Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Had 60 Whiskers

“Really? Who does it?”

“Young guy in Lockmaster.”

Qwilleran asked, “Would Dr. Feltzanhammer make a good story for the Qwill Pen?”

“I don’t know. He’s young and kind of shy. But he’s likable.”

“I’ll give it a try. Before interviewing anyone on an esoteric subject, I read all about it in the encyclopedia, so I know what questions to ask and what he’s talking about. What are felts and hammers? My mother was a brilliant pianist, and she never mentioned felts and hammers.”

“By the way, it was the piano tuner’s girlfriend who was killed by a bee sting at the Old Manse.”

At that moment, Koko interrupted with a gut-wrenching howl.

“What was that all about?” Joe asked.

“Koko wants the lights turned out.”

Qwilleran knew better. It was the cat’s death howl. It meant wrongful death.

SIXTEEN

In spite of the ups and downs of his current life, Qwilleran had the steadying influence of home and workplace: feeding the cats twice a day and writing the Qwill Pen twice a week. Filling the thousand-word hole on page two kept him alert for ideas.

The morning after Joe’s party, Qwilleran was feeding the cats when he received an unexpected phone call from Rhoda Tibbitt.

“Qwill, I hope I’m not calling too early. I have exciting news. I’ve discovered the answer to the Brown Paper Bag Mystery! I was preparing Homer’s suits to give to charity, the way he wanted, and I found some little brown paper bags in the pockets! And two of them contained tiny flasks.” She paused for breath—or effect. “I tasted the contents: One of them still had…black breakfast tea! And the other had the afternoon tea that Homer liked. Lapsang souchong!”

Qwilleran said, “Don’t say a word to anyone! They’re talking about a refreshment stand for the lobby of the auditorium, something with class…and I’m going to suggest the Homer Tibbitt Tearoom!…But don’t explain, and neither will I. We’ll keep Homer’s secret.”

Qwilleran had an opportunity to use his privileged information from Rhoda Tibbitt when he called on Daisy Babcock in the refurbished auditorium. He complimented her on the metamorphosis of the building, and she praised his book review. There were daisies from Fredo on her desk—and a daisy wallpaper on the wall above a gray dado.

She said, “We’ve been thinking about a refreshment stand on the main floor—not a hangout for kids but something more civilized.”

“How about a Homer Tibbitt Tearoom?”

“Qwill. You come up with the best impromptu ideas!”

A chart on the wall gave the status of local projects. The Old Manse Museum of Art and Antiques was open two days a week with trained guides—twenty dollars a ticket—and people coming from all over the country—even Europe. She then added, “But they won’t go into the garden. They’ve all heard about the danger of bee stings.”

“Have you had any more trouble?” he asked.

She shook her head and looked sad.

Also on the chart were the following:

Senior Health Club—Ready next year.

Wildlife museum—Buildings finished/mounted

animals and art being moved in.

There was a photo of the Ledfields on Daisy’s desk, and Qwilleran said, “Handsome couple. I never met them, but their efforts for child welfare alone were commendable.”

Daisy said, “That’s because they were childless and regretful. Bringing busloads of kids from Pickax Schools to view the mounted animals gave Nathan great pleasure. He would be thrilled to know that we’re erecting two buildings downtown and the city is renaming the Old Back Road the Ledfield Highway.”

Catsmusical—Now being rehearsed.

Qwilleran asked, “How are theCats rehearsals progressing? Is Frankie still the accompanist? Who’s turning Frankie’s pages?”

“Uncle Louie’s wife. Hannah. She’s a wonderful woman and does what needs to be done. She can accompany the chorus or even direct the show, and yet she’ll sweep the stage if necessary, or make sandwiches for the cast. It’s amazing what the McLeods have done with the orphan they adopted.”

“So is Frankie doing all right?”

“It appears so.”

He asked, “Do you think he would make a good interview on piano tuning? I could kill a couple of birds with one stone and do chauffeur service for a rehearsal.”

“I know. This is what we’ve worked out. We could drop off Frankie at the barn, and you could drive him back to the theater at seven-thirty. You could give him a bite to eat; he isn’t fussy, and he’d love to see the barn and meet the cats. I know the barn doesn’t have a piano, but Frankie has one of those roll-up keyboards!”

Qwilleran agreed. “You’re an expert coordinator, Daisy.”

He had decided against doing a Qwill Pen column on piano tuning. It was another no-story.

When one of the Linguini brothers (Mungojerrie, not Rumpleteazer) arrived at the barn, Frankie jumped out the passenger side, gazing in rapture at the lofty barn and saying, “Oh, wow! Oh, wow!”

Qwilleran realized high praise when he heard it.

Koko and Yum Yum were cavorting in the kitchen window as they always did when a vehicle arrived, and—as first-time visitors always did—Frankie asked, “Are these your cats?”

Qwilleran always felt like saying, “No, these are a pair of pet crocodiles.” But he said amiably, “Yes, this is Koko and Yum Yum.”

Both Qwilleran and the Siamese found Frankie a likable guest. The Siamese followed him around and put on their flying-squirrel act from the top balcony to entertain him.

The Siamese were fascinated by the “thing” strapped to his back, somewhat like a blanket roll but actually a four-octave electronic piano. (Later, when they heard it, though, they went and hid.)

“Do you come from a musical family?” Qwilleran asked.

“My dad raises horses, but my mother is a piano teacher, and I have an uncle who’s a piano tuner.”

“Did he teach you about felts and hammers?” He was enjoying a private joke.

“He taught me everything,” Frankie said seriously.

That explained everything except his inability to drive, and his friendship with Libby Simms had taken care of that.

Locals in both counties had said, “They’re a darling couple. Do you think they’ll marry? It’s a touching romance.” And then there was the incident of the bee sting.

Now Qwilleran was about to show Frankie the premises.

“First we must order our dinner,” Qwilleran said, handing his guest a menu card. “Order anything you like and it’ll be delivered in fifteen minutes. I’m having ham and sweet potatoes with asparagus spears…a cheese muffin…apple-and-walnut salad…and chocolate cake. I have my own coffee machine.”

“I’ll have the same,” Frankie said.

“While we’re waiting, Koko will show you their apartment on the third level. They have a twistletwig rocking chair that you might try sitting in; it’s an experience.”

Apparently the three of them were “communicating,” because Frankie had to be called down for dinner. It was served in the screened gazebo, and that was another experience, since small animals came up to the screen and communed silently with the Siamese.

Frankie said, “Libby would have loved this. Did you ever meet her?”

“Yes. Charming young woman.”

Two tears rolled down the young man’s face. “Now my life’s ruined. Libby and I…we were gonna get married and travel around on concert tours. But she went out to the garden without the kit the doctor gave her.”

“I hear she kept it in the pocket of her garden coat.”

“Yeah, but she wore that jacket when we went on dates, too. She must’ve taken the bee kit out and forgot to put it back. She ruined my life as well as her own.”