"Do you do much fishing, Buck?" A little fishing, a little golf… Say, I see you've got one of my candlesticks." "Picked it up this morning at Sharon's candle shop." "I'll tell Mildred. She'll be tickled. Nice little shop, isn't it? Nice girl, Sharon.

Roger's a good kid, too." He took out his pipe and began the business of lighting it.

Pointing the stem at the beach he said: "You've got some dead fish down there." "You don't need to tell me. They smell pretty ripe when the breeze is off the lake." "You should bury them. That's what I do. The stink doesn't bother me; I've got chronic sinus trouble, but my wife objects to it, so I bury the fish under the trees. Good fertilizer!" "If you don't have a good nose," Qwilleran said. "how can you enjoy that pipe? The aroma used to be the big attraction for me." "Just a nervous habit." Buck watched two long-legged girls strolling down the beach with heads bowed, studying the sand underfoot. "See? What did I tell you? Everybody collects agates. In the middle of summer it's like a parade along this beach." He had another look at the girls. "They're a little twiggy for me. How about you?" Qwilleran was thinking, smugly: Wait till he sees Rosemary! He said: "Do you know the woman who owns this cabin?" Buck rolled his eyes expressively. "Lord, do I ever! She hates my guts. I got her license revoked after she rammed a hole in the Pickax police station. She didn't know forward from reverse. I hope she's not your grandmother or something." "No. No relation." "Just because she's got all the money in the world, she thinks she can do anything she pleases. A woman of her age shouldn't be allowed to carry a firearm. She's crazy enough to shoot up a city council meeting some day." He puffed on his pipe aggressively. "Her name's Fanny, but she calls herself Francesca, and anybody who names their kid after her gets written in her will. There are more Francescas in Pickax than in Rome, Italy." When the second drink was poured Buck leaned over and said confidentially: "All foolin' aside, how do you size up this place?" "What do you mean?" "Mooseville. Do you think everything is out in the open?" From the man's conspiratorial manner it was clear that he was not talking about the landscape. Qwilleran stroked his moustache. "Well… they have a tendency, I would say, to gloss over certain situations and explain them away very fast." "Exactly! It's their way of life. The Picayune didn't even report it when some tourists were mauled by bears at the village dump. Of course, the stupid jerks climbed the fence and teased the bears, and after that the town put up a double fence. But nothing was ever printed in the paper." "I'm wondering if this vacation paradise is as free of crime as they want us to believe." "Now you're talking my language." Buck glanced around quickly. "I suspect irregularities that should be investigated and prosecuted. You've worked on the crime beat; you know what I mean. I'm friendly with a few detectives Down Below, and they speak highly of you." "Do you know Lieutenant Hames?" "Sure do." Buck chuckled. "He told me about your smart cat. That's really far-out! I don't believe a word of it, but he swears it's true." "Koko's smarter than I am, and he's sitting under your chair right now, so be careful what you say." "Cats are all right," Buck said, "but I prefer dogs." "Getting back to the subject," Qwilleran went on, "I think the authorities up here want to operate in their own way without any suggestions or embarrassing questions from outsiders." "Exactly! The locals don't want any hotshot city-types coming up here and telling them what's wrong." "What do you think is wrong?" Buck lowered his voice again and looked over his shoulder twice. "I say there are crimes that are being conveniently overlooked. But I'm working on it — privately. Once a cop, always a cop. Did you ever eat at the FOO? The customers are a mixed bag, and the battleax that runs the joint has larceny in her heart, but it's hooked up to the best grapevine in the country… Now, mind you, I'm not going to stick my neck out. I'm at the age when I value every day of my life. I've got good digestion, a good woman, and something useful to do. Know what I mean? Only… it would give me a lot of satisfaction to see a certain criminal activity cleaned up. I'm not saying the police are corrupt, but they're hogtied. Nobody wants to talk." Qwilleran sat in silence, grooming his moustache with his knuckles as the panorama of his adventure on the Minnie K unreeled before his mind's eye.

"I had an interesting experience the other day," he began. "It might support your theory, although I have no actual evidence. How about you?" "I've been doing some snooping, and I'm getting there. Something may break very soon." "Okay. Let me tell you what happened to me. Did you ever hear of a boat called the Minnie K?" The newsman went on to recount the entire fog-bound tale, not missing a single detail.

Buck listened attentively, forgetting to relight his pipe. "Too bad we don't know the name of the boat where the guys were having the fight." "It probably docks in the same godforsaken area where we boarded the Minnie K. It was a sleazy part of the shoreline. I haven't been back there since the fog lifted, so I don't know how much activity there is in the vicinity." "I know that area. It's the slum of the waterfront. Mooseville would like to see it cleaned up, but it's beyond the village limits. Want to drive out there with me — some day soon?" "Be glad to. I'm having company from Down Below for about a week, but I can work it in." "Gotta be going," Buck said. "Thanks for the booze. I've gotta get rid of a sinkful of dirty dishes before the old gals get home and give me hell. I've got a wife and a sister on my tail all the time. You don't know how lucky you are." He looked at the sky. "Storm tonight." He left the same way he had come, slipping and sliding down the dune to the beach. The leggy girls were returning from their walk, and Buck fell into step behind them, throwing an OK finger-signal to Qwilleran up on the porch.

Koko was still sitting under the chair, very quiet, folded into a compact bundle.

There was something about the visitor that fascinated him. Qwilleran also appreciated this new acquaintance who spoke his language and enjoyed the challenge of detection. They would have a few investigative adventures together.

The day was unusually calm. Voices could be heard from the fishing boats: "Anybody wanna beer?… Nah, it's time to go in." There was something portentous about the closeness of the atmosphere. One by one the boats slipped away toward Mooseville. There was a distant rumble on the horizon, Koko started throwing himself at the legs of tables and chairs, while Yum Yum emitted an occasional shriek. By nightfall the storm was overhead. The rain pelted the roof and windows, claps of thunder shook the cabin, and jagged bolts of lightning slashed the night sky and illuminated the lake.