Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Said Cheese

It was dark when the jitneys started delivering the well-dressed guests, and the exterior lights transformed the barn into an enchanted castle. Indoors, mysterious illumination from hidden sources dramatized the balconies and overhead beams, the white fireplace cube and its soaring white stacks, the contemporary tapestries, and the clean-cut modern furniture. Add to that the glamor of beaded dinner dresses, the courtliness of men in evening wear, and the bonhomie of such an occasion; it had all the ingredients of a magical evening, one never to be forgotten in Pickax, for more reasons than one.

John Bushland was on hand with a camcorder, the idea being to sell videos of the festivities and raise an extra thousand or two for a good cause. Although distinguished guests received ample coverage, the Siamese received more than their share of footage. They sat on the fireplace cube, watching in an attitude of wonder. Later they would sail to the floor like flying squirrels, Koko on the trail of cheese crumbs and Yum Yum on the lookout for shoelaces. As the proliferating number of feet endangered her tail, she fled to the first balcony and watched from the railing.

Among those present were the Rikers, Lanspeaks, and Wilmots; the mayor in his red paisley cummerbund; Don Exbridge with his new wife and his former wife; and the new banker with the flashy Danielle. If one wanted to count, there were three attorneys, four doctors, two accountants, one judge, and five public officials coming up for re-election. One of them was the cranky but popular Amanda Goodwinter, running again for city council and wearing a dinner dress she had worn for thirty years.

The focus of attention was the dinner table, with its silver punch bowls and lighted candles. Flanking it were the two white-skirted buffets, each with eight cheese platters and a large wheel of Cheddar. Jerry Sip and Jack Nibble presided at the buffets, assisted by college students looking professional in white duck coats.

Jack Nibble was heard to say, "We have three blues on the cheese table. Try all three and compare; it's the only way to learn. The one from France is crumbly; the Italian is spreadable; the one from England slices well."

And Dr. Prelligate replied, "Do I detect nuances in your observation?"

"Anyway you eat it," said Amanda Goodwinter, "it's still moldy cheese."

Then Jerry Sip said, "If you like a rich, creamy cheese with superb flavor, try the double-cream Brie."

"Yow!" came an endorsement from the floor.

Amanda said, "That cat and yours truly are the only ones here who tell it like it is!"

Pender Wilmot, who had cats of his own, said, "They all know the word 'cream' when they hear it."

"I have it on good authority," said Big Mac, "that Qwill feeds his on caviar and escargots. Too bad he can't take them as dependents."

"They're so elegant!" Dr. Diane enthused. "We have to dress up for special occasions, but Siamese always look formally attired." She gazed up at Yum Yum on the balcony railing, and the little female turned her head this way and that to show off her left and right profiles. "They're also vain!"

Not all the conversation was about cats and cheese. There were speculations about the bombing, the murder, and the $10,000 reward. Riker pulled Qwilleran aside and demanded, "Did you run that ad? You're crazy! Who's going to payoff?"

"Don't worry, Arch. No one will claim it, but it's large enough to put a lot of sleuths on the trail. I'm betting that the guilty person will mail the cookbook anonymously to the P.O. box, rather than be exposed."

Qwilleran circulated, listening and looking for ideas. He was always the columnist, always on duty, always hoping for material to fill the space on page two above the fold. What he heard was mostly small talk:

Don Exbridge: "It's never safe to recommend a restaurant. If you do, the chef quits the next day, the management replaces him with a hash-slinger, and your friends think you have a tin palate."

Larry Lanspeak: "Has anyone been to the Boulder House Inn? The chef grows his own herbs and knows how to cook vegetables-with a bone in them."

Carol Lanspeak: "Qwill, there's a fuchsia silk blouse at the store that Polly would love - scarf neck, drop shoulder. In fact, I've laid one aside in her size. If you want me to, I'll gift-wrap it and drop it off here."

Pender Wilmot: "Who's interested in starting a gourmet club? I'm taking applications."

Arch Riker: "Deal us in - but not if it's just another dinner club where you talk about the national deficit while you're eating. I want to learn something about food and wine."

Mildred Riker: "Someone has said that food worth eating is worth talking about."

Qwilleran: "Would this be a club for gourmands, gourmets, or gastronomes?"

Don Exbridge: "Get the dictionary, somebody!"

Dr. Diane: "How would it work? Would we flock around to restaurants? Or would we have to cook?"

Willard Carmichael: "In Detroit we belonged to a hands-on group. The host planned the menu and prepared the entree. Other members were assigned to bring the other courses. Recipes were provided - all unusual, but not freaky. No fried grasshoppers."

Danielle Carmichael: "You had to follow the recipe exactly or pay a forfeit - like running the dishwasher or paying for the wine."

Qwilleran: "I'll join if I can be permanent dishwasher."

Amanda Goodwinter: "Don't put my name on the list. The last time I attended a gourmet dinner, I had indigestion for a month!"

The evening wore on, with much consumption of cheese and the amber-colored punch. Voices grew louder. A few couples started to leave. Suddenly there was a commotion in the kitchen-a thumping and growling, followed by a shattering crash! Conversations stopped abruptly, and Qwilleran rushed to the scene. Koko was having a cat fit. He raced around the kitchen in a frenzy, flinging himself at the refrigerator.

When Qwilleran tried to intervene, the cat leaped over the bar and crashed into a lamp, sending the shade and the base flying in opposite directions. Women screamed and men yelled as he zipped around the fireplace cube and headed for the cheese tables.

"Stop him!" Qwilleran shouted as the cat skidded through the cheese platters and scattered crumbs of Roquefort, cubes of Cheddar, slices of Gouda, and gobs of runny Brie, before leaping to the punch table and knocking over the lighted candles.

"Fire!" someone shouted. Qwilleran dashed to a closet for a fire extinguisher, at the same time bellowing, "Grab him! Grab him!"

Three men tore after the mad cat as he streaked around the fireplace cube with fur flying. Pender, Larry, and Big Mac tore after him, bumping into the furniture and each other. Around and around they went.

"Somebody go the other way!" Somebody did, but the trapped animal only sailed to the top of the cube and looked down on his pursuers.

"We've got him!" A moment later Koko swooped over their heads and pelted up the ramp, not stopping until he reached the roof, where he perched on a beam and licked his fur.

Qwilleran was embarrassed. "My apologies! The cat went berserk! I don't know why."

"He drank some of Jerry's amber punch," Big Mac suggested.

Truthfully, Koko wanted everyone to go home, Qwilleran suspected, leaving him unlimited access to the cheese tables.

The guests were understanding but decided it was time to think about leaving. The dinner jackets on Larry, Pender, and Big Mac looked more like gray fur than black wool. A few cat hairs might have been an annoyance, but a million cat hairs - thanks to the amber punch - made it a joke. It was a merry crowd that boarded the jitneys, twelve at a time, for the ride back to the parking lot, and the students cleaning up the mess grinned to each other; it was the best thing that would happen all semester.