dark outside, he kept his sunglasses on under the bright lights.

"Yeah."

"Let's get right to it. Who is the person who gave you your orders? Give me a name."

"We got our specifics from newspaper ads after an initial phone call. They would send us burner phones and called us on them. After a job we usually had instructions to ditch the phones."

"How did they send you phones?"

"UPS."

"At what address did they UPS phones to you?"

Drake gave him the address he'd been living at for the past three years, the length of time he'd been working for the unseen boss with no name. Wingate wrote the address down and handed the paper to the other agent, who handed it off to another agent he then met at the door.

"Is Janko above you in rank? Does he give you orders?""

"That's usually me if we gotta figure out how to do stuff, in what order, ya know. He's a follower. Man, you got some Tylenol? My head's killin' me."

Wingate motioned to the agent in the room with them who then left and returned with a bottle of Tylenol and a fresh bottle of water. Drake rubbed his aching head and gulped down three pills.

"Who shot the museum director in her head?"

"That was Tony's job."

"Who ordered Tony to kill her?"

Drake shifted in his chair.

"You give the orders. You told him to shoot Loretta Garver, didn't' you?"

"Yeah."

"Did you and Janko set fire to the chemical factory that same day?"

"Yeah. Needed a distraction to keep the cops busy."

"Did you and Janko then return to the museum and remove crates full of firearms from the museum basement?"

"Yeah. That was the job."

"How did you take the weapons off the museum grounds?"

"Eighteen-wheeler."

"In broad daylight?"

"In broad daylight."

"Was there a third party involved?"

"A driver, yeah."

"Name?"

"Neal something or other. Only worked with him the one time."

"Did you know vintners Mark and Ella Davenport?"

"No."

"Did you know Louis or Cindy Varney?"

"No."

"Is this phone which we took off of you one of the ones your boss sent to you?"

"Yeah."

Wingate picked the phone up and checked the recent calls list. There was only one number in it, which he wrote down and handed to an agent standing outside the door which he then shut again.

"How did you become involved in these jobs to begin with?"

"A few years ago I was in a bar playing pool with some dude who thought he was a hustler or something. I beat the pants off him and he bought me a drink to boot. He started asking me questions, what did I do, ya know. I told him I was between jobs. We were both ex-marines and he said he could use someone to do some under the table work providing I wasn't a stickler to obeying the law, words to that effect. I told him I had no problems in that regard. He gave me small jobs at first to try me out, I guess. I did good and he started giving me bigger jobs that paid more. I'd always get my money in cash in an envelope when a job was carried out successfully. We had different drop spots. Sometimes a stranger would just walk up and hand me an envelope and keep walking. He never cheated me, I'll give him that. The jobs started changing after a while. No names, no faces, a new method of contact. I knew I was getting into bigger things."

"How much did the museum job pay you?"

"My cut was twenty thousand. That was for airlifting out the first batch, orchestrating the chemical plant fire, and then busting down walls in the museum basement and removing the big batch of weapons while the fire burned. And for eliminating the museum director. Most jobs didn't require stuff like that."

"What is the name of the guy you played pool with who hired you initially? And don't tell me you don't know that piece of information."

"Mike Fabian."

"Did he say where he lived?"

"We met in Chicago so I just assumed he was from there. We'd work an area for a while and then move onto the next one. We've spent a lot of time in that last little hick town because it was so easy to operate out of there. Not exactly an elite police force, you might say. They probably spend more time chasing lost dogs than criminals."

Wingate opened a folder and took out a large piece of paper with pictures of faces on it.

"Do any of these people look familiar to you?" He unfolded the paper and turned it around so that Drake could see it from his angle. He looked at each of the faces and opened his mouth as if to answer, but stopped. He pulled the paper toward himself and held it up a bit, then pointed.

"That one."

"What's his name?"

"That's Mike Fabian."

The questions went on for a while.

"Is there anything else you can think of which you think would be pertinent to our case?" asked Wingate.

"Nope. I suppose you'll cut me a break because I cooperated."

"I can put in a good word with the court when your case goes to trial."

"Thanks."
Chapter 30

"It'll be dusk soon," said Qwilleran as he checked his watch. I'm going to have a quick walk around the yard to see if I can pinpoint that noise we keep hearing. I don't see anything on our security cameras."

"Watch yourself," said Connie. "Promise me you'll run right back inside if you come upon any large visitors."

"Oh, you can bet on that, sweet wife. You can bet on that."

A slight shudder went up his spine as he began walking the perimeter of the back yard, then the front yard. It was still light so he could see perfectly, but he could not locate the source of the weird clicking sound they had been hearing for a while. As he made his way to the street, he bent down and retrieved an uneaten box of donuts at the foot of the mailbox which Linda and her kids had left untouched that day. He was glad Romeo wasn't there to see what he did next as he walked up the drive. On the side of the newly built garage he flipped up the lid to one of the garbage bins which they kept there and deposited the donuts in it, box and all. Suddenly he felt as if he was being watched. He heard a slight sound and turned around slowly to find Susan Atwater standing about six feet behind him aiming a nine millimeter handgun straight at his heart.

"Pardon me for not calling," she said as she glared at him. He looked at the gun and then at the look on her face. This was not going to end well.

"I've had about enough of you, Qwilleran," she said.

"Why do you say that? What have I done?" Playing stupid works sometimes. Not this time.

"Well, lemme see here. You take out my boots on the ground operatives, persuade them to testify against me thereby casting suspicion on me to the local cops and the FBI for trafficking assault weapons and drugs, and for murdering the accountant and your ex-girlfriend, ruin my alibis for various things I'd managed to accomplish during my time up here in this godforsaken wilderness which I can't wait to leave behind, steal my assault weapons from me, expose me to legal and financial ruin, and try to send me to jail for the rest of my life for starters. Sound familiar?" He sensed very silent movement behind her but kept his eyes directly on her exclusively.

"I beg to differ with you. The FBI was onto you long before I ever knew your name. As a matter of fact, I am the reason they did not take you into custody on the day of my wedding reception. You recall you were being followed by an FBI agent after you left and I jumped into my car and dissuaded the car between us from continuing its pursuit of you as you made your way home that day? I didn't know who he was, and I was in full on protection mode of a damsel in distress and sought to do you only good, as I remember it."

"That's because you're an idiot. What? You wanna cookie?"

"I would much prefer you put that gun down."

"There comes a time in everyone's life when they have to pay for their crimes. This is your day."

"And when do you plan to pay for yours?" Something quite tall was moving silently behind Atwater. It was now close enough to hear the conversation.

"That's the beauty of all this." She gestured at their surroundings for a moment with the gun she held. "I don't plan on paying for a thing. You should be so lucky. Pray tell, what do you think that little wifey of yours will do when she comes outside to find your dead body lying in the yard? Hmmm?" she said with a wicked smile.

"Well, first off, I doubt you're going to shoot me even though that's what you're threatening to do right now with that nine millimeter you're pointing at my chest." His voice suddenly sounded as if he was speaking for someone else's benefit.

A look of realization came on the criminal's face as she spun around to look for the person he was verbally signaling, albeit too late.

"You don't scare me! I'll kill your friend, too!" shouted Atwater as she turned.

But with one loud shotgun blast, Susan Atwater crumpled to the ground despite her best efforts to shoot the person holding the shotgun first.

"Sally! I've never been so glad to see anyone in my entire life!" Qwilleran walked over and embraced his neighbor.

"I heard her say she was planning to kill you! Thanks for the tip on the heat she was packing! She aimed that nine at me when she turned around! I didn't have a choice, Qwill!"

"No, you didn't! She would have killed us both if you'd given her the chance!"

Connie appeared around the side of the garage right about that time. She glanced down and saw Atwater's body.

"She had a gun pointed at me and Sally shot her just as she was getting ready to shoot me!"

Connie didn't speak right away. She finally recovered enough to say, "Is she...?"

Qwilleran bent down and felt for a pulse. "She's dead."

"I'll call the police!" said Connie as she dashed back into the house.

"Gosh, I wasn't trying to kill her, Qwill!" said Sally. "I just wanted to make sure she didn't kill us!"

"I know, Sally, I know."

A few minutes later, three cruisers and a morgue truck pulled up to the property.

"Qwill, I heard the call and had to come and check this out for myself!" said Roy Briggs.

"Sally McBride saved my life! Atwater had a gun pointed at me and my neighbor was in the right place at the right time-for me, that is! The woman spun around and tried to shoot Sally, too!" Qwilleran told every detail to an officer who wrote everything down. Sally told her version of events to another officer. The area was taped off as a crime scene. The police chief drifted back over to his officers. Sara Boros came walking over and watched as police photographers took pictures of the body and the surrounding area before she began her own work.

"What would I do for a living if you ever left Moose County?" she cracked at the town's most famous resident. "It just follows you around, doesn't it?"

"If you mean crime follows me around, I'd agree you're unfortunately right about that, Sara."

"Death follows you around, Qwill! Lucky for you the new hero of Moose County is your next door neighbor! Hello, Sally."

McBride nodded in the coroner's direction. "I can save you a lot of work, Sara. This corpse's absolute cause of death was a shotgun shell that came from my gun which I had to turn over to that officer over there for him to inspect. You can write that down and save yourself some time."

"What exactly were you doing skulking around Qwill's garage, if I might be so bold?" asked Sara. Moose County's new hero drew in a long breath and shot a quick look at Connie, who was now standing next to her husband.

"As I told the cops, I was sitting in my kitchen when suddenly the hair stood up on the back of my neck." Sally shot another look at Connie. "I looked out the window to my right and saw something large and dark moving through my property, so I grabbed my shotgun and came outside to give it a good old Moose County welcome. It made its made their way over here and I followed. Little did I know that I'd find someone pointing a gun at one of my new business partners."

"You always welcome visitors at gunpoint?"

"Some visitors," answered the tall woman.

The police and coroner spent hours at the property doing their jobs. Roy Briggs walked back up to the group.

"I'm just about positive I'll be ruling this shooting to be self-defense, completely justified based on the testimony we've collected so far. We'll return your gun to you as soon as we complete the necessary tests in order to close the case," said Roy to Sally.

"I'm not without other protection, so keep it as long as you need it."

"We should have the gun back to you in a day or two."

"Sounds good." The group began to break up as the body was finally loaded into the morgue truck.

"Sally, let me give you a lift back to your place. It's been quite a day," said Connie.

"I'll take you up on that," replied the hero. The two women got into Connie's SUV and pulled out of the driveway.

"You were going to kill it, weren't you?" asked Connie.

"You bet I was, just as soon as I could get close enough to take a shot. I saw that thing walking across my property big as you please and I set out to do exactly what I told you I would if it came back around here again."

"I doubt most people would have the nerve to follow one of those things on foot the way you did."

"I figured it would disappear if I jumped in the truck and took off after it. They're mighty big but they're also mighty fast from what I've heard."

"And then it headed to our land. Great. During the years I've been learning about them I've heard that regular bullets often fail to penetrate their thick skin."

"Depends on the type of ammo. We'll see about that next time I have one in my sights."

They pulled up in McBride's driveway. "Come around back of my vehicle and take a look at something," said Connie. She had already opened the liftgate by pushing a button on the dash. The two women walked around behind the SUV. Connie peeled back an old sheet to display the footprint casts she'd made after the visit to her home by the hairy beast they were casually not mentioning by name. She held one up and handed it to Sally.

"Now that's one BIG foot!" exclaimed Sally. "I can't believe you went to the trouble of casting these yourself! Man, that thing's heavy! What did your hubby have to say when you showed these to him?"

"Well, I didn't exactly get that far yet. His stress level was so high after he saw that thing I didn't think he needed to see the hard evidence of it. I thought I'd let him calm down a while before I brought them into the house. Speaking of which, it's dark now so I'd better be getting back so he doesn't worry the thing kidnapped me. I'll wait till you get into your house and lock the door. I have to say, I feel better with you around for my neighbor, Sally."

The women bid each other good night as Sally disappeared safely into her house. Connie arrived back at her own property as the last of the police vehicles was getting ready to leave. She pressed a button over her head and the garage door opened. At least there would be no walking outside to get from the garage into the house anymore. Her husband followed her car into the garage and made sure they were both safe and sound as the door closed completely and automatically locked.

"I was about ready to drive down to Sally's and get you myself," he said to her.

"I know we agreed to stay indoors at night for a while but this was no ordinary day to say the least, and there were people around us. Thank God for Sally McBride!"

"Amen to that!"

They walked into the kitchen to a loud serenade as two hungry cats sang the song of their people.

"Oh my gosh, we missed your dinner, didn't we?" Loud wailing in Cat continued as Connie walked toward the refrigerator. "Let's see, do we have anything in here for you two to eat, or will you have to wait till tomorrow?" she teased. The wailing got even louder.

Turkey was cut up and heated gently in stock. The two Siamese were fed extra large portions due to the fact that they were in their expert opinion literally starving to death now. The wailing stopped as the gobbling began.

"What's in that bowl over there in the corner?" asked the man of the house.

"I thought I'd try something. I bought this high protein kibble, but I just put out a bowl yesterday when they weren't even in the room, and didn't say anything about it or try to encourage them to eat it. Judging from the fact that the bowl is half empty, I'd say they like it. Just don't tell them it's c-a-t food.

"You never cease to amaze me! My hat is off to you. You got them to eat c-a-t food." He glanced at his watch. "Geez, it's ten o'clock already. I'm suddenly tired but I don't think I can sleep."

"That's understandable. Plus, your stomach is calling to you. We didn't exactly eat any dinner either."

"You're right. I could eat a sandwich," he said as he walked to the refrigerator. "Ham?"

"Ham's good."

Everything needed to make sandwiches was brought to the table and the couple ate their first meal since early afternoon.

"Funny how much better food tastes when you're really hungry, huh?"

Connie agreed. Crunching sounds came from the far corner as the cats dove into the bowl of kibble after finishing their turkey.

Looking over in that direction, Qwilleran said, "This is promising."

"I'm glad because kibble is good for their dental health. Good little kitties. Quiet little kitties. I should be used to it by now but, man, they have a unique sound to their voices!"

"The Siamese Serenade. I've never heard that sound coming out of any other kind of animal, that's for sure."

"Especially when they're hungry or displeased about something."

The cats took care of their personal business, and then eventually jumped from the counter to the top of the refrigerator and groomed themselves while lying on their big blue cushion. Connie flicked the kitchen TV on as the local news was starting. They listened in silence till the weather portion of the show started halfway through the broadcast.

"No mention of what happened today. Good. Maybe it'll fly under the radar until the cops have finished their investigation into the details. I doubt Sally will be telling anyone about it and I know I won't bring the subject up to anyone. Atwater would have shot me in cold blood had not our wonderful neighbor stepped in."

"I'll say it again: Thank God for Sally McBride."

"If there's one thing advancing age keeps reinforcing to me, it's that the basic things in life are the best. I don't care if I ever dine in another fancy, over-priced restaurant or sit on a chair worth a million bucks, I'd rather have the best wife in the world," he said as he gestured to Connie, "and a neighbor like Sally McBride."

"And a goat like Linda?"

"And a goat like Linda."

"And two big-mouthed meezers?"

"And two big-mouthed meezers."

"And a good baseball cap?"

"And a good baseball cap."

"And a car with a back door that flies open?"

"And a car with a back door that flies open," he grinned.

Quiet snoring could be heard coming from on top the refrigerator.
Chapter 31

"Qwilleran. Good to see you again."

"Again? I don't believe we've met."

"We have, actually. At the museum."

"When exactly was this?"

"At the gathering after the funeral for Miss Duncan."

Qwilleran thought back but couldn't remember meeting this person, as the look on his face belied.

"Look in the ground," said the man with the perfect hair. It took Qwilleran a second or two.

"You?! You're Candonella LaFleur?!"

"Guilty as charged. FBI special agent Ed Wingate." The men shook hands.

"I knew you were no friend of my aunt Fanny! I knew it! So the FBI makes you dress like an old lady in order to do your job?"

"She's one of my characters. There's no length I won't go to in order to get the job done," said the special agent matter-of-factly. "I've used her a number of times." He seemed rather proud of his creation. "You might say I'm good at disguises."

"Why did you tell me to look in the ground? Why didn't you just do your FBI thing and show up with a warrant and tear up the place yourself?"

"This investigation had been going on for a long time and we were losing traction. I knew if we were going to smoke this group of criminals out we couldn't let them know we were in the area investigating things, and they had had an uncanny way of knowing what we were up to in the past, so I wasn't going to take any chances this time. If we'd gone in and dug the place up they would have gone underground and we never would have seen them again. I figured if I left you with a tantalizing puzzle you would try to put it together."

"You don't know me from a cord of wood but you thought I'd try to figure it out."

"My research indicates you're smarter than most people."

"The FBI has researched me? That's a comforting thought. So, you knew there were weapons still on the museum grounds from the get-go?"

"We didn't know for sure. Just recently we received intel which made us believe the chances were really good that's where a lot of the weapons we were looking for happened to wind up. I couldn't believe my luck when I heard you say you wished you could run into a town historian who knew what the tunnel was used for when I was at the museum. That made my job so much easier that day. You fell right into it. Thanks, by the way."

"For being gullible, or for digging up the first box of weapons?"

"For digging up the weapons, of course," smiled Wingate.

"You're welcome."

"Now all we have to do is extract some more information about the leadership of the group, if they even know it."

"Oh, I bet you I can help you in that area."

"How so?"

"Why were you following Susan Atwater around at my wedding reception?"

"She was a person of interest."

"So, you heard my neighbor shot and killed her while she was in the process of preparing to do that to me?"

"I got the report that said she'd been killed, I didn't know how."

"I apparently got on Miss Atwater's last nerve. She came to my house that evening and surprised me by my garbage cans, of all places. She had a gun pointed at me and said she'd had enough of me."

The FBI man had flipped open a small notebook and began writing in it as Qwilleran talked.

"Go on."

"She said I'd taken out her boots on the ground operatives, cast suspicion about her to the local cops and you folks for all kinds of things including multiple murders, stolen her assault weapons, tried to put her in jail for the rest of her life, stuff like that."

"What happened then?"

"My neighbor happened to be in the area wielding her shotgun because she saw something on her property, and she followed whatever it was to my house. She came up behind Atwater and heard her say she was going to kill me. Atwater spun around when she caught onto the fact that we were no longer alone, and she tried to kill my neighbor, but my neighbor killed her instead. Sally didn't mean to kill her, but she had no choice."

"Interesting."

"What?"

"What is your neighbor's name?"

"Sally McBride. She lives on the property next door just west of us. We both used to have vineyards but a recent tornado tore down all our vines and damaged our processing facilities to the point of no return. We're going to try our hand at growing and harvesting organic vegetables come spring."

"Did she say what or whom she was following to your property"?

"That kind of got lost in the mix, I don't recall. Maybe a bear or something?"

"Good. Anything else you can think of to add to the conversation?"

"We need to find Cindy Varney, the wife of the accountant who was murdered. Does anyone know where she ran off to?"

"That's the question of the hour. I'd like to know that tidbit of information myself. Here. If you happen to find out, give me a call." Wingate handed Qwilleran a business card.

"Sure will."

"Gotta be shoving off now. I have to go raid something."

"Like what?"

"Sorry, that's classified," said Wingate with a wink. "Ciao!"

And with that, Ed Wingate, his square jaw, and his perfect hair left the building.
Chapter 32

Finding himself in need of a break from life 400 miles north of everywhere, the man had decided to take a trip down below to clear his head and tend to something he needed to address. The timing was perfect though not intentional. It was a windy day in the small West Virginia town. Half overcast, you would have thought it was November instead of June. Blustery winds blew small twigs and such around He entered the cemetery grounds and saw several people scattered here and there at the graves of their loved ones. He had never done anything like this, but there was a first time for everything. He checked out the drawing of the grave locations he'd gotten from the cemetery office, and walked slowly to the middle of the property which was enclosed by tall iron fencing. Then he made a right turn, walked to the end of the row, and there it was. He drew his breath in sharply.

Though he had never been a fan of such things, he felt he had to say something but didn't know exactly where to begin. Should he yell? Scream? Complain? Forgive? Where to begin, indeed. Recent research had turned up shocking facts he could not come to terms with, and he had the innate need to close the can of worms that had recently popped open without his permission. He didn't know what he expected to gain from this sojourn to West Virginia. Suddenly he heard someone talking. A few seconds later he realized he was listening to the sound of his own voice as he talked to his father, who had died a mere four years prior according to the date on the headstone.

"How could you do it to us? How could you abandon us? Do you have any idea how hard Mom had to work to support us after you bugged out? Huh? What the hell kind of man were you anyway pretending to be killed in a robbery you were committing no less?! How did you pull off that lie?! Friends in the police department?!" The acrimony in his voice surprised him. "What right did you have to live so much longer than my mother did? You killed her you no good...." He went on for a while venting anger he had not previously known he possessed. After a couple of minutes, he was cut short by a female voice when he stopped to catch his breath.

"You must be Jim Qwilleran."

His head swiveled around in the direction of the sound. He knew no one who lived remotely close to this state, let alone in it. His eyes had been riveted on the headstone in front of him till everything else had faded away. It was as if he had entered a tunnel without sound or sight or movement till she spoke. How much had she heard? How long had she been standing there?

"I'm Lavinia LaGrange Staunton. Everyone calls me Vinnie. I believe we are related."

She extended her hand as she smiled at him tenderly. An utter state of shock descended upon him which rendered him suddenly motionless. She withdrew her hand as she looked down at the ground and quietly said, "All right then." She was holding a small wreath which she then laid on the grave in front of them.

Taking a moment to recover, he looked over at a well-dressed, well-spoken woman of tall stature who bore an unmistakable family resemblance to his own. When he mustered up the wits to speak he said, "And just how do you think we are related, madame?" in a frosty tone. Walls up, locked and loaded, though that wouldn't last long.

"Dana LaGrange, at whose grave we are standing, was my father. I believe that makes you my brother. I could tell who you were by the things you were saying."

Unused to the sensation, and embarrassed by the open display of emotion which he could not control, Qwilleran's eyes began to smart as tears welled up in them rapidly. Having become accustomed to being related to absolutely nobody on earth who would have anything to do with him except his long deceased mother since he was a very little boy, the sight of a sibling standing almost next to him now was sending his emotions into a tailspin. She spoke again in a kind voice.

"I see the resemblance. You look just like our brother and our father! It's amazing-take a look at this, I always carry his picture in my wallet. I can't believe I am fortunate enough to run into you here! I never thought you'd be paying Dad a visit, and on Father's Day, no less!"

Qwilleran was breathing heavily now as he looked at the picture she was showing him of his father. The woman stepped closer and took his arm. Then she dabbed gently at the tears running down his cheeks with a tissue she pulled out of her pocket. Her eyes were wide with compassion and his heart felt as if it was doing flip flops. He loved her instantly in spite of himself. His sister, she was his sister!

"I know this is a lot to take in. I would like you to know something. After his first wife sent him packing, Dad came here to start over. He'd done some stupid things he needed to get away from, so he changed his name and got a new start here. Our brother, Winston, inherited some of Dad's less intelligent tendencies, and he paid for those with his life. Dad was out of work and desperate, and was at least trying to feed you and your mom when he made his worst mistake and tried to commit robbery to get food money-it wasn't a way of life for him. Winston, on the other hand, was just plain greedy and totally self-centered. He was in and out of trouble with the law all his life since he was a teenager. This is going to sound awful, but we never got along and I don't even miss him. I guess if I said 'good riddance' that would make me sound really harsh, but I'll confide to you that's the way I feel about him. He was just a violent, rotten little boy from the time he was very small-shiftless, lazy, and always lying about everything. No one could figure out what was wrong with him. Because of his one great mistake, Dad always felt Winston's behavior was all his fault. However, I will tell you that our family is full of mostly good people, with a few characters here and there. You have a big, wonderful family to get to know if you want us because we surely want you!" said Vinnie with a big smile. She pointed a few plots over from their father's and said, "We put a grave marker for Winston over there. We don't have the whole story but we need to have his body transported here somehow when we figure out how."

Qwilleran glanced over but had no interest in his wayward brother's demise. That story would hold for another time. He was having a hard enough time dealing with what was transpiring at this moment, a moment he would vividly remember all his life.

"How did you know my name?" he sniffed.

"I wasn't trying to eavesdrop but I couldn't help but hear what you were saying as I walked up to Dad's grave. You didn't seem to notice I was there. We had heard from the lady who runs the birth certificate office of city hall that you had asked for a copy of Winston's birth certificate and you told her he was your brother, or you suspected such-I don't remember exactly how she put it. We were so thrilled to hear that the older brother we were once told we had was still living that we were beside ourselves, but we didn't know how to contact you! The birth certificate lady is a family friend. She didn't remember where she sent the copy of Winston's birth certificate off to. She just remembered your name. I guess you spelled it for her a number of times."

"Why did you say our father's 'first wife sent him packing'?"

"Because she had lost favor with her family on account of the fact that they didn't like him at all, and she was trying to get back into their good graces. She had gone mighty sour on Dad and his inability to support the three of you. We were told her family had a lot of money but that they cut her off when she insisted on marrying Dad. We have letters written to Dad by your mother where he had obviously tried to patch things up with her but she would have none of it. He at least wanted to blend our two families together but there was no way she would allow it, nor would she allow him any access to you whatsoever and she got the law on her side on that one, saying that Dad's "criminal behavior" eliminated his parental rights and the judge ruled in her favor-we have a copy of that paperwork she sent him, too. It broke his heart. He knew he'd screwed some things up pretty badly, but she just would not forgive him and told him he would never see you again. My God! I'm standing here with my big brother!" Tears ran down Vinnie's face which caused the same thing to happen to Qwilleran all over again. The two embraced and hugged each other for a long time.

His brain was spinning. His mother wouldn't reconcile with his father and his new family? She had told him his father had died when he was just a small child! He would have to read the aforementioned letters in his mother's own handwriting telling his father to stay away before he would believe she had done something so despicable; not his mother, not by a longshot! But his loyalty to the memory of his mother was now beginning to give way to the fact that somewhere deep inside, he suddenly knew that this woman, who had told him she was his sister, was also telling him the truth.

What he could not know at the time was that he would soon get a lesson in the kind of blind trust a little child puts in a parent which he would never forget. But that would have to wait because there was important business to attend to 400 miles north of everywhere.
Chapter 33

He didn't exactly know how to describe the feeling, but something was scratching around in his gut. Of the myriad facts which had come to light since the first murder, Qwilleran felt most of the puzzle pieces were present, but they weren't fitting together very well. There were too many loose ends which were yet to be tied up. Did anybody know why Polly Duncan had returned to Pickax? If so, he hadn't heard. Had she come to stay? Or just to visit? Had Atwater done the actual killings herself? She was the bragging type for sure, but she had not claimed to have murdered Louis Varney or Polly herself even though she was the kind who would certainly brag about those accomplishments if she'd procured them for her resume. She had mentioned her boots on the ground operatives being taken out, but she didn't name them or verify anything about Janko and Drake. And during hours of intense questioning which didn't yield nearly the information the FBI had hoped for, Janko and Drake swore repeatedly that they didn't know who was at the helm of the organization they worked for. Even when they were individually offered sweet deals without the other's knowledge, they still had not yet given the FBI the one thing Ed Wingate wanted: The name of the person at the top of the tier, or even the next level up from the two of them. However, the Bureau wasn't done with them, and kept trying.

Then there were Mark and Ella Davenport, the vintners from whom he had purchased his house. Where did they disappear to exactly? How come nobody knew that including the FBI? There was the nonsense killing of Polly Duncan. One could imagine the murder of Louis Varney was so that he, as the vineyard accountant, would not talk about any irregularities he may have noticed in the books if the illegal weapons and substances were being moved through the vineyard owners, but Polly? Why on earth would anybody kill her? Certainly she would never be mixed up in anything so dishonest and illegal. Her killing just didn't make sense. It seemed to make perfect sense why Cindy Varney left. She didn't want to end up the way her husband did, one could understand that easily enough.

Where did the weapons in question originate from? South America? The Middle East? New Orleans? Where? Who had stored them in the museum? And how long had they been there before being retrieved? Having been known to hide in the basement of the museum and use the tunnel long after she was believed to be dead, was his former attorney, Penelope Goodwinter, involved before she met her gruesome end? What was Susan Atwater doing at his wedding reception? She wasn't exactly the type to stop by looking for a free meal. And how did FBI special agent Ed Wingate get his hair to stay so perfectly in place all the time?

"I need coffee. Wanna cup?" he asked his wife.

"Top me off."

"I need food, too. What say we go to the Chinese place after we gulp down some more of this java?"

"I'm lazy. What say you go pick up takeout and bring it back and we serve ourselves?"

"I can do that. I'm vying for the Husband of the Year award this time around."

"Shall I call in the usual order?"

"Add some Crab Rangoon in there and you know the rest of my stuff."

They sipped their coffee for a bit and Qwilleran left to go pick up their food. He was acclimating to his new SUV rather well. He had only opened the liftgate twice by accident while actually driving down the road, and had even begun to call some features by their correct names. He had actually referred to the backup camera as just that only the day before. Connie knew that with patience and repetition, one day he would actually call the navigation system the navigation system instead of referring to it as "the TV screen road map thing". She thought she would give him some practice at answering the phone using the steering wheel control buttons, so she dialed his mobile number. It rang for a while and then another while and just as she was about to give up and hang up, very loud music came blasting into her ear. She thought she could hear him yelling something in the background.

"Jim! Turn the radio down! Jim!" She knew his taste in music, and the noise she was hearing wasn't it. She thought she heard him yelling again.

"Jim! Turn the radio down! Use the dial if you can't find the command on the screen!"

He promptly hung up on her. She began to chuckle, then began to wonder how he got the radio to play at the same time he was taking her call through the car's speaker system. Hmmm. He wasn't smart enough to do that on purpose, plus, she didn't even think that was actually possible. Curiosity would see her test that out herself sometime or call the dealership to find out if her husband had accidentally done that; accidentally, because there was certainly no way he would ever figure out how to do that on purpose. It was indeed entertaining to observe her own personal dinosaur lumbering slowly into the twenty-first century. Before long, she heard the garage door go up as he pulled his SUV inside chock full of Chinese goodness.

"Oh, that smells good! I can't wait to dig in."

"I'm sorry I hung up on you," said Qwilleran as he dug cartons of food out of two bags. Connie laid out silverware and napkins.

"That's okay. I'm proud that you figured out how to answer the phone using the steering wheel controls."

"Is that what I did?"

"Were you holding the phone to your ear?"

He looked to one side and then the other.

"Aha. So, that's how you had music playing in the background, or in the foreground really."

"I haven't figured the radio out yet. I can't find it most of the time. And I was looking for the way to answer the phone through the TV screen when you called, that's what took me so long to answer."

"I'll show you how to find everything and how to program your kind of stations. We'll take a ride after we eat. It'll get easier, promise."

"I haven't accidentally made the back door fly open in over two days."

"Excellent! And one day soon you will remember what it's called! Bravo!" Connie bit into her sweet and sour chicken. "Mmmm."

Qwilleran dug into his shrimp fried rice. "They make it perfect every time."

The cats came into the kitchen and pointed their dark brown noses upward as they sniffed the air before jumping up onto the table in an attempt to procure some of the wonderful smelling food for themselves. Koko stuck his nose into the carton of shrimp fried rice while Yum Yum the Paw quickly stole a piece of breaded chicken before it became covered with sweet and sour sauce. Koko licked some rice but then grabbed a piece of Crab Rangoon before he could be stopped. They were both soundly chased off of the table, and ran away into a corner of the room to munch away on their stolen treasures in semi-privacy. Success.

"How are your sweaters coming along? Do you lock them up when you crochet now?" asked Qwilleran as he looked over at the cats.

"We have come to an understanding. They leave my yarn alone, I leave the spray bottle of water I keep next to me alone. Every now and then one of them forgets, but they retreat as soon as I pick it up. We've hammered out our peace treaty, you might say."

"I've been meaning to ask, how did your meeting with Sally go? Is she still on board with going into the vegetable growing business?"

"Yes, she is. I showed her a list of the veg I'm thinking of growing and she made some additional suggestions. We will be figuring out how much acreage we want to dedicate to each kind. I've made a list of vendors to approach to sell our crops to and will be contacting them soon. It doesn't hurt to drum up interest ahead of time. Sally said whether or not we grow on our land she intends to grow on hers. We had a nice talk."

"So, you girls kind of got to know each other a bit then?"

"You might say so."

"I noticed you jumped up and drove her back to her place after what happened the other night."

"I thought it was only right not to make the poor woman walk all the way down the road, especially seeing as how she had just saved your life and all."

"Absolutely."

"Why are you mentioning that?"

"Well, I'm just curious as to what exactly she was chasing over here from her place to ours, with a shotgun, no less. I heard her tell the police she saw 'something' on her property but they never got her to say exactly what it was. I thought she may have mentioned the specifics to you."

There was an awkward silence as he looked at her and cleared his throat. The jig was up.

"It was back. It's the second time it's been to her place and she told me the first time that she was going to kill it if it came back."

"The second time it's been to her place?!"

"Well, after we had our visit, a cop stopped by the next day to ask if we had experienced any strange animals roaming around. I didn't tell him anything but in the course of conversation he let on that Sally had had a visit from you-know-who around the same night it came here. It peeked into her kitchen window, too, while she was washing dishes at the sink. She threw a saucepan of dishwater in the thing's face and told me she would kill it if it came back, which it apparently did. Second time she saw it on her land, she grabbed her gun and followed it over here the other day."

"I don't think I can stand it! You're telling me I owe my life to Bigfoot?!"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. Unless the giant monster came over here to mash Atwater to a pulp himself to save you, he indirectly did so anyway."

"Oh, geez!"

"There's more. I guess my game face wasn't too good the day we were talking about vegetables. After I mentioned that a cop had been to our place asking questions, she got it out of me that we've both seen the thing. I swore her to secrecy, and I really don't think she'll tell anyone. She called the cops about the first sighting and Officer Fay told me about that as he was asking me if we'd seen the thing around our property. I did not tell him you saw it. Funny how Sally wouldn't tell the cops what she was following when she came over here to kill the thing that night. She told me she didn't care that the cop was blabbing when she saw it the first time, but she must have her reasons for not admitting to the police she'd seen it a second time. I didn't mean to break trust and I'm sorry, but I guess it was written all over my face."

"That's okay. If that's the worst thing that ever happens to me, that's fine. As long as no one tells Will Murphy, we should be all right."

"Oh, he would go nuts! He wouldn't leave us alone! And I think Fay's in his little Squatching group myself judging by the way he was talking."

"I like the kid but he's gone overboard on the subject. After seeing the thing, I kind of want to warn him to stay out of the woods looking for it because if he ever does see it, he'll wish he hadn't."

"I take it you won't be calling him up to tell him your story?"

"Oh, no! Let him keep roaming around the woods if he wants to. I doubt there's anything anyone could say to dissuade him anyway. It's hard to believe people actually camp out in the woods to try and catch a glimpse of the thing. Ugh!"

"After we finish eating, let's go for a ride. We'll review some of the features in your car that you need practice with."

"I'd like that."

They finished their meal without sacrificing more of it to the cats, and started their ride a while later.
Chapter 34

"Let's practice how to answer the phone using buttons on the steering wheel." Connie called her husband's phone. He looked down at the wheel.

"Press the button with the picture of someone's face in profile and the little curved lines in front of their mouth."

"Hello?"

"Hello! There! You did it!" said Connie through the car speakers before she taught him how to hang up.

"That was easy! Can you help me with the radio? It just won't do what I want it to."

"There are two ways to turn the radio on. You can either use this dial here on the console, or you can use screen commands. See where it says Entertainment on the screen? Put your finger on the screen over that word and push."

He did so and loud heavy metal music came pouring out.

"Sounds like the mess you were playing when I called you the other day!"

"I know! What do I do about it?!"

As she reached over and turned the dial down, Connie said, "You can either do this the old fashioned way, or you can use the commands on the screen, or you can use the buttons on your steering wheel once again. Here, see this button here?" she pointed to the volume buttons on the steering wheel. "Press the minus sign to lower the volume, press the plus sign to increase the volume. Go ahead, try it."

Qwilleran pressed the plus sign and the music rose to unacceptable levels once more. Then he hurriedly pressed the button with the minus sign on it.

"It makes a difference how long you hold your finger on the button, too. Before we continue, let's get you some stations you will actually want to listen to. We'll try a few. When we hit one you like, just hold this button down on the screen for about five seconds. Each time we find another station you like, move over to the next button and hold that one down for five seconds, etc." Before long, they had programmed six radio stations he found enjoyable.

They continued driving down a familiar street which was in the direction of local farms, including that of Abel Derrick. Before long, they saw a familiar figure ambling slowly up the road toward town. It was Linda. Her two kids followed along behind her and a stray chicken was following along behind them. Abel was going to need a pickup truck to haul all of his critters home this day. The couple stared for a few seconds as they realized a second chicken was riding along contentedly lying in a comfortable position on Linda's back, and the goat didn't seem to mind giving the bird a ride at all. Barnyards being the blossoming places they are for meeting new friends of all species, Linda had bonded with the two chickens who somehow began to look familiar to Qwilleran. He slowed the car down and spoke out the window.

"Hello, Linda! How are you today?"

The goat slowed to a stop and then moved toward the driver's door as he pulled off the road. Qwilleran stuck his hand out and petted the brown and white wonder. He put the car in park, and opened the door. Linda came right to him and looked up at him waiting for him to pet her.

"It's okay, Linda. I'll share him with you," said Connie as she smiled and got out of her side of the car to make friends with the kids, who seemed to take a liking to Mrs. Q. automatically.

The Qwillerans remained parked off to the side of the road for a while petting their goat neighbors and talking to them. The passenger chicken hopped off of Linda's back and walked around a bit while the happy couple made over the goats, who in turn loved the attention. Connie picked up one kid and snuggled it, while the other one looked on longingly. Then she went and sat down with her back against a tree and cuddled both kids at one time, which seemed to suit them perfectly.

"These two are so cute I could eat them up!" cooed Connie. The two little kids settled down and started falling asleep, one in each arm.

"My wife loves your babies, Linda, and they love her, too. You did a good job there, Linda. Good job." Qwilleran smoothed Linda's ears and rubbed her head some more. He had turned sideways in his seat and put his feet on the ground. Linda put her head in his lap and shut her eyes while he continued rubbing her ears. "I'm learning a lot about the controls in my vehicle," he smiled over at Connie.

"I see that. Think we should put the critters in the back of your SUV and take them back to Abel?"

"Only if mama here gets in of her own accord. I wouldn't want to get into a fight with her. I've seen what she's capable of."

"Boy, I would love to have witnessed that scene when she put down that 7'4" guy who was trying to kill you! By the way, why do you suppose so many people try to kill you anyway?"

"Beats me," he answered as he walked over to his wife. "This is just too cute," he said as he snapped a picture of Connie cuddling the sleeping baby goats. Linda came over and flopped on the ground next to her and fell asleep herself. He snapped another picture of all four of them. Then Connie shut her eyes feigning sleep and he took another shot.

"I want to stay here with them. Why don't you go to the market and pick up the groceries on the list in my purse and pick me up on your way back?"

He hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"It's a main thoroughfare, I doubt it comes here."

"Okay, if you insist. I'll be quick."

He walked back and got into his vehicle to pull out onto the road and then stopped abruptly. The chickens now jumped onto the hood of his SUV and were standing looking in the windshield at him. His memory sparked as he remembered the show these two had put on for him another time. These were the two bee-bopping chickens who had leapt on the hood of his old car and danced to the music on the radio for what seemed like an endless amount of time not all that long ago. He was still where his wife could see him clearly. He flicked on the radio to an oldies station they had just programmed and turned on the windshield wipers which he then adjusted to a speed that matched the beat of the music. Sly and the Family Stone were crooning what else? Dance to the Music! The chickens seemed to love it. They started bobbing their heads up and down and back and forth with the wipers, and then stepped around the hood of the SUV flapping their wings in perfect time to the beat as if they were trying out for jobs as American Bandstand dancers. After all, hadn't someone created a dance just for them? The Funky Chicken, of course! They obviously felt it was their duty to keep the memory of it alive.

Connie started to laugh as the chickens stepped and bobbed and flapped. Then she started to laugh harder as her husband started flapping his wings and bobbing his head in unison with the chickens. Travelers going up and down Ittibittiwassee Road in Pickax this day were treated to a show for sure as they saw a woman sitting on the ground surrounded by sleeping goats laughing her head off at two dancing chickens and a flapping billionaire.

Dick Clark would have been proud.
Chapter 35

The answers were all there, they just did not add up at the moment. They say if you lose something you should retrace your steps in order to find the last place you remembered having it. The Scotsman began going back over things in his mind. Next thing he knew, he was on his way back to The Little Ray O' Sunshine motel as if something was pulling him there. He parked a ways away from the little place and walked down the parking lot past small businesses till he reached the front door. He stepped inside to find it empty. Hearing the distant strains of a TV set somewhere down the hall, he waited a while but no one came, which turned out to work in his favor. He quietly stepped behind the front desk and looked at everything on it. He heard a male voice laughing faintly off in the distance as the owner of it was enjoying a TV show instead of manning the desk. He read each piece of paper on the desk and then he saw an unopened envelope. He whipped out his phone and took a picture of the envelope being careful to capture the return address. He turned it over to see there was nothing on the back. Then he looked for anything else on the desk that might give him any new information at all. He saw a brown envelope half the size of a sheet of paper which was open and had not been sealed yet. He removed the contents which consisted of utility bills, a real estate tax bill, and a couple of other mailings addressed to someone in charge. He put everything back and looked at the front of the brown envelope. Someone had written an address on it by hand. He snapped a picture of it. He noticed the same handwriting was on the daily sign-in sheet and chore chart. He snapped photos of those. In his experience, women usually had neater handwriting than most men did, so he judged the handwriting, or half-writing half-printing as it were, as that belonging to a male. Still no sign of the desk clerk anywhere, he quietly opened the middle drawer of the desk and looked through its contents. He read some notes and picked up an envelope which had been slit open. He read the letter inside and then photographed it and the envelope it came in before folding it back up and replacing it in the envelope. He shut the drawer carefully and listened again for anything that would indicate he was about to be caught. He heard more faint laughter from the TV room, so he decided to see what else he could find. He opened a side drawer which held files in manila folders. One by one he picked out files and read their titles, then thumbed through each one. Whenever he found something interesting, he took a picture of it. He listened intently to see if someone was approaching, but no one did. He turned around and looked at notes tacked up on a corkboard behind the desk and made sure to capture all of them with his phone camera. Then he walked into a small room behind the desk but there was only laundry and soap in there on top of a washer and dryer. He stepped out front again looking around for signs of life but found none. He opened the door quietly and stepped outside and closed the door just as quietly. Then he walked back past the row of small businesses to his car and got in. He drove quite a ways before pulling into the vacant parking lot of a small shopping center which had closed up and began looking through the gallery on his phone. He got a low battery signal so he did what his wife had taught him to do; he pulled out a charging cable and connected it to an adapter in the car. As he perused the pictures he had taken, he was glad he had become detail oriented at doing such things. He had captured every note, every address, every return address, every image The Little Ray O' Sunshine had to offer. His crime reporter brain had kicked into high gear before he left the house this day, and it was still banging away on all cylinders now. He read every word of every note and file he had taken a picture of. Then he read all the notes on the corkboard behind the desk in the motel. Then he read everything inside the middle drawer. It took him a while, but he eventually got back to the pictures of the envelopes on the top of the desk as well as what was inside of them. Most of what he was looking at was boring and sometimes repetitive. Then he read a note to Keith, who had been recently promoted from assistant manager to manager of the motel back when the previous owner had fled town. There was a knock on his window and he jumped. It was one of Pickax City's finest.

"Say, Mr. Qwilleran. Is there something specifically wrong?" asked Mutt.

"Ah, no. Not at all. Just catching up on a little reading."

"In the middle of a deserted parking lot?"

"Yes. I'm thinking of buying this property." He had no intention of doing so but he had to think of something to make the catphobic cop go away.

"I see. Must be hard."

"What's that, Officer Schodowski?"

"Figuring out ways to spend all your money, specifically."

"It's a chore. Say, I've got my cat in the back in his carrier. Care to say hello?" It was mean but it worked.

"Specifically, NO! I'll be getting along now!"

The tall cop jumped into his cruiser and sped off. Qwilleran wasn't particularly proud of himself but the tactic worked. He picked up where he left off and went through the first of the photos he shot earlier. And there it was.

****

"Assessor's office."

"Hi. Is this Amber?"

"Yes, it is."

"Oh, good. Amber, you helped me a while back with some information. If I give you an address can you tell me who owns the land and who owned it before they did?"

"Yes, but you know all this information is available on the Internet, right?"

"Well, yes, but I don't use a computer. My wife does but she's busy today. I really need your help. Do you mind?"

He heard sighing on the other end of the line.

"Shoot."

He gave her the address he was interested in and waited while she typed away on her keyboard. In about thirty seconds she gave him the information he wanted as he wrote it down including dates of recent transfers and sales.

"This is a huge help. Thank you so much, Amber. I really appreciate your assistance. It was a pleasure speaking with you again."

"You're welcome."

She hung up the phone and grumbled "Dumb old fart."

****

"I feel like taking a bit of a ride today."

"Want company?"

"No, if you don't mind I'd like to go by myself."

"What do you call the back door of your car?"

"The power liftgate."

"Okay, good. I'm planning on making lasagna later on. Will you be home in time for dinner?"

"I certainly plan on it. If anything comes up I'll call you from the steering wheel of my car," said the man proudly.

"Well, you'll try. Sounds like a plan," smiled Connie.
Chapter 36

Qwilleran took off and made his way to the Interstate. Traffic was heavy and he had to repeatedly remind himself he was in no hurry to get where he was intending to go. Ninety miles flew by as he pondered things. It had taken him some time to figure things out, but it was the only thing he could come up with. Nothing else worked. He would need details, of course, but he felt more and more certain this was the key. The cops had not come up with anything, and the FBI was only a tad more successful than they. So, once again he had been on his own. Koko had assisted as best he could as had Yum Yum, but when all was said and done, the man had to fit the puzzle pieces together for himself. If he found what he thought he would when this leg of the journey came to a halt, then he was right. If he didn't, then he'd go back to the drawing board and start over again. It began to rain lightly, then moderately, then heavily. He pulled off the road into a fast food joint and got himself a burger, fries, and drink at the drive-up window. He parked and sat eating his food as cars pulled in and out of the place. He wasn't far from his destination now. The rain began to lighten up to a steady, moderate downpour with much improved visibility. He pulled back out onto the road and continued on his route. He thought he saw a vehicle following him but he ignored it. He drove four more miles and then turned a couple of times. Not having mastered the car's navigation system yet, he looked at the address he had written on a piece of paper he had placed on the seat next to him. It matched, so he pulled into the driveway. He saw someone pull back some curtains as they looked out. He pulled the hood up on his raincoat and went to the door and knocked. A woman opened it.

"Yes?"

"Cindy?"

"There's no one here by that name."

"You're Cindy Varney."

"You have the wrong address," said the woman as she went to shut the door. He stuck his arm in it.

"Cindy, we met once for a minute back at The Little Ray O' Sunshine. My name is Jim."

"I don't know anyone named Jim. Get your arm out of my door."

"Cindy, I need your help, please. I know who killed your husband." The door opened and the woman looked up and down the street.

"Come in." He wiped his shoes on the mat and stepped inside.

The cautious woman led him to a coat rack and hung up his dripping raincoat. She took a good look at him now that the hood was no longer on his head.

"I still don't recognize you. Did you stay at the motel?"

"No. I went there looking for a contractor I was employing but you couldn't give me any information."

"What do you know about my husband?"

"I've been putting together a slew of puzzle pieces in an attempt to figure out who killed your husband along with a couple of other people who have also been murdered back in Pickax. Did you know the vintners your husband worked for were in on a smuggling ring that moved contraband through Moose County to export elsewhere?"

"What are you talking about?" asked Cindy Varney as she stared at him with a cautious look on her face. "And how did you find me? I told no one where I was going when I left."

"I'm happy to explain everything to you. I don't suppose you have some coffee?"

The woman led him into her kitchen and began making a fresh pot. Qwilleran stepped to her kitchen door, opened it, and began looking outside.

"Looks like it's going to rain some more," he said as he looked at the sky for a bit before shutting the door again. "It took some detective work, I assure you. I thought you sold the motel when you left town hurriedly, but you still own it."

"So, you appointed yourself the Hercule Poirot of Pickax and decided you had to figure everything out because you figure the police can't do their job without your help?"

"They have no leads and no clues. My ex, a woman named Polly Duncan, was also murdered around the same time your husband was, and one of my employees was murdered some time after that. The police work hard but haven't solved these killings yet. I felt impelled to step in and figure out what was going on. I own the museum now, and a large amount of contraband was removed from the basement there after my employee who functioned as the director was killed. Facts are beginning to form an association as I collect them, and I simply have to confirm who did the killings. I have to."

"So, you think the vintners did all this?"

"I suspect they are involved but I don't know to what degree. They've disappeared lock, stock, and barrel. Were you acquainted with a woman by the name of Susan Atwater?"

"Never heard of her. Who is she?"

"Was she. She's dead. My neighbor shot her as she was, in fact, trying to shoot me."

"You've got to be kidding me!" The look on Varney's face was surprise mixed with what seemed to be a hint of a something else showing through.

"No, I'm not. If we could just get to the bottom of who is responsible for all this you could come back to Pickax and continue on with your life. You won't have to remain in hiding!"

"Doesn't look like I'm doing too good of a job of hiding, does it? You're here."

"Well, if an amateur like me could trace your whereabouts, then I'm sure it'll only be a matter of time before others do."

"To your knowledge, who are these others I should be worried about?"

"I'm afraid I don't know. The lower level people are being gathered up as we speak, but no one knows who the head of the organization is. I wish I could tell you more."

"Why don't you tell me a little bit more about what's been going on there?"

"Okay. Here's what's been going on since you left Pickax. Right after your husband was killed, my ex was murdered, too. No one knows why. She had moved to France to take a job assignment there and had unceremoniously dumped me without a word at that time. I had to find out about it from someone else, didn't even know what she had done. No one knows why she was back in town, we still haven't figured that out because her work assignment was to last for about another year, so we're stumped on that one. I haven't run across one mutual acquaintance who even knew she was back. You probably didn't know I bought the vintner's house, the one that used to belong to Mark and Ella Davenport. What I didn't realize at the time was that the vineyard acreage and the wine processing building came along with the sale of the house. Once that was brought to my attention, it was a short space of time till Polly's body was found in the vat of one of the grape crushers."

"Oh, my."

"Gruesome, I know. We were all in shock. We had hired the winery staff back and all our pickers and employees along with a few new ones in order to get the grapes picked and the winery back up and running. We didn't know anything about Polly's murder till one of the grape crushers stopped functioning and we had to call the manufacturer to have them send out technicians to fix the thing. Anyway, the police still have no leads at all regarding the murder of your husband or Polly Duncan. They just can't seem to find a thing, no leads whatsoever. But I figured it out. After those events, I purchased the museum building, you know the one."

"Yes, I do."

"Well, the Stranger Than Fiction exhibit was up and running and doing well before I ever got my hands on the place. That's thanks to the dedication and hard work of one Loretta Garver, the museum director whom I kept on after I bought the place. You know Loretta?"

"I've heard the name. Can't say as I've met her."

"She was hard working and very well spoken."

A puzzled look flashed briefly across Varney's face. "I'm sure she was."

"The strangest thing happened at the reception I held at the museum right after Polly's funeral. A very tall, very old woman approached me and clued me in as to something going on at the museum. Her name was Candonella LaFleur. To this day I have not found one person who has ever heard of her. Have you?"

"No."

"That's because she doesn't exist. I'll elaborate on that later. I was just saying aloud at the reception to some folks in attendance that I sure would love to meet someone who knew about the tunnel underneath the museum we had discovered and what it had been used for, and up she popped at that moment in time. Life is all about timing. She asked to speak to me privately, so we went off into a corner and sat down. She proceeded to tell me the tunnel was used for smuggling whiskey and such during Prohibition days, the timeframe of which was 1920 to 1933. The building was built in 1920, so someone planned that well to say the least. She swore me to secrecy before she would say a word."

"Everybody knew about Prohibition. I don't get it."

"Neither did I. She told me the tunnel might still be in use."

"Really?"

"Yes, she did. I asked her why someone would be smuggling booze through the tunnel now. She told me I had a vivid imagination, that she hadn't alluded to what was being smuggled through it now."

"She sounds like an old lady who wanted attention."

"That's what I thought! Then she uttered one sentence that changed everything."

"Okay, I'll bite."

"She told me to look in the ground."

Varney looked down, and blinked a few times before looking back at him.

"I couldn't figure out what the heck she could mean by that. So, I went and got architectural drawings of the building and the grounds around it which my lawyer had in his files which we were sent when I bought the place. Guess what I found out?"

Varney raised her eyebrows.

"The tunnel was outlined underneath, and there were also several rooms drawn off to either side of it. I'd been down the basement a number of times and there were no rooms I could see lining the tunnel on either side. But first, I walked around outside and looked for traces of the missing buildings which were no longer standing. I found the remains of a couple of walls, not very much, just a brick sticking up out of the ground here and there. LaFleur's words rang in my ears, 'Look in the ground,' so I grabbed a shovel from my car and started digging. You'll never guess what I found!"

Varney let out a sigh.

"A huge metal box! Huge! I had it dug out of the ground by a construction company using heavy equipment. I had to have a locksmith come and open the locks. Keeping my word to LaFleur to keep my mouth shut about everything she had told me, I wouldn't let anyone see what was in the huge box. When everyone cleared out I opened the lid and you'll never guess what was in it! I can tell I'm boring you, so I'll just tell you; military grade assault weapons, lots of them. But the strangest thing happened after that. They were all stolen. Every single one of them, including the heavy metal box they were stored in. Boy, was I glad I had taken pictures of everything to show the cops before that happened! Seeing as only heavy equipment would have been able to pick the box up and drive down the street with it, we couldn't figure out how the thing had disappeared. Someone would have seen that little heist happening as the museum is on a busy thoroughfare. So, I remembered I had a security system put in previously due to some unsavory activity happening on the grounds at that time. I even had cameras catching the comings and goings of every rabbit, squirrel, and bird outside the place, and guess what? You're not going to believe this! The weapons were airlifted out via helicopter at night! How's THAT for a story?"

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Sounds like something out of a James Bond movie, doesn't it? But it gets better. No one could figure any of this out. The people who murdered Loretta Garver even covered their real intentions by setting a chemical factory outside of town on fire. The flames shot hundreds of feet in the air and conveniently for them, every law enforcement officer and emergency technician for miles and miles around flocked to the scene of the biggest inferno Moose County has ever seen! And while everyone else was busy at the chemical factory, the bad guys came back to the museum, shot Loretta in the head, and busted down the walls of the hidden rooms in the tunnel underneath the museum. Based on what I had discovered thanks to the drawings, the police chief and I were in the process of busting down the walls in the hidden rooms at the beginning of the tunnel when we were interrupted to go to the fire. The rooms we busted open with a sledgehammer revealed nothing, but once again my trusty security cameras recorded another heist. It seems an eighteen-wheeler pulled onto the museum grounds and two guys started loading more assault weapons onto the big rig with the help of the driver, and all this transpired as the chemical factory blazed away. When we finally got back there, several more rooms had been busted into till they were all opened up. Shall I continue?"

Varney gestured to him with an open hand but said nothing.

"Okay. Did I tell you I used to be a crime reporter? I have a nose for sleuthing, and I finally figured out what some weird little ads meant which had been put into our local newspaper. I still read the newspaper, the actual hard copy newspaper every morning. Do you?"

She shook her head no.

"I love my newspaper. Anyway, once I correlated the strangely worded little ads with different criminal goings on happening at the same time the code in the ads indicated, I figured out how to decipher the messages in those ads. It was rather ingenious to put those little ads in the newspaper. That was a very old fashioned way to do such a thing when dishonest people were trying to communicate with each other without being found out. Who would ever do such a thing today? A very smart person, that's who. We put a phony ad into their favorite newspaper and guess who showed up to do more dastardly deeds? The two brutes who murdered my employee, Loretta Garver. We captured them easily and have them in custody as I speak. They're being very cooperative. We couldn't be more pleased."

"Exactly who is 'we'?"

"The FBI and me. I've been working closely with them for a while now."

"Do tell."

"Yes. This is how I figured out who killed your husband."

"Really? Stories about fires and guns and your ex-girlfriend and all sorts of other stuff led you to the culprit?"

"Yes. I had to find the common thread woven between all these things. Who was entwined with the winery, the museum, the fire, the boots on the ground operatives, the contraband, all of it."

"Well?"

"That would be you."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Varney's face hardened as her pupils grew small and she levelled her gaze at her visitor. She sat back in her chair. Totally gone was every trace of the friendly, accommodating woman he had first met at The Little Ray O' Sunshine motel.

"Well, it took me a while but I finally began putting things together when I realized none of this was random. It helped a lot when the two operatives who cleaned the museum out of remaining weapons were baited and captured, my idea. I saw strange little ads in the classifieds of the local paper as I mentioned and I knew we had to get our hands on someone directly involved so we put our own little ad in and they fell for it. The two guys we snared thought better of going down for all these crimes alone, so they held out for a good while, but then they finally began naming names. It seems they knew more than anyone above them in the organization realized. It certainly helped that you took one of the musclebound hunks for your lover. Apparently you talk in your sleep, and he knew a whole lot more than any of the folks in your organization thought he did. They told us about the winery and the vintners and how they had owned the museum before I bought it. I knew someone who owned it before me had defaulted on paying the real estate taxes so the county took it back from them. The tidbit of information my lawyer and I had not delved into was who that owner was. They had set up a dummy company and put the property into that name so as to keep their names off the property rolls. I just did that piece of research myself recently. Light bulbs started going off then, I can tell you! I started snooping into everything I could think of. I found connections all over the place but it took a lot of digging. I got information about the person placing the ads in the classifieds by tracing the credit card they used to charge the ads to; that was kind of a beginner's mistake if you ask me. We found money transferred into the bank accounts of certain persons. For instance, Susan Atwater received large sums of money transferred to her account from that of a suspected player in the scheme of things. I figured out Susan was usually the direct contact for the boots on the ground operatives now in custody and though they lied about it at first, they later confessed they knew her and spilled the beans confirming that fact. And while nobody knew where they had gone, we finally located Mark and Ella Davenport and audited their bank accounts, too. Turns out the same person had transferred monies to them in large amounts, and it turns out they like to talk. We had to get subpoenas for off shore bank accounts in order to trace and track a lot of deposits and transactions but we finally got that done. The FBI excels at doing that kind of thing. It's an amazing thing to watch them work. You wanted to know how I found you. You kept the motel, which was a mistake. Let's say I found the forwarding address for all kinds of paperwork you are still handling yourself and it led me right to your door."

"You know what the final nail in your coffin is? We've been sitting here all this time talking about all this, and though it was the first thing I referred to, you haven't demanded to know the name of your husband's killer. You asked me what I knew about your husband, but neglected to press me for the name of his killer. Not exactly the picture of the grieving widow, are you? That's how you confirmed to me that you killed him yourself. The bit where you threw your stuff in a truck and fled town right away after his funeral was your attempt to get people to believe you were scared to death when, in fact, the opposite was true. People needed to be scared of you. You had me fooled. I even went home after I met you and told my wife my gut told me you had nothing to do with any of the illegal dealings going on at and through the winery, that you just weren't the type to murder your husband or have anything to do with the shady goings on. Well, call me stupid. I had to collect bundles of information before I got it. I'm usually a good judge of people but in your case I have to give you credit. You are a better actress than I am a judge of character. Congratulations. You got away with it."

"We'll see whose coffin gets nailed shut today. Think you're pretty smart, huh?"

"Actually, no. I should have figured this out long before I did."

"Well, it's not going to do you any good anyway." Varney reached under the kitchen table and when she drew her hand back out there was a gun in it. "This is your last stop."

"Well, I didn't see this coming. Tell me one thing before you pull the trigger just so I can rest easy."

"What?"

"Why murder Polly Duncan? How did she figure into this?"

"Your girlfriend was practically a double for Susan. She came back to attend the funeral of a friend, or so I was told. Funny how that worked out. We could not have had her walking around town being seen when we particularly needed to keep Susan's presence on the down low. She would have messed up everything, so I decided she had to go. Plus, I picked up on the fact that Susan was trying to take over the operation herself, so I decided she had to go at one point in time before she got the chance to make sure I did. I actually shot and killed your girlfriend by mistake one night when I came upon her quite accidentally as she was coming out of a convenience store. The resemblance was uncanny and the light was bad. The pieces fit together and worked out to my benefit. What can I say?"

"Ex-girlfriend. So, why was Susan sashaying around my wedding reception then?"

"In her miraculous reprieve, I decided to have her flush out an FBI agent who was becoming a pain in the neck while I could still control her. I had to keep my organization tight and efficient. Word reached me that you got in the way of her leading him back to her house so she could take care of him. I owe you for that one."

"You mean Candonella LaFleur."

"Who?"

"The agent you are referring to didn't want to call attention to any digging to be done at the museum grounds at the order of the FBI looking for contraband they suspected was there somewhere, so he dressed up as an old lady and introduced himself to me as Candonella LaFleur. She told me to look in the ground figuring I'd start excavating myself, which I did. You remember I told you Candonella LaFleur didn't exist."

"Whatever."

"What was your husband's great sin? Why kill him?"

"He lost his nerve and became a liability. He didn't want to play anymore. In an organization like mine, you can't have liabilities, so I killed him. My mother used to say I was never the sentimental type."

"So, you're the lone person at the top then?"

"Guilty as charged. You don't think any of those dummies could have organized all this, do you?"

"I see. So, your husband became a liability. It didn't hurt that you found Tony Janko much more attractive than Louis was, either."

She smiled a sneaky smile at him.

"You're too big for me to haul around so we're going outside where you will meet your maker. I can dispose of your body more easily that way. Stand up."

Before either of them could do so, the kitchen door which Qwilleran had quietly and cleverly unlocked upon entering that room opened, and in stepped Ed Wingate along with two additional FBI special agents.

"FBI!" He flashed his badge. "Put the weapon down!" said Wingate as he aimed his gun at her. Looking down the barrels of three mean looking handguns pointed directly at her, Varney set hers on the table. "We got it all. Hands behind your head. Cynthia Ann Lotrell Varney, you are under arrest for..." Wingate went into his spiel as the woman was cuffed and then removed from the house.

Minutes later, the two other agents took off for the nearest FBI office with Varney securely in tow while Wingate hung back before getting into a separate vehicle.

"You know, that was excellent work if I do say so myself, Qwilleran. It takes a lot to impress me, but I'm impressed by your performance as well as the clues you personally dug up and fed us along the way. And you had nerves of steel in there! Thank you."

"I'm flattered."

"If this was twenty years ago, I'd be encouraging you to join the Bureau."

"That's your way of saying I'm old."

"I actually meant that as a compliment. Every place has age restrictions, you know."

"Just as my knees do. Thank you, Ed. This was kind of fun in a strange way! Nerve wracking, but fun."

"We could see everything from the window she had her back to, smart of you to sit down where you did. And we heard everything thanks to the fact that you're wearing wires."

Qwilleran slipped a hand into his shirt and removed the wires, which he handed back to the agent.

"Everything the two of you said has been recorded; the van responsible for that was parked a block down the street and your voices came in crystal clear. We will, of course, be calling you to testify against Varney in court unless by some miraculous turn of fate she decides to plead guilty to all the charges we will be filing against her. I want to thank you again."

"You're most welcome."

"Hey, Ed, can I ask you a personal question?"

"Sure."

"This is going to sound like something women like to gab about, but how do you keep your hair looking so perfect all the time? I mean, it's never out of place!"

"Sorry, Qwill, that's classified. Gotta split. Ciao!"

And with that, tall, good-looking, square-jawed Ed Wingate and his perfect hair got into a black FBI issue SUV and left.
Chapter 37

"I told you I'd be home in time for dinner, and here I am. Hello, wife!"

The man kissed his spouse on the cheek as he sniffed at the wonderful stuff she was stirring in a Dutch oven she had on the stovetop.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Depends."

"Did you make beef stew?"

"Yes, I did."

"You know I love beef stew! I can already taste it!"

"Do I have time to take a quick shower before we sit down to eat?"

"You sure do. The stew and I will be waiting here in the kitchen for you when you're finished. It's chilly outside, a little too chilly for this time of year if you ask me. I left a present for you on the bed."

"I cannot imagine what it is but whatever it is, you're the best wife in the world!"

"I will be feeding the cats while you're upstairs if I can wake them up."

He smiled and went up the staircase as two freshly awakened felines skittered into the kitchen on cue.

"Yow yow yow yow yow!" the pair said in unison after they finished yawning.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yowyowyowyowyowyowyow!" they continued.

"Well, I'm ready for you for a change! Your dinner is ready. I don't know how you two little noise machines slept through the cooking process, but I have trout for you!"

And because cats understand everything you think and say, and because their sleepy olfactory senses suddenly came back online, they became frenzied at that time as did their voices. Connie set two dishes containing fried, chopped up trout on the floor as the children of the house dug in.

"Koko! Get out of Yum Yum's dish! You have your own!"

But Yum Yum had snuck around the other side of her brother and was now eating his larger portion, so Connie let them be at that point in time. The hungry cats scarfed down the fish. Koko finished all of Yum Yum's and then muscled his way into his own dish to finish off what she had not yet eaten. Connie then put more fish down for Yum Yum who always ate less anyway, just in case the little female was extra hungry this day. A few minutes later, the pair went to take care of business before retiring to their blue cushion atop the refrigerator to begin an extended grooming session, followed by their usual heavy sleep.

Qwilleran appeared in the kitchen doorway freshly showered and groomed.

"I love it!" he said as he showed off the dark blue and dark green tartan plaid sweater his wife had meticulously crocheted for him. "I'm afraid I'll get beef stew on it! How in the world did you manage to get the plaid pattern so precisely correct?"

"I used a small stitch and just went back and forth row by row. I had a picture of that kind of plaid in those colors which I was looking at the whole time so I kept switching off appropriately. It was a tad challenging but I learned lots of new tricks making that sweater for you."

"Well, I thank you. Scotland thanks you. My ancestors thank you." He took a mouthful of stew. "Oh, my goodness, this is so good!" He dove into his stew and there was silence for a while as they enjoyed the benefits of Connie's excellent cooking skills once more.

"What were you up to today, hon?" asked Connie.

"I am happy to tell you that story, but it will have to hold till after dinner. It's a bit lengthy and I have to shovel more of this stew down my gullet."

"Well, I made coconut cream pie for dessert so we could be here a while," she smiled.

"You are too good to me!" he said as he rolled his eyes Heavenward.

"I know I am," she smiled some more.

They finished their stew, and fresh coffee was poured to go along with their pie. After they had their fill of that delicacy, the remainder was safely tucked away in the refrigerator so that the cats wouldn't go snacking later that night in an attempt to finish it off. They loaded the dishwasher and then the couple adjourned to the sun room.

"I figured out what happened."

"To whom?"

"To all the folks who've been turning up dead around here!"

"Oh, boy, I'm all ears!"

The man in the tartan plaid sweater, jeans, and bedroom slippers began.

"I have to say right off the bat that I was wrong about the most key fact pertaining to all the illegal activity going on around us. Dead wrong."

"What were you wrong about?"

He wove the story for her in detail as she listened with rapt attention for several minutes.

"You mean to tell me that you snuck into the motel twice and stole information to put together clues? That's dangerous!"

"I know but I'm fine!"

"Yes, you sure are! And a brutal criminal held a gun on you this very afternoon and you casually come home, take a shower, eat stew and pie and even more casually tell me you have put your life in danger several times as of late?! Huh?!"

As it had been some time since his last one, he had forgotten some of the more important rules of marriage; one of them being that you don't casually tell your wife you should have been utterly terrified as you kind of almost got yourself killed recently but instead, you had a great time.

"I'm...sorry?"

Connie drummed her fingers on the table next to her right before she went AOS on him; AOS being "All Out Spouse".

"I lost one husband! I am not about to lose another one! Do you think you can make that adjustment, mister?! You're bee-bopping around with the FBI feeding them clues, and you just felt you had to go do their dirty work for them today?! Are you kidding me?! It's one thing that a criminal broke in here some time ago and tried to do away with you-thank God for little Koko! But you volunteered yourself for this one today, didn't you?!"

"Well, she wouldn't have talked to them! She had to think she had the advantage and that she could do with me as she wished! The entire plan was contingent on that fact alone! She had to feel like she was the one in charge!"

"Plan? My husband makes plans with the FBI!" Connie said to no one in particular.

"Sweetie, I didn't realize this would upset you this badly!"

"Yes, you did! That's why you didn't TELL me about it ahead of time!"

He had never seen Connie lose her temper, but he felt he was coming perilously close to seeing his terribly upset wife do exactly that.

"I am so sorry, I'll never do anything that foolish again!" At least I won't be dumb enough to tell you about it when I do!

She was silent as she gave him possibly the best dirty eyeball anyone had ever shot his way.

"Hey, hon, do you want another piece of pie? I'll go fetch you one!"

"I don't want any pie, you cannot bribe me with pie," Connie exhaled audibly.

"What can I bribe you with? Wanna go on vacation? Where would you like to go?"

"No vacation."

"A necklace? I'll buy you a necklace!"

"I don't want a necklace."

"Help me out here, what can I do? I'll do anything!" Famous last words.

"I'll let you know in a day or two."
Chapter 38

"Ready? We'll take my car." The word car was used in the Qwilleran household whenever a vehicle with four tires and air conditioning was being discussed. They got into Connie's SUV.

"Yes, ma'am. I am ready. Where are we going?"

"You'll see," said Connie as they belted in and took off for town. They pulled into a parking space outside Romeo's donuts.

"Oh, goody!"

"Not so fast, mister." She took hold of his arm and steered him into the hair salon next door to the famous donut shop.

"This is the substitute for the pie, the vacation, and the necklace. This is the 'anything' you said you would do."

She wouldn't! Would she?!

"Hi, Lisa, my husband needs a haircut. He'll be coming in for them regularly from now on."

"What do you have in mind, Qwill?" asked the hairdresser whose chair he was being led to.

"He just showered, so you can just squirt some water on his head, no need to bend him over the wash bowl back there. He wants a short, neat, American businessman's haircut."

"Oh, he does, does he?" Lisa smiled as she put a plastic cape around the man's neck and over his shoulders.

"Yes, he does." Qwilleran had not opened his mouth yet.

Connie continued, "And then there's this thing," she said as she flicked his giant pepper and salt moustache with her finger.

"Oh, mama mia! Gimme strength! Do I get to take that thing off of his face today, Connie?! Please?!"

"Yes, you do." Qwilleran's mouth and eyes popped open at the same time but no sound came out.

"Hack away at it, Lisa. And don't worry. He won't be growing it back. And he'll be in every four weeks to have his hair trimmed from now on."

"Now wait a minute! My mother said I was born with this moustache! What's next?! My finger?!"

"You said you would do anything to make up for your rather hefty faux pas of the other day. This is anything. Get to work, noble hairdresser!"

Lisa went to get warm water in a squirt bottle. She began wetting down Qwilleran's hair. The man looked mortified. His wife was trying to turn him into Ed Wingate! By the time Lisa was finished with his haircut, Connie was extremely pleased, and Qwilleran looked better than he had in years. He was even impressed with this new haircut himself but he wasn't about to say so. Then Connie looked at Lisa and nodded. She may as well have just dropped the flag at the Indy 500 that gives racecars permission to go. Qwilleran watched the two women in the mirror and then he heard it. With a sudden popping noise, Lisa switched on what suddenly looked to be a thirty-seven-foot-tall electric clipper normally used to shave a man's neck. She picked up a comb in her other hand and leaned closer to him as she combed through the moustache his mother told him he was born with, then moved in with the razor. His eyes were wide with horror, but a deal was a deal. Oh, why did he have to say he would do anything?! Why?!

Cruelty of cruelties, both women started laughing! At him! Did they think this was funny?! They obviously did! He had never seen this side of Connie before! What the...?! The buzzing sound stopped as the women kept laughing. Tears were rolling down Connie's cheeks; she was laughing so hard.

It took him a minute to realize what had just happened. Lisa recovered first.

"Come on, Qwill! I promise to just trim that bad boy a wee bit to give you a neater look, that's all!"

"You're not cutting him off?" his hand went up to his mouth in a protective move.

"Ask your wife," Lisa grinned.

Connie smiled a huge smile, her eyes were still dancing as she wiped away the last of her tears.

"Gotcha! Oh, my God! You looked like a terrified chicken!"

The man let his breath out for the first time since they'd entered the salon.

"Okay, wife, you got me! You got me good! I can breathe now!"

"You're a fortunate man, Qwill. Be glad she didn't tell me to manscape you," said Lisa with a twinkle. "That's what that private room back there is for!" There was no such room, but he didn't know that.

"I will scape my own man! Thank you very much!" The women started laughing again.

"Sit still while I trim this thing. I assume you gave it a name. It's as big as a housecat."

He rolled his eyes sardonically but said nothing.

"Well, all righty then! That made my stomach hurt," said Connie as she clutched her midsection. She giggled a few more times before she was done.

"I think he thought I was going to murder him! Did you see his face when I turned the clipper on?!" The women chuckled some more. Qwilleran continued to stare silently in mock disgust.

The chitchat continued until every last hair on his head and face were in perfect order, then the man was released to go back to life as he had known it beforehand, albeit a lot neater looking.

"I love this. The haircut is spectacular, Lisa. I really love it. Great job. Here," she handed the hairdresser cash to cover the charges plus a nice tip.

The couple left the shop, picked up some donuts at Romeo's and shoved off for home.

"Your hair looks spectacular. You're a real hunk now."

"I'm almost afraid to ask what my classification was before."

They locked their doors and belted in. Connie started the car but sat there for a bit looking at her handsome husband. As she had never met the man, she didn't realize that his hair now closely resembled that of his favorite FBI agent. She kept staring.

"Oh, for God's sake, did I look THAT bad before?!" Qwilleran exclaimed.

She shrugged slightly. "I didn't used to think so."

He was convinced that the look on her face was clearly adding the words "till now" to the end of that sentence.
Chapter 39

Several days passed and no one else died via mysterious circumstances in Pickax City or Moose County. More interesting facts came to light about the recent crime spree. The gun Cindy Varney had pointed at Qwilleran in her kitchen tested out to be the same weapon which had killed both her husband and Polly Duncan. Polly had been in town to attend the funeral of her good friend Valerie Canberry. It turned out Connie's initial reaction about Cindy Varney being responsible for her husband's death was correct as confirmed by the killer herself. Roy Briggs was right when after the first two killings, he said he felt there would be a third one and sure enough, then Loretta Garver was murdered. The vintners were missing in action having slipped their leashes and the FBI was after them once again. Seems there are always loose ends. It came to light that Mike Fabian farmed out Drake and Janko to Cindy Varney on a per need basis until Fabian himself had mysteriously turned up dead, no doubt the result of Varney tightening up her organization. After suffering a fit of just in case, the Scotsman called Emmet Draznik and had all the locks in the house changed out for new ones that used new and different keys. No sense tempting fate, or experienced criminals.

Connie sat thumbing through catalogs and checking things in her computer after breakfast.

"I am going to redecorate the inside of the house. The outside is updated and gorgeous, and the interior is jealous. You don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all. Just remember when you're doing draperies, please keep your shears away from me personally. I'm fine with whatever you want to do. That can be part of my anything. I will not complain a whit."

"Brave words. I like comfortable settings, nothing outlandish. But this place needs an update, and the furniture looks like it's from the first world war."

"I know you'll do a good job," he said as he needlessly brushed his hair lightly with one hand.

"So, you're over the attack dealt out by your new hairdresser?"

"Quite. She did a great job, actually. I never thought I'd hear myself say that."

Connie neglected to go into detail as to how she had caught him several times admiring himself in the mirror recently. He had even stopped wearing his formerly ever present baseball cap. She figured it would reappear when he got tired of admiring himself and receiving dozens of compliments from everyone he encountered in town, but that would take a while yet.

"Say, hon, I have a question," said Connie.

"Sure."

"You know I just love your new haircut. But I would love to know how in the world you are keeping every single hair perfectly in place all the time?"

Without missing a beat he replied, "Sorry, that's classified."

THE END

Preview, The Cat Who Cut a Rug, Book Three

"What's he doing?" asked Connie.

"He's got something in his mouth," answered Qwilleran.

"It had better not be a grape! Enough mess already!"

"We're out of grapes. What is that?"

"It looks like a string, maybe?"

"Get that away from him! If he swallows it, it could wrap around his intestines!"

Koko responded cooperatively by jumping into Connie's lap at that moment. She pulled what looked like a long string out of his mouth.

"What the heck is this, little man?" she asked as she held a thick, fibrous string in her hand. Koko then flopped down on the floor and played with some slow-moving dust which had been made visible by a stream of sunlight coming into the sunroom.

"Let me see that, please." She handed the string to her husband.

"It's carpet fiber. Koko is tearing up our new wall-to-wall!"

Connie looked down at the cat, who was now vigorously engaged in a sword fight with the dust particles. "Listen to me, Koko. My knees don't appreciate hardwood floors which is why we just re-carpeted the whole house except for the kitchen and this room despite trends that frown on wall-to-wall. You will simply have to get used to it. I would think you would appreciate the wonderful traction you get with this thick carpeting and the thick padding underneath. Now, don't let me catch you tearing up the carpet again! Do you understand?"

The cat replied by ignoring her soundly as he continued his assault on the dangerous dust which was trying to invade his house. They never seemed to appreciate how hard he worked.

"Well, I almost hate to say it, but do you think this could be a clue?"

"I think it's our son being naughty as always!"

"Nevertheless, I think it should be added to the Future Clue Vault."

"Okay, I'll go put it away." Connie went and deposited the carpet string in one of the desk drawers in the office of their house and returned to the sunroom.

"Speaking of carpeting, when did they say they would return to remove the old pieces of carpet the installers left on the curb? You know I'm not the fussy type but all those huge rolls of old carpeting look horrendous out there."

"They said our regular garbage service would have to pick it all up next time they come around, so they'll be gone in a few more days. You're right, it does look awful."

The man of the house reached over and took a fresh pot of coffee off the warmer plate they kept in the sunroom, poured himself a cup, and then topped off his wife's coffee. They sipped the strong, black brew as peace settled over the room for a moment or two. Before long, Koko came galloping back into the room which they had not noticed he'd left. The determined cat jumped back into Connie's lap and deposited something on her leg before jumping down again.

"What the...? Another carpet string?! I'm going to brain you, Koko!" the aggravated woman yelled. Then she stared at the string and saw a familiar mark where the cat had chomped down on it previously. She put her coffee down and went into the office to find the desk drawer she had put the carpet string in standing open. The string was no longer there because she was holding it in her hand. She put the string back into the drawer and closed it again before going back into the sunroom.

"Guess who has learned how to open the desk drawer? That was the same string."

"I never told you he can open drawers? I usually lock the desk if I need to keep him out of it. The key is taped underneath."

Just then, the guilty party ran into the room, dropped something on the floor and raced out of the room again. It was the carpet string.

"Okay. He's trying to tell us something and despite the fact that I usually ignore him a while before I get his hints, there's a sense of urgency about this. I'll be back," said the man of the house as he made his way to the front door and went down the porch steps.

Connie looked out the window as Qwilleran walked to the edge of the front lawn where the rolls of carpeting were lying. He looked them over and then walked around into the street where he began kicking each one several times up and down the length of each roll. By the time he reached the one at the far end, he only kicked it once and then stopped. She watched him grab the end of the roll as he began to pull.

She bolted out of her chair and ran to where he was standing just in time to see him give one last tug on the carpet as the body of a woman came rolling out.
