gain."
"Isn't that illegal?"
"Not yet. If we had an underwater preserve protected by law it would be a big boost for tourism. It could be used by marine historians, archaeologists, and sport-divers."
"What's holding you back?"
"Money! It would take tens of thousands for an archaeological survey. After that we'd have to lobby for legislation."
Qwilleran said: "It would be a tough law to enforce. You'd need more boats, more helicopters, more personnel."
"Right! And by that time there wouldn't be any sunken cargo to protect."
The men had ordered a second round of drinks, but Qwilleran stopped sipping his T J.
He rubbed his itching hands and wrists surreptitiously under the table.
Roger lowered his voice. "See those two guys sitting near the door? They're wreck-divers. Probably looters."
"How do you know?"
"Everybody knows."
When the food was served, Qwilleran rated it E for edible, but the conversation was enlightening. At the end of the meal he remarked to Roger: "Do you think there might be a skunk living under the post office? I went in there yesterday, and the odor drove everyone out of the building."
"Probably some hog farmer picking up his mail," Roger said. "If they come into town in their work-clothes, the whole town clears out. You wouldn't believe the way some of their kids come to school. They're not all like that, of course. One of my hunting partners raises hogs, No problem."
"Another mystery: A hawk flew through a screened door at the cabin and left a big hole. I can't figure it out."
"He was diving for a rabbit or chipmunk," Roger explained, "and he didn't put on the brakes fast enough."
"You think so?"
"Sure! I've seen a hawk carry off a cat. I was hunting once and heard something mewing up in the sky. I looked up, and there was this poor little cat."
Qwilleran thought of Yum Yum and squirmed uncomfortably. There was a moment of silence, and then he said: "A couple of nights ago I heard footsteps on the roof in the middle of the night."
"A raccoon," Roger said. "A raccoon on the roof of a cabin like yours sounds like a Japanese wrestler in space boots, I know! My in-laws have a cottage near you. One year they had a whole family of raccoons in their chimney."
"Do your in-laws give wild parties? I've heard some hysterical laughing late at night."
"That was a loon you heard. It's a crazy bird."
The fog was thickening, and the view from the dining room windows was almost obliterated. Qwilleran said he should get back to the cabin.
"I hope my wife doesn't try driving home tonight," Roger said. "She's been on a buying trip Down Below. She has a little candle and gift shop in the mall. How do you like this money clip? It came from Sharon's shop." He paid his half of the check with bills from a jumbo paper clip that looked like gold.
Qwilleran drove home at twenty miles an hour with the fog swirling in front of the windshield. The private drive up to the cabin was even more hazardous, with tree trunks suddenly appearing where they were not supposed to be. As he parked the car he thought he saw two figures moving away from the cabin, down the slope toward the beach.
"Hello!" he called. "Hello there!" But they disappeared into the fog.
Indoors he first checked the whereabouts of the Siamese. Koko was huddled on the moose head, and Yum Yum cautiously wriggled out from underneath the sofa. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed, but he detected the aroma of pipe tobacco. In the guestroom there was a slight impression in one of the bunks, where the cats took their naps, and one of his brown socks was on the floor. Yum Yum had a passion for his socks. Everything else seemed to be in order.
Then he found a note in the kitchen, scribbled on one of his own typing sheets:
"Welcome to the dunes. I'm Roger's mother-in-law; See foil package in your fridge.
Thought you might like some roast turkey. Come and see us."
That was all. No name. Qwilleran checked the refrigerator and found a generous supply of
"Isn't that illegal?"
"Not yet. If we had an underwater preserve protected by law it would be a big boost for tourism. It could be used by marine historians, archaeologists, and sport-divers."
"What's holding you back?"
"Money! It would take tens of thousands for an archaeological survey. After that we'd have to lobby for legislation."
Qwilleran said: "It would be a tough law to enforce. You'd need more boats, more helicopters, more personnel."
"Right! And by that time there wouldn't be any sunken cargo to protect."
The men had ordered a second round of drinks, but Qwilleran stopped sipping his T J.
He rubbed his itching hands and wrists surreptitiously under the table.
Roger lowered his voice. "See those two guys sitting near the door? They're wreck-divers. Probably looters."
"How do you know?"
"Everybody knows."
When the food was served, Qwilleran rated it E for edible, but the conversation was enlightening. At the end of the meal he remarked to Roger: "Do you think there might be a skunk living under the post office? I went in there yesterday, and the odor drove everyone out of the building."
"Probably some hog farmer picking up his mail," Roger said. "If they come into town in their work-clothes, the whole town clears out. You wouldn't believe the way some of their kids come to school. They're not all like that, of course. One of my hunting partners raises hogs, No problem."
"Another mystery: A hawk flew through a screened door at the cabin and left a big hole. I can't figure it out."
"He was diving for a rabbit or chipmunk," Roger explained, "and he didn't put on the brakes fast enough."
"You think so?"
"Sure! I've seen a hawk carry off a cat. I was hunting once and heard something mewing up in the sky. I looked up, and there was this poor little cat."
Qwilleran thought of Yum Yum and squirmed uncomfortably. There was a moment of silence, and then he said: "A couple of nights ago I heard footsteps on the roof in the middle of the night."
"A raccoon," Roger said. "A raccoon on the roof of a cabin like yours sounds like a Japanese wrestler in space boots, I know! My in-laws have a cottage near you. One year they had a whole family of raccoons in their chimney."
"Do your in-laws give wild parties? I've heard some hysterical laughing late at night."
"That was a loon you heard. It's a crazy bird."
The fog was thickening, and the view from the dining room windows was almost obliterated. Qwilleran said he should get back to the cabin.
"I hope my wife doesn't try driving home tonight," Roger said. "She's been on a buying trip Down Below. She has a little candle and gift shop in the mall. How do you like this money clip? It came from Sharon's shop." He paid his half of the check with bills from a jumbo paper clip that looked like gold.
Qwilleran drove home at twenty miles an hour with the fog swirling in front of the windshield. The private drive up to the cabin was even more hazardous, with tree trunks suddenly appearing where they were not supposed to be. As he parked the car he thought he saw two figures moving away from the cabin, down the slope toward the beach.
"Hello!" he called. "Hello there!" But they disappeared into the fog.
Indoors he first checked the whereabouts of the Siamese. Koko was huddled on the moose head, and Yum Yum cautiously wriggled out from underneath the sofa. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed, but he detected the aroma of pipe tobacco. In the guestroom there was a slight impression in one of the bunks, where the cats took their naps, and one of his brown socks was on the floor. Yum Yum had a passion for his socks. Everything else seemed to be in order.
Then he found a note in the kitchen, scribbled on one of his own typing sheets:
"Welcome to the dunes. I'm Roger's mother-in-law; See foil package in your fridge.
Thought you might like some roast turkey. Come and see us."
That was all. No name. Qwilleran checked the refrigerator and found a generous supply of
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