Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Said Cheese

"How did you feel when you learned the bomb killed the housekeeper?"

"I felt sick. She was Lenny's girl friend - Lenny Inchpot. They were gonna get married." Aubrey jumped up. "I hafta go outside a minute."

"There's a bathroom right off the kitchen," Qwilleran said, but Aubrey had rushed out.

Brodie said, "I hope he's not gonna steal my car and go fugitive."

"He'll be back. He's accustomed to outdoor plumbing."

"Can we believe this story?"

"Wait till you hear the rest of it, Andy. It fits together like a jigsaw puzzle: mystery woman in room 203 - battered wife with scarred face - divorced and trying to escape a stalking ex-husband - coming to this remote town for refuge - never thinking she'd be recognized. That's where she made her mistake."

"And he made his mistake by buying flowers; he killed the wrong woman," Brodie said grimly. "Aubrey seems to enjoy telling the story."

"It's doing him good. A few hours ago he was in a suicidal depression. Now he's blabbing like a guest on a TV talk show with an audience of millions. I think he likes the attention. He's lived a lonely life since getting out of the Navy."

"Strange guy. Strange situation."

When Aubrey returned, he said he had walked around the barn; he'd never seen a round barn before. Qwilleran offered him more coffee and said, "Tell us how Vic came up again the next weekend."

"Yeah. I picked him up in Lockmaster again. He said two people described him to the police-that's what it said in the paper. He wanted to know if I could get at the old man's guns."

"How did he know about them?"

"He seen 'em the week before - and the Bible - and the cuckoo clock. He liked the clock. Did you ever see a cuckoo clock, Andy?"

"My mother-in-law has one," the chief said gruffly.

"Okay," Qwilleran said. "Tell us about the handgun."

"Yeah. Vic took one and loaded it, and I drove him to the flower shop on Main Street. He wanted to go there. Wasn't nobody around. They was all at the fireworks. When he come out, I wanted to stay and watch the fireworks, but he wanted to get outa there. That's when he told me I hadda get rid of the gun or I'd be arrested. I di'n't know what to do."

"Whose idea was it to hide it in a turkey?"

"We talked about it. I hadda go to work at midnight. They hadda get a shipment ready for Down Below. Vic said it'd be funny if somebody bought a turkey and found a gun in it."

"Very funny," Brodie growled.

"When I come home from work, I hadda get some sleep. I dunno what Vic did, but he had it all figgered out. He said we hadda get the hotel clerk. That meant Lenny. We hadda hide in the woods and pick him off with a rifle when the bikers went by. The paper printed Lenny's number, and there was a map. Then he said it was my turn to do it because I'm a good shot with a rifle. He was drinkin' whiskey, and I thought he di'n't mean it, but he did. I said I couldn't kill anybody, and he said I hadda do it."

"Because you owed him one," Brodie put in.

"Yeah. I didn't know what to do. I got all hot and sticky, so I went down and talked to my bees. When I come back, the whiskey bottle was empty and he was workin' on the old man's schnapps. Pretty soon he was dead drunk. I hadda lug him to the cabin in my truck and dump him in the bed. There was a quilt that my mom made - red stars and green circles - but he had the cold shakes, so I got him the old man's heavy German blanket. He won't need it no more. He's gonna kick the bucket."

"Did the blanket help?" Qwilleran asked, urging him on.

"I dunno. He'd been sick, and the cabin stunk. I opened a window and got outa there."

"And the next morning?"

"He di'n't come up for cornflakes, so I. went to the cabin, and he was dead. His hands and face was all swelled up. I ran outa the cabin and cried. I cried because I wouldn't hafta shoot Lenny."

His two listeners looked at each other. Brodie said, "If you had shot Lenny, you'd be the next victim. Vic would steal your truck and disappear. Nobody but you knew he was here, and nobody but you knew why he was here. You can thank your bees for what they did."

"They're gone," Aubrey said. "I smoked 'em out."

"You can hive another wild swarm," said Qwilleran, displaying his recently acquired knowledge.

"Yeah. I know where there's some in an old tree."

"And now I'll play you a tune before I go home," Brodie said. He carried his bagpipe to the top balcony and then spiraled down the ramp at a slow rolling gait as he piped "Amazing Grace." The bagpipe wailed like a banshee, the sound bouncing off the vast interior. Koko howled, and Yum Yum buried her ears in Aubrey's armpit.

When Qwilleran accompanied Brodie to the parking lot, the chief said, "I remember that kid when he was in high school and played football and worked the fishing fleet on weekends. He was a helluva rifle shot. He sure changed, and now he's got himself in a pickle, but when he makes his statement to the prosecutor, it'll wrap up the whole damn case."

"He'll never be charged - under the circumstances," Qwilleran predicted. "It's a clear-cut case of exploitation and coercion. I'm calling George Barter in the morning. He's handled other sensitive legal matters for me, and we're on the same wavelength... Thanks for coming over, Andy."

"Glad to see this nasty business come to a head." Brodie stepped into his car and then rolled down the window. "Say, how much was your smart cat involved in this case?"

"Well... "Qwilleran said. "More than I thought."

Indoors, Aubrey was on his hands and knees, frolicking with both cats on the Moroccan rug. Yum Yum squirmed deliriously as he pummeled her and spun her around. Koko attacked Aubrey's other hand, wrestled with it, bit it gently, and kicked it with his hind legs. Then the big man rolled on his back, and they climbed all over him. They had never paid so much attention to a stranger.

Qwilleran thought, Do they sense that he needs friends? Or have I been doing it all wrong - too many intellectual pursuits and not enough roughhouse?

He let Aubrey give them their bedtime snack, then sent him up to the guestroom on the second balcony. With the Siamese locked up in their apartment above, Qwilleran settled down for some quiet reading. He was just beginning to feel drowsy when the phone rang, and he heard the brisk, wide-awake night editor of the Something saying, "Qwill, this is Dave on the night desk. Sorry to call so late, but there's a long-distance call for you on the other line - from California. It's a woman. She doesn't realize the difference in time zones."

"What's her name?"

"It's a tricky one. I'll spell it. O-n-o-o-s-h."

"Get her number and tell her to hang up. I'll call her immediately."

Within minutes he was talking with Onoosh Dolmathakia.

"Oh, Mr. Qwill! I hear about it!" she said breathlessly. "I see little thing in USA Today - man stung to death. He was marry to me. Is too bad I not feel sad. Now I go back to Pickax and start new restaurant with partner. I cook Mediterranean."

"How soon can you get here?" Qwilleran asked.

"We fly. We stay at Hotel Booze."

"Get in touch with me as soon as you arrive." He gave her his phone number and hung up with a sense of satisfaction. Now he would get his stuffed grape leaves.

In the morning he phoned Celia first thing, saying, "I have a houseguest, and I need to rustle up some kind of breakfast. Could you come down here and make pancakes for a couple of starving castaways? Lois has left her customers beached and desperate."

"Sure," she said. "Do you have a griddle?"

"There's a large, oblong stainless-steel thing in the top of the range - is that what you mean? It has paw-prints on it, but I'll clean them off. There's plenty of butter and honey here. What do you need to make the pancakes?"