perhaps you can tell me where to find the spare lightbulbs. Come on, Koko. Let's have a little input."
With seeming difficulty Koko wrenched his attention away from the outdoor scene and executed a broad jump from the windowsill to the large freezer chest that Mrs. Cobb had left well stocked with food.
"I said lightbulbs, not meatballs," said Qwilleran. He opened and closed the pine cabinets until he found what he needed—a flame-shaped lightbulb intended for use in candle-style fixtures. He carried this and a kitchen chair to the front hall, the Siamese romping alongside to watch the show. Any action out of the ordinary attracted their attention, and a man climbing on a kitchen chair rated as a spectacle.
After Qwilleran had climbed on the chair, he forgot which light needed replacing. He stepped down and flicked the switch. All four candles responded.
"Spooks!" he muttered as he returned the chair to the kitchen and put the lightbulb back into the broom closet.
-5-
THE DINGLEBERRY FUNERAL home occupied an old stone mansion on Goodwinter Boulevard, one that had been built by a mining tycoon during Moose County's boom years. Though the exterior was forbidding, the interior had been styled by Amanda's Design Studio. Plush carpet, grasscloth walls, and raw silk draperies were in pale seafoam green, accented with eighteenth-century mahogany furniture and benign oil paintings in expensive frames. The decor was so widely admired that most of the fashionable residences in Pickax were decorated in Dingleberry green.
When Qwilleran arrived on Tuesday evening the large parking lot in the rear was filled and all the legal parking spaces on the boulevard were taken, as well as some of the illegal ones. Entering the establishment he heard a respectful babble of voices in the adjoining rooms. Susan Exbridge, handsomely dressed as usual, quickly approached him in the foyer.
"Dennis is darling!" she said in a subdued voice, restraining her usual dramatics of speech and gesture. "I feel so sorry for him. He thinks Iris would still be alive if he had arrived a day earlier, but I did my best to ease his mind. I took him to lunch at Tipsy's and then drove him around the county. He was quite impressed! When he saw the Fitch estate—it's for sale, you know—he said the big house could be converted into condos, and he'd like to live in the other house himself. I didn't mention it to him, but if he inherits Iris's money he could afford to buy the Fitch property and we could get him into the Theatre Club. He's interested in acting, and we could use a handsome man for leading roles—of his age, I mean. I told him Moose County is a good place to raise a family. Of course, I can't imagine why anyone would want to live in St. Louis anyway, can you?"
"You should be selling real estate," Qwilleran said. "I may do that if the antique shop isn't a big success. How will I ever be able to swing it without Iris? I had the connections, but she had the know-how. Exbridge and Cobb! It sounded so right! Like Crosse and Blackwell or Bausch and Lomb. Would you like to see her? She looks lovely."
Susan accompanied Qwilleran into the Slumber Room, where visitors were gathered in small groups, speaking in low but animated voices. One entire wall was banked with pink flowers, plus a few red and white blossoms for accent, and Iris Cobb in her pink suede suit lay at peace in a pink-lined casket with her rhinestone-studded eyeglasses folded in one hand as if she had just removed them before taking a nap.
Qwilleran said, "Was the pink nail polish your idea, Susan? I never saw her wear nail polish."
"She said she couldn't because she had her hands in water so much, but she won't have to cook any more, so I thought the polish was a nice touch."
"Don't kid yourself. At this moment she's happily concocting some ethereal delicacy for the angels."
"Have the attorneys called you?" she asked.
"No. Why should they?"
"Thursday morning is the reading of the
With seeming difficulty Koko wrenched his attention away from the outdoor scene and executed a broad jump from the windowsill to the large freezer chest that Mrs. Cobb had left well stocked with food.
"I said lightbulbs, not meatballs," said Qwilleran. He opened and closed the pine cabinets until he found what he needed—a flame-shaped lightbulb intended for use in candle-style fixtures. He carried this and a kitchen chair to the front hall, the Siamese romping alongside to watch the show. Any action out of the ordinary attracted their attention, and a man climbing on a kitchen chair rated as a spectacle.
After Qwilleran had climbed on the chair, he forgot which light needed replacing. He stepped down and flicked the switch. All four candles responded.
"Spooks!" he muttered as he returned the chair to the kitchen and put the lightbulb back into the broom closet.
-5-
THE DINGLEBERRY FUNERAL home occupied an old stone mansion on Goodwinter Boulevard, one that had been built by a mining tycoon during Moose County's boom years. Though the exterior was forbidding, the interior had been styled by Amanda's Design Studio. Plush carpet, grasscloth walls, and raw silk draperies were in pale seafoam green, accented with eighteenth-century mahogany furniture and benign oil paintings in expensive frames. The decor was so widely admired that most of the fashionable residences in Pickax were decorated in Dingleberry green.
When Qwilleran arrived on Tuesday evening the large parking lot in the rear was filled and all the legal parking spaces on the boulevard were taken, as well as some of the illegal ones. Entering the establishment he heard a respectful babble of voices in the adjoining rooms. Susan Exbridge, handsomely dressed as usual, quickly approached him in the foyer.
"Dennis is darling!" she said in a subdued voice, restraining her usual dramatics of speech and gesture. "I feel so sorry for him. He thinks Iris would still be alive if he had arrived a day earlier, but I did my best to ease his mind. I took him to lunch at Tipsy's and then drove him around the county. He was quite impressed! When he saw the Fitch estate—it's for sale, you know—he said the big house could be converted into condos, and he'd like to live in the other house himself. I didn't mention it to him, but if he inherits Iris's money he could afford to buy the Fitch property and we could get him into the Theatre Club. He's interested in acting, and we could use a handsome man for leading roles—of his age, I mean. I told him Moose County is a good place to raise a family. Of course, I can't imagine why anyone would want to live in St. Louis anyway, can you?"
"You should be selling real estate," Qwilleran said. "I may do that if the antique shop isn't a big success. How will I ever be able to swing it without Iris? I had the connections, but she had the know-how. Exbridge and Cobb! It sounded so right! Like Crosse and Blackwell or Bausch and Lomb. Would you like to see her? She looks lovely."
Susan accompanied Qwilleran into the Slumber Room, where visitors were gathered in small groups, speaking in low but animated voices. One entire wall was banked with pink flowers, plus a few red and white blossoms for accent, and Iris Cobb in her pink suede suit lay at peace in a pink-lined casket with her rhinestone-studded eyeglasses folded in one hand as if she had just removed them before taking a nap.
Qwilleran said, "Was the pink nail polish your idea, Susan? I never saw her wear nail polish."
"She said she couldn't because she had her hands in water so much, but she won't have to cook any more, so I thought the polish was a nice touch."
"Don't kid yourself. At this moment she's happily concocting some ethereal delicacy for the angels."
"Have the attorneys called you?" she asked.
"No. Why should they?"
"Thursday morning is the reading of the
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