In flight his thoughts went to Arch Riker. They had been friends long enough to have genuine concern for each other, and today Arch had been unduly morose. The editor usually exhibited the detached cool of a veteran deskman, punctuated with good-natured raillery, but today something was bothering him. Qwilleran sensed that it was more than his own departure for the north country.

The flight was uneventful, the landing was smooth; and in the pasture that served as the airport's long-term parking lot, his car was waiting as he had left it. No one had slashed the tires or jimmied the trunk. Driving from the airport he knew he was back in Moose County; pickup trucks — many of them modified for rough terrain — outnumbered passenger cars two to one.

The temperature was ideal. Qwilleran was glad to escape the city heat and city traffic. As he neared Mooseville, however, he began to feel the familiar anxiety: What might have happened in his absence?

He had left Koko and Yum Yum alone in the cabin on the lakeshore. A cat-sitter had promised to visit twice a day to feed them, give them fresh drinking water, and make polite conversation. But how reliable was the woman? Sup- pose she had broken a leg and failed to show up! Would the cats have enough water? How long could they live without food?

Suppose she had carelessly let them out of the cabin and they had run away! They were indoor cats — city cats. How would they survive in the woods? What defense would they have against a predatory owl or hawk? Suppose there were wolves in the woods! Koko would fight to the death, but little Yum Yum was so timid, so helpless…

It was a highly nervous man who arrived at the cabin and unlocked the door. There they were — both cats sitting on the hearth rug, rump to rump, like bookends. They looked calm and contented and rather fat around the middle.

"You scoundrels!" he shouted. "You conned her into giving you too much food! You've been gorging!" It was July, and the strong evening sun slanted into the cabin, backlighting the cats' fur and giving each of the reprobates an undeserved halo. With brown legs tucked confidently under fawn bodies, with brown ears cocked at an impudent angle, with blue eyes gazing inscrutably from brown masks, Koko and his accomplice defied Qwilleran to criticize their Royal Catnesses.

"You don't intimidate me in the slightest," he said, "so wipe that superior look off your face-both of you! I have news for you two characters. We're moving to Pickax in the morning." The Siamese were staunch supporters of the status quo and always resented a change of address. Nevertheless, early the next morning Qwilleran packed them and their belongings into the car and drove them — protesting at the rate of forty howls per mile — to the Klingenschoen mansion, thirty miles inland.

The historic K mansion, as the locals called it, was situated on the Pickax Circle, that bulge in Main Street that wrapped around a small park. On the perimeter were two churches, the Moose County Courthouse, and the Pickax Library, but none was more imposing than the hundred-year-old Klingenschoen residence.

Large, square, and solidly built of glistening fieldstone, it rose regally from well-kept lawns. A circular driveway served the front entrance, and a side drive led to the carriage house in the rear, also built of fieldstone with specks of quartz that sparkled in the sun.

Qwilleran drove to the back door of the house. He knew it would be unlocked, according to the friendly Pickax custom.

Hurriedly he carried two squirming animals into the big kitchen, placed their blue cushion on top of a refrigerator, and pointed out the adjoining laundry room as the new location of their drinking water and their commode. Cautioning them to be good, he closed both kitchen doors and then brought in the rest of the baggage, glancing frequently at his watch. He carried his two suitcases upstairs, and piled his writing materials on the desk in the library, including his ancient typewriter and a thirteen-pound unabridged dictionary with a tattered cover.

Previously Qwilleran had been impressed by the lavish furnishings of the mansion, but now he saw it with a proprietary eye: the high-ceilinged foyer with grandiose staircase; the dining room that could seat sixteen; the drawing room with its two fireplaces, two giant crystal chandeliers, and ponderous antique piano; the solarium with its three walls of glass. The place would cost a fortune to heat, he reflected.

Precisely at the appointed hour the doorbell rang, and he admitted the attorneys for the estate: Goodwinter and Goodwinter, a prestigious third-generation law firm. The partners — Alexander and his sister Penelope — were probably in their mid-thirties, although their cool magisterial manner made them appear older. They shared the patrician features and blond hair characteristic of Goodwinters, and they were conspicuously well dressed for a town like Pickax, dedicated to jeans, T-shirts, and feed caps.

"I just arrived myself," said Qwilleran, breathing hard after his recent exertion. "We're now official residents of Pickax. I flew up from Down Below last night." In Pickax parlance, Down Below referred loosely to the urban sprawl in the southern half of the state.

"May we welcome you to Moose County," Alexander Goodwinter said pompously, "and I believe I speak for the entire community. By establishing yourself here without delay, you do us a great favor. Your presence will ameliorate public reaction to the Klingenschoen testament, a reaction that was not exactly — ah — favorable. We appreciate your thoughtful cooperation." "My pleasure," Qwilleran said. "Shall we go into the library to talk?" "One moment!" Alexander raised a restraining hand. "The purpose of our visit," he continued in measured tones, "is simply to make your transition as comfortable as possible. Unfortunately I must emplane for Washington, but I leave you in the capable hands of my sister." That arrangement suited Qwilleran very well. He found the junior partner a fascinating enigma. She was gracious, but haughtily so. She had a dazzling smile and provocative dimples, but they were used solely for business purposes. Yet, on one occasion he had found her quite relaxed, and the only clue to her sudden friendliness had been a hint of minty breath freshener. Penelope piqued his curiosity; she was a challenge.

In making his departure Alexander concluded, "Upon my return you must break bread with us at the club, and perhaps you will allow me to recommend my barber, tailor, and jeweler." He cast a momentary glance at his client's well- worn sweatshirt and untrimmed moustache.

"What I really need," Qwilleran said, "is a veterinarian — for preventive shots and dental prophylaxis." "Ah… well… yes, of course," said the senior partner. He drove away to the airport, and Qwilleran ushered Penelope into the library, enjoying the scent she was wearing — subtly feminine yet not unprofessional. He noted her silky summer suit, exquisitely tailored. She could pass for a fashion model, he thought. Why was she practicing law in this backwoods town? He looked forward to researching the question in depth.

In the library the warm colors of Bokhara rugs, leather seating, and thousands of books produced a wraparound coziness. The attorney took a seat on a blood-red leather sofa, and Qwilleran joined her there. Quickly she placed her briefcase on the seat between them.

"This will be an inspiring place in which to do your writing," she said, glancing at the bookshelves and the busts of Shakespeare and Homer. "Is that actually your typewriter? You might consider treating yourself to a word processor, Mr.

Qwilleran." Being frugal by nature, he resented advice on how to spend his own money, but his irritation was lessened by Penelope's dimpled smile.

Then she frowned at the big book with tattered cover. "You could use a new dictionary, too. Yours seems to have had a great deal of use." "That happens to be the cats' scratching pad, " Qwilleran said. "There's nothing better than an unabridged dictionary, third edition, for sharpening the claws." The attorney's aplomb wavered for an instant before she recovered her professional smile and opened her briefcase.