Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Wasn't There

"Did you hear about the Scotsman who went to visit a sick friend with a bottle of Scotch in his pocket? It was a dark night, and on the way he tripped and fell on a sharp rock, but he picked himself up and went on his way. Soon he felt a trickle of something running down the outside of his leg. It was too dark to see, but he dabbled his fingers in it and tasted it.

"Thank God! It's only blood!" he said." Later that evening, when Larry and the Chisholm sisters returned from the scene of the crime, he said to Qwilleran, "That woman is impossible, but we got everything taken care of. What did I miss?" "Not much. A historic battlefield is all in your head. There's not much to see." "And the distillery?" "Everything was spic-and-span and absolutely sterile. Too bad Amanda wasn't there for the wee dram... Tell me, Larry, how valuable was the stuff stolen from Grace Utley?" "According to her, one necklace alone was worth $150,000. Some of the stone-set brooches and bracelets were estate stuff, valued up to $50,000 apiece. It was a nice haul for someone. Do you suppose the theft was impromptu on Bruce's part... or what?" Day Nine was devoted to museums and shopping. Mrs. Utley bought clothing and luggage enough to see her back to Pickax. The other women shopped for sweaters and kilts. Even Arch Riker found a cashmere cardigan that he considered a bargain. And then they checked into their the last inn before Edinburgh, a stately, ivy-covered mansion on extensive landscaped grounds, furnished with antiques and chintz.

The bedrooms were large, with ornate plaster ceilings, lace curtains, and telephones!

"I'm expecting Junior to phone," Riker said. He was trying on his new sweater when there was a knock at the door.

Qwilleran opened it to fend a young man with a tea tray.

"You've got the wrong room. We didn't order tea," he said.

"Compliments of the house, sir." The waiter marched into the room and set the tray on a lace-covered tea table in front of a stiff little settee. The tray was laden with porcelain cups and saucers, a rosebud-patterned china teapot, a silver milk and sugar service, a plate of shortbread, and dainty embroidered napkins in silver rings.

"Just what I wanted.

More shortbread," Riker remarked as he sat on the settee and awkwardly poured tea into the eggshell-thin cups. Qwilleran pulled up a small chair opposite. At that moment the telephone rang.

"That's Junior!" said the editor, jumping to his feet.

"He's really on the ball!" As he started toward the phone, a button of his sweater caught on the lace cloth and dragged it off the table along with the tea, milk, sugar, shortbread, and china. With the table cover trailing from his sweater button, he answered the phone with the composure of a veteran news editor. Then he turned to Qwilleran.

"It's the desk clerk downstairs. Wants to know if everything's all right." "Tell him to send up a mop and a shovel," Qwilleran said. It was the final calamity of the Bonnie Scots Tour, but there was one more surprise in store for Qwilleran. The telephone rang in the middle of the night, and he jumped to a sitting position before his eyes were open. He turned on the bedside lamp. It was three o'clock.

"Something's happened to the cats--or the barn!" he said to Riker, who showed signs of stirring. As he expected, it was an overseas call, and Mildred Hanstable was on the line.

"Hope I didn't take you away from your dinner, Qwill." "Dinner! It's three o'clock in the morning!" "Oh, forgive me!" she cried in chagrin.

"I deducted five hours instead of adding. I'm so sorry!" "Is anything wrong? Are the cats all right?" "They're fine. We've just had a little snack." "When is Irma's funeral? How are the Hasselriches taking it? Have you heard?" "That's why I'm calling, Qwill. The funeral's been postponed--for family reasons, it said in the paper. Actually, the body hasn't arrived yet." "Hasn't arrived! It left here with Melinda four days ago!" "Yes, Melinda is home. She said the body was flown cargo... but it's lost." "How do you know?" "Roger was at the funeral home, asking why there were so many flowers and no body, and the Dingleberry brothers told him it had gone astray." "Is there any trace of it?" "Oh, yes. It arrived from Scotland and went to Chicago all right, but then it was shipped to Moose Jaw in Canada, instead of the Moose County Airport." "Is that where it is now?" "No, it's been traced to Denver, and they think it's on the way back to Chicago, by way of Atlanta." Qwilleran groaned.

"This is absurd, Mildred. Does Junior know what's happened?" "Roger told him, but it's being suppressed to keep from upsetting Irma's parents." "Hold the line," Qwilleran told her. Turning to Riker, he said, "Irma's body hasn't arrived. It's being shipped all over North America.

Junior is withholding the news." The two men stared at each other, both thinking what a headline it would make. All their training and experience and instincts as newsmen told them to go for the headline, but Pickax was a small town, and the Moose County Something was a small-town newspaper, and attitudes were different. Riker nodded assent.

"Well, thank you, Mildred," said Qwilleran.

"Is everything else okay? How about the cats?" "One of them has been chewing holes in your old sweaters and throwing up." "That's probably Koko. He hasn't done that for years! He's lonely." "I'm terribly sorry I disturbed you, Qwill." "That's all right. I'm glad you called. I'll be home soon--perhaps sooner than I planned."

Six

On the morning of Day Ten the members of the Bonnie Scots Tour placed their luggage in the corridor at seven-thirty instead of six thirty having voted unanimously to amend Irma's orders and start sleeping an extra hour. Qwilleran walked down the hall to Polly's room and knocked on the door.

"May I come in?" he asked.

"Good morning, dear. I was about to plug in the tea-maker. Would you like a cup?" "No, thanks. I simply want you to know I'm leaving the tour as soon as we reach Edinburgh." "Has something happened at home?" she asked anxiously.

"No. I simply have a strong desire to get back to Pickax, that's all." He fingered his moustache significantly.

"I'm changing my flight." "Would you like company, Qwill?" "Don't you want to see Edinburgh? It's a magnificent city. I've had many newspaper assignments there." "Frankly, my heart isn't in this tour since Irma died, and it may seem foolish, but... I'm lonesome for Bootsie." "Give me your ticket and I'll phone the airline," he said.

In changing their flights, he also upgraded their reservations to first class. Even though he was reluctant to spend money on transportation, he needed the extra space for his long legs and wide shoulders, and--after ten days of small talk with the heterogeneous Bonnie Scots family-he wanted privacy for a sustained conversation with Polly.

Twenty-four hours later they had said goodbye to their traveling companions and were airborne-- Qwilleran stretching his legs luxuriously, Polly sipping champagne, and both of them enjoying the pampering of VIP'S.

"I wonder if Bootsie has missed me," Polly said.

"I've never left him for more than a weekend. My sister-in-law takes good care of him, but there isn't the rapport that he has with me." "Mildred says Koko's been chewing my sweaters. That means he's lonely, even though she's feeding him haute cuisine and perverting him with dubious diversions, like tarot cards." The champagne bottle made the rounds again, and delectable hors d'oeuvres were served, prompting Polly to say, "Do you realize we were never offered any haggis in Scotland?" "We never heard any bagpipes, either," he added.

"Or saw anyone dancing the hornpipe." "In fact, we never really met any Scots. We were always with our own group, a little bit of Moose County on foreign soil." This was followed by a regretful silence until Polly said, "On the credit side, I survived the trip without bronchitis, although I decided not to take my vitamin C. The capsules were too large and hard to swallow." "Your bronchitis in England last year was all psychological, because I wasn't with you." "What a sweep of vanity comes this way!" she said, quoting Shakespeare with glee.