Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Went Into The Closet

"You didn't tell that to the prosecutor!"

"I had nothing to support my suspicions when I was at the courthouse, but a phone call from Florida filled in some blanks."

"You know," said the chief, "I never thought that feisty woman would cash in like they said she did. Overdose, they said."

"It could have been a drop of poison in her Dubonnet. She always had to have her aperitif before dinner, I'm told. The medical examiner who wrote it off as suicide could have been one of those overworked civil servants you hear about, or he could be another useful link in the crime ring. At any rate, I'm going back to the courthouse tomorrow." The telephone jangled, and he let it ring.

"Answer it!" Brodie snapped, tossing off his drink. "I'll let myself out."

It was Junior on the line, getting straight to the point with his usual impetuosity. "Hey, Qwill! I just heard a terrific rumor! They say we're getting a community college in Pickax! And Goodwinter Boulevard is gonna be the campus! How d'you like that? All those white elephants are made to order for administration offices, classrooms, dorms - I hope it's true!"

"I don't see why it shouldn't be true," Qwilleran said

calmly. "Lockmaster has its College of Animal

Husbandry. Pickax could have an Institute of Rumor

Technology, with courses in Conspiracy Theory,

Advanced Gossip, and Media Leak."

"Very funny," Junior said sourly. "I'll call Lyle Compton. He'll know what's happening."

Qwilleran lost no time in phoning Polly. "Have you heard the rumors about Goodwinter Boulevard?"

"No, I haven't. What are they saying?" she asked anxiously.

"The police have heard one rumor, and the newspaper has heard another," he said, "and they're both true. I merely want you to be assured, Polly, that your carriage house won't be affected."

"Are you involved, Qwill? Aren't you going to tell me what the rumors are?"

"No. At the rate gossip travels in Pickax, you'll find out soon enough."

"You're cruel! I'm going to phone my sister-in-law."

Within hours, Betty and Claude were picked up in Texas near the Mexican border. Pete was arrested at an airport in Kentucky, having abandoned the stolen van. All three suspects would be arraigned on murder charges.

For Qwilleran the case was closed, and he entertained himself with speculations: If he had not rented the Gage mansion for the winter, Koko would not have discovered the historically important scrap of paper that led to "The Big Burning of 1869," and if the cat had not become a closet archaeologist, the mysterious deaths of Euphonia Gage and Gil Inchpot might have gone unsolved, and if Oh Jay had not infuriated Qwilleran by spraying the back door, Pickax would not be getting a community college. Would it be named after the Goodwinters, who founded the city? Or the eleemosynary foundation that was funding it? Or the orange cat with fleas and bad breath?

They were fanciful thoughts, but Qwilleran was feeling heady from too much caffeine. It was shortly before New Year's. He plugged in the lighted Christmas wreath in the dingy library and relaxed in the hammock-contoured lounge chair with yet another cup of coffee. With refurbishing, he reflected, the library would make an impressive office for the president of the college. Yum Yum was lounging on his lap, her chin resting heavily on his right hand, forcing him to lift his coffee cup with his left. Koko was sitting on Robinson Crusoe in the warm glow of a table lamp. It was a strange coincidence that the cat had chosen that title for their winter reading; it would be even stranger if Celia Robinson were to move to Pickax and become a purveyor of meatloaf to their royal highnesses.

The Robinson Connection was not the only coincidence that aroused Qwilleran's wonder. There were three desk drawers filled with pipe cleaners, used emery boards, half-empty matchbooks, pencil stubs, and other junk destined for the trashcan. Yet, among them were articles clearly associated with the recent investigation: the chess piece, for example... someone's denture... the 1928 birth certificate... a great deal of purple... and many items related to financial affairs. And then there was the safe! All these were obvious. It required a great leap of imagination, however, to link shoelaces and corn plasters with the Foote family. Nevertheless, Qwilleran had learned to give his imagination free rein when Koko telegraphed his messages. After all, it was a gold signet ring that finally suggested a ring of criminals in the Pink Sunset case. Was it all happenstance? he wondered.

"YOW!" said the cat at his elbow - a piercing utterance with negative significance.

If Qwilleran had any further doubts about Koko's role in the investigation, they were dispelled by the cat's subsequent behavior: He never sat in the safe again... He lost interest in Robinson Crusoe... He completely ignored the fifty closets.

The case was closed, he seemed to be indicating. Or was it only feline fickleness?

Cats! Qwilleran thought; I'll never understand them.

For the remainder of the winter Koko was content to watch falling snowflakes from the window of the library, meditate on top of heat registers, chase Yum Yum up and down the stairs, and frequently bite her neck. She loved it!

The End