Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Came To Breakfast

"My ma thinks I should keep my mouth shut. She's afraid something will happen to me."

"You won't be at any risk. I've been doing some snooping myself, and if you tell me what you know, I'll be the one to blow the whistle. No one will be the wiser."

"I've got to think about it," she said, wringing her hands.

Qwilleran's moustache bristled, as it did at moments of suspicion or revelation. This was a breakthrough waiting to break through, and it was a delicate situation. These islanders required special handling. He had to be at his sympathetic best.

"More coffee?" she asked.

"No, thanks," he said. Already the drums were beating in his head. There was no telling what wild-growing leaf, root, flower, or grass the islanders put in their coffee. "I think you should call it a day and get some rest. In the morning you'll be thinking clearly, and you'll make the right decision."

"Yes," she agreed with a sigh of relief. "I just have to clean up a bit, and then I'll go upstairs."

"What has to be done?"

"I always sweep the floor, straighten the chairs, and tidy up the kitchen."

"I'll help you," he said. "Where's the broom?" Gripped by the immediacy of the situation, Qwilleran forgot to mention his peat bog theory.

CHAPTER 15

Qwilleran greeted Tuesday with the feeling that it would be momentous, and so it proved to be, although not in the way he expected. As he envisioned the day's prospects, Harriet would agree to tell all; the post office would have a postcard for him; and Koko would unearth a blockbuster of a clue. To start with, breakfast was auspicious: French toast with apple butter and bacon strips, then a poached egg on corned beef hash. Afterward, the Siamese were in the mood for dominoes: Koko as player, Yum Yum as devoted spectator.

Koko started conservatively, flooring only four or five dominoes with each swish of the tail, thus limiting the play to short words: lie, die, bad, egg, cad ... or gaff, jail, lice, dead.

The connotation was generally negative, and it caused Qwilleran to wonder. He said, "Loosen up, old boy. Put more swish in your tail."

After that, words of special relevance cropped up: bleak, as in Four Pips; bald, like Exbridge; and fake, like the antique shop. Certain pairs were linked in tandem: black followed by flag, and head followed by ache. If Koko really knew what he was doing, the last one meant he'd had enough!

Qwilleran gave them a treat before leaving for his lunch date with the Appelhardt heiress. Arriving at The Pines in a hired cab, he found her waiting on the porch of the main lodge, and when he handed her into the carriage, he realized she was trembling, as she was on Sunday after defying her mother. He assumed they had exchanged words. Mrs. Appelhardt had been an effusive hostess before her daughter showed signs of rebellion. No doubt he was now considered a bad influence; beware of journalists!

As they drove away from The Pines, he said to Elizabeth, "That color is very attractive on you."

"Thank you," she said. "I like all shades of violet, but Mother thinks it's less than respectable—whatever that means."

"I've noticed that women of spirit and individuality are drawn to purple," he replied, thinking of Euphonia Gage, who had been one of Pickax City's most original and independent citizens.

Elizabeth was wearing a layender dress belted with braided rope, and her mermaid hair was rolled up under a tropical straw hat that looked as if it had been drenched with rain and stomped by a horse. "This hat belonged to my father," she said proudly. "He called it his Gauguin hat."

"You have interesting taste in clothing," he said. "Those long robes you wear ..." He ran out of words. What could he say about them?

"Do you like them? They're from India and Africa and Java—handwoven cotton and batik-dyed. I love exotic fabrics. Mother says I look like a freak, but it's the only way I have to express myself."

They were approaching the Domino Inn, and he remarked, "Two of the guests here read about your accident in the paper and mentioned that you'd been a student of theirs—Edith and Edna Moseley."

"How wonderful! I want to see them."

"Unfortunately, they left this morning to return home—Boston, I believe."

"Why didn't they let me know they were here?" she said. "When Mother enrolled me in the academy, I was in a very bad state psychologically, and they were so kind! You're a very kind person, too, Mr. Qwilleran. Am I right in thinking you're not married?"

"I'm not married at the moment ... but I'm committed," he added quickly.

"What is she like?" Elizabeth asked eagerly.

"She's intelligent and comfortable to be with and nice-looking, and she has a melodious voice. She's head of the public library in Pickax City ..."

"I'd love to be a librarian," she said wistfully, "but I don't have the formal education. Mother convinced me I didn't have the temperament or the stamina for college."

They reached the downtown area, and she was appalled. "How could they desecrate this lovely island? Those dreadful shops! Those vulgar rocking chairs!"

To alleviate her horror he said lightly, "I have a vision of all fifty rockers occupied and rocking in unison like a chorus line and creating electromagnetic waves that would bring the entire resort tumbling down."

She relaxed and laughed a little.

"The worst is yet to come," he went on. "The lobby is hung with black pirate flags, and we're lunching in the Corsair Room, the entrance to which is guarded by a swash-buckling pirate."

At the reservation desk Derek looked at Elizabeth, and then at Qwilleran questioningly, and then back at the woman in the unusual hat. "Hi, Mr. Q! Do you want your usual corner booth?" he asked, adding under his breath, "Hey! Wow!"

When they were seated, Elizabeth said, "That person in the lobby is so tall!"

"That's Derek Cuttlebrink, a well-known figure in Pickax and an actor in the Theater Club . .. Would you have a cocktail, Ms. Appelhardt? Or an aperitif?"

"Please call me Elizabeth," she said.

"Only if you'll call me Qwill."

After a moment's hesitation she asked for a chardonnay spritzer, and he said he would have the same thing without the wine.

"And now I'm dying to know something about your name—James Mackintosh Qwilleran with a QW. Was that your name at birth?"

"As a matter of fact ... no. Before I was born, my mother was reading Spenser's Faerie Queene, and she named me Merlin James. When I was in high school, you can imagine how my peers heckled a first baseman named Merlin! So I changed it when I went to college. My mother was a Mackintosh."

"That makes a big difference," she said. "When I charted "James Mackintosh Qwilleran," I knew something was wrong. First I have to explain how numerology works. Every letter of the alphabet has a corresponding number, beginning with one for the letter A. When you reach ten—for J—you drop the zero and start again with one. To chart a name, you give each letter its numeral equivalent, total them, and reduce the total to a single digit. Is that clear?"

"I think so," he murmured, although his mind was wandering back forty years to Miss Heath—she of the toothy smile.