said. “It’s you I want to see. Let’s sit in a booth.” He indicated a corner booth behind the cash register. “Did G. Allen Barter contact you?”
“Yeah. Do you think I need him?”
“You certainly do! Don’t worry about the expense. The K Fund is interested in your case. Bart will see that you’re exonerated.”
“But what if I’m guilty?” the young man said with a mischievous grin.
“We’ll take that chance, smart-ape! Even Brodie thinks the allegations are preposterous, but he had to follow the letter of the law. You’ll notice they didn’t keep you in jail or ask you to post bond. Now. . . would you like to tell me what you know? I’d like to find the real culprit, not that it’s any of my business. How long have you been working at the clubhouse?”
“About six weeks. Don’s a good boss. All the members are fun. It’s better than desk clerk at the hotel, plus I get a nice office.”
“Where was the money jar kept?”
“In my office, in a cabinet with pencils, tallies, nut dishes, and other stuff. There wasn’t any lock on the cabinet, but the jar was covered with a paper bag.”
“What did you think when the money was stolen?”
“I couldn’t understand it. Nobody knew the jar was there except the bridge club.”
“Who else had access to your office?”
“Anybody who wanted to pay their dues or see the schedule of events—plus there were maintenance guys, cleaning crew, caterers.”
“Where was your locker?” Qwilleran asked.
“In the back hall with all the other employee lockers.”
“Do they have locks?”
“Padlocks are supplied, but nobody uses them. I just put my boots and jacket in there.”
“Is your name on your locker?”
“Sure. They all have names.”
“Why did you go to Duluth?”
“Well, I had to study for exams, you see, and in Pickax I’ve got too many friends who like to party, so I went to my aunt’s house in Duluth. I no sooner opened my books than a couple of deputies knocked on the door. They were guys I went to school with, and they were embarrassed because they thought I really stole the stuff. I knew I hadn’t. . . At least, I don’t think I did,” Lenny said with a wicked grin.
“Don’t let your whimsical sense of humor get you into trouble,” Qwilleran advised him.
A loud voice from the kitchen interrupted. “Lenny! Who’s that you’re gabbin’ with? Get off your duff and mop that floor! Folks’ll be comin’ in for supper.”
Lenny yelled back, “It’s Mr. Q, Mom. He wants to talk about the case.”
“Oh!. . . Okay. . . Give him the other mop and put him to work. He can talk at the same time.”
“I’m leaving,” Qwilleran shouted.
“Want a doggie bag? I’ve got some meatballs left over from lunch.”
* * *
Back in Indian Village the Siamese were sleeping in Qwilleran’s reading chair. They had cushioned baskets, windowsills, and perches in their own room on the balcony. Yet, with feline perversity they preferred a man-size lounge chair with deep cushions and suede covering.
While they were waking and yawning and stretching and scratching their ears, Qwilleran phoned Don Ex-bridge at home and caught him in the middle of the happy hour.
“Something’s screwy somewhere!” Exbridge said. “If Lenny’s guilty, I’m a donkey’s uncle! Come on over for a drink! Bring Polly!”
“Wish I could, but I’m working tonight,” Qwilleran said. “I just want you to know G. Allen Barter is representing him.”
“Great! Great! And his job will be waiting for him when it’s all over.”
“Have you had any applicants for it?”
“Some other students. We’ve taken applications, that’s all. We’re waiting to see which way the wind blows. The manager at the gatehouse is working two jobs.”
“Well, you know, there’s no telling how long Lenny will have to wait for a hearing, and I could recommend a temporary substitute who’d be perfect in the interim—an older woman, very responsible,
“Yeah. Do you think I need him?”
“You certainly do! Don’t worry about the expense. The K Fund is interested in your case. Bart will see that you’re exonerated.”
“But what if I’m guilty?” the young man said with a mischievous grin.
“We’ll take that chance, smart-ape! Even Brodie thinks the allegations are preposterous, but he had to follow the letter of the law. You’ll notice they didn’t keep you in jail or ask you to post bond. Now. . . would you like to tell me what you know? I’d like to find the real culprit, not that it’s any of my business. How long have you been working at the clubhouse?”
“About six weeks. Don’s a good boss. All the members are fun. It’s better than desk clerk at the hotel, plus I get a nice office.”
“Where was the money jar kept?”
“In my office, in a cabinet with pencils, tallies, nut dishes, and other stuff. There wasn’t any lock on the cabinet, but the jar was covered with a paper bag.”
“What did you think when the money was stolen?”
“I couldn’t understand it. Nobody knew the jar was there except the bridge club.”
“Who else had access to your office?”
“Anybody who wanted to pay their dues or see the schedule of events—plus there were maintenance guys, cleaning crew, caterers.”
“Where was your locker?” Qwilleran asked.
“In the back hall with all the other employee lockers.”
“Do they have locks?”
“Padlocks are supplied, but nobody uses them. I just put my boots and jacket in there.”
“Is your name on your locker?”
“Sure. They all have names.”
“Why did you go to Duluth?”
“Well, I had to study for exams, you see, and in Pickax I’ve got too many friends who like to party, so I went to my aunt’s house in Duluth. I no sooner opened my books than a couple of deputies knocked on the door. They were guys I went to school with, and they were embarrassed because they thought I really stole the stuff. I knew I hadn’t. . . At least, I don’t think I did,” Lenny said with a wicked grin.
“Don’t let your whimsical sense of humor get you into trouble,” Qwilleran advised him.
A loud voice from the kitchen interrupted. “Lenny! Who’s that you’re gabbin’ with? Get off your duff and mop that floor! Folks’ll be comin’ in for supper.”
Lenny yelled back, “It’s Mr. Q, Mom. He wants to talk about the case.”
“Oh!. . . Okay. . . Give him the other mop and put him to work. He can talk at the same time.”
“I’m leaving,” Qwilleran shouted.
“Want a doggie bag? I’ve got some meatballs left over from lunch.”
* * *
Back in Indian Village the Siamese were sleeping in Qwilleran’s reading chair. They had cushioned baskets, windowsills, and perches in their own room on the balcony. Yet, with feline perversity they preferred a man-size lounge chair with deep cushions and suede covering.
While they were waking and yawning and stretching and scratching their ears, Qwilleran phoned Don Ex-bridge at home and caught him in the middle of the happy hour.
“Something’s screwy somewhere!” Exbridge said. “If Lenny’s guilty, I’m a donkey’s uncle! Come on over for a drink! Bring Polly!”
“Wish I could, but I’m working tonight,” Qwilleran said. “I just want you to know G. Allen Barter is representing him.”
“Great! Great! And his job will be waiting for him when it’s all over.”
“Have you had any applicants for it?”
“Some other students. We’ve taken applications, that’s all. We’re waiting to see which way the wind blows. The manager at the gatehouse is working two jobs.”
“Well, you know, there’s no telling how long Lenny will have to wait for a hearing, and I could recommend a temporary substitute who’d be perfect in the interim—an older woman, very responsible,
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