Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Saw Stars

“And then the Sand Giant came to your rescue,” Qwilleran said, “except that you have information on a homicide that could enable police to effect a closure, and it’s your social duty to report it … Do you know anyone in the sheriff’s department?”

“Deputy Greenleaf. We were in high school together.”

“Tell her the whole story, and she’ll tell you what to do. Mention Pirate Shoals as the scene of the alleged crime. Then the sheriff and SBI will investigate as they see fit.”

“One thing I’m thankful for,” Barb said. “She wasn’t one of us.”

A commotion among the crows - frenzied cawing, fluttering, and squabbling - signaled the end of the conversation.

Arriving at the cabin, Qwilleran found all five skewers hanging on their brads. Either Koko was tired of his new toy, or it was his way of saying “case closed.” The cat was now lounging contentedly in a patch of sunlight coming through a roof window. Qwilleran thought of the poet’s Jeoffrey: For there is nothing sweeter than his peace when at rest.

-20-

After feeding the Siamese, Qwilleran opened the lakeside door, and the three of them moved gratefully onto the porch with its late-afternoon sun, friendly breezes, and idyllic view. “This is your last chance, guys, to watch the twilight bird ballet and the nighttime show of stars!”

“Yow!” said Koko.

“And as for you, young man, you’re going back to Pickax tomorrow, even if we have to bring in the fire department with a hose!”

At that moment the cat’s ears pricked, and he turned his head toward the cabin interior. In a few seconds the phone rang.

It was Lisa Compton. “Are you busy, Qwill? Do you have company?”

“I have some four-legged company, and we’re busy watching the crows. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, Lyle has a new toy he wants to show you. He thinks you’ll want one like it. Do you mind if we walk over there?”

“Come along. We’ll have a farewell drink. I’m leaving tomorrow.” Five minutes before the Comptons arrived, Koko knew they were on the way. When they came into sight, Lyle was shouldering a long tubular carrying case.

Qwilleran went to the top of the sandladder to greet them. “Don’t tell me! It’s a shotgun,” he guessed.

After they were seated on the porch, and after the drinks were served, Lyle unsheathed a brass telescope about a yard long, together with an extendable tripod in wood with brass fittings.

“Handsome piece of equipment,” the host said.

“You should get one, Qwill. It’s great for watching UFOs. What looks like a fuzzy green blob becomes a flying machine!”

“You’re selling to the wrong customer, Lyle. I can’t even see the fuzzy green blobs.”

“Well, anyway, let me show you how powerful it is.”

The three of them trooped to the small open deck that surrounded the screened porch. The tripod was extended to shoulder-height, and the telescope was trained on the lake. “How does this compare with the Hubbell space scope?” Qwilleran asked.

“Considering the difference in cost, it does a pretty good job. Take a squint at that cabin cruiser out there.”

Qwilleran squinted. “There are two couples having cocktails on deck… I believe they’re drinking martinis.”

“With anchovy olives or pickled onions?” Lyle asked.

“Seriously, Lyle, I’m impressed,” Qwilleran said, “although I haven’t caught the UFO bug myself. But you’ll have fun with it.”

They returned to the screened porch, and Lisa asked about Polly’s vacation. She and her husband frequently traveled in Canada. She said, “I hope Polly brings you something nice. They have wonderful cashmeres there - from Scotland.”

“One of her postcards says she’s bringing me a loonie and a toonie, whatever they are.”

“They’re coins that replace paper money,” Lyle said, “and I’m all in favor of the idea. The loonie has a loon on one side and is worth a buck. The toonie is worth two bucks. Both are about the size of our half-dollar, but those clever Canadians have put a copper center in one and a faceted edge on the other.”

Lisa said, “We have more than two hundred color slides of our trips to Canada, and we’d love to show them to you and Polly some weekend.”

“That’s something to look forward to,” Qwilleran murmured in a minor key, already plotting a way to avoid the invitation. They were wonderful people - the Comptons - but …

Qwilleran read to the Siamese until the light began to fade. He enjoyed twilight, those moody moments between light and dark. What poet had called it l’heure bleu? Polly would know. He missed her for reasons he had never put into words: her loving smile, soft voice, merry laugh - and their shared interests. There would be much to talk about over dinner at the Old Stone Mill: her trip abroad and his adventures at home. He would not, however, bring up the subject of Ernie’s confession to Barb; that was reserved for Andrew Brodie, along with Koko’s involvement in the case. Only the police chief was privy to the cat’s unique talents, and even he was skeptical.

Soon Qwilleran would invite Andy to the barn for a nightcap and relate how Koko knew instinctively that the body of the backpacker was buried in the sand ridge… and how the cat knew when someone was walking on the beach a quarter-mile away… and how his catly strategy had twice stopped Qwilleran from leaving Mooseville, when it was advantageous to stay.

Koko never used his powers frivolously; he provided no clue to the “something nice” that Polly would bring from Canada: a Shakespeare sweatshirt, perhaps, or an unabridged reading of Hamlet on cassettes.

Darkness always came reluctantly to the lake and its endless dome of sky, but eventually it was total. Qwilleran turned off the lights indoors and out, and the three of them sat listening to bullfrogs in a distant pond, an army of crickets, and waves lapping lazily on the shore. It was a moonless night but clear, and Koko studied the stars from his pedestal, while Yum Yum stared into the shrubbery and Qwilleran, stretched in his lounge chair, let his thoughts drift. All three were so enthralled by the magic of the night that they forgot the eleven o’clock curfew and stayed on the porch until well after midnight.

It was then that an uncanny incident occurred - something Qwilleran would later record in his personal journal. When it happened, he was too unnerved to write about it. He paced the floor, unable to sleep, and in the morning he was dressed and ready to leave the cabin even before feeding the cats. Before they were really awake, he stuffed them into the carrier and took them to the van. Luggage, coffeemaker, bike, and so forth were already loaded, and they took off for Pickax. Qwilleran was introspective, and the Siamese respected his mood. There was no yowling or jostling in the backseat.

At the barn, after a phone call to Polly confirming their dinner date, he felt better. He reserved their favorite table and then spent some time deciding what to wear. For three weeks he had lived in shorts, polo shirts, and sandals, and it was not easy to shift gears. There was no dress code at the Old Stone Mill, but customers paid the restaurant the compliment of dressing nicely.

At six o’clock he and Polly walked into the Mill, looking happy. Each carried a flat gift-wrapped package. Qwilleran thought hers was too small for a sweatshirt, too large for a CD, too flat for a piece of sculpture.

The hostess said, “We’ve missed you folks!”

“I’ve been vacationing in Canada,” Polly said.

“I’ve been in the haunts of coot and hern,” Qwilleran said.

“That’s nice,” said the hostess, smiling.

“See?” he said to Polly when they were seated. “People don’t listen. I could have said I’d been in jail.”