Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Wasn't There

He was walking along Main Street toward Park Circle when a car in a southbound lane caught his attention. It had what he thought was a Massachusetts license plate, its light color like a white flag among the dusky, dusty local plates. But it was not the old maroon car he had seen and suspected at the time of the prowler scare. It was a tan car, and it was soon lost in traffic. He thought, It could be the same guy in a new car; it could be the same car with a new paint job.

Qwilleran felt it wise to alert Polly, if he could do so without alarming her, and when he reached the library he went in, nodded to the friendly clerks, and climbed the stairs to the mezzanines. She was sitting in her glass-enclosed office, listening sympathetically to a young clerk who was pregnant. The young woman left immediately when her boss's special friend appeared in the doorway.

"Anything new?" Polly asked eagerly.

"I had a long telephone conversation with Katie," Qwilleran said, "and it appears her brother's name is in fact Gow. She was surprised he hadn't notified her of Irma's death--or so she said... By the way, did you and Irma ever discuss living wills? Or last wishes? Or anything like that?" "No. She never mentioned death or illness. Why do you ask?" "I thought I might write a column on living wills. It's a hot topic right now. When you two got together, what did you talk about, anyway?

Besides me," he added to give the discussion a light touch.

Her smile was mocking, but her reply was serious.

"We talked about my problems at the library... and her work at the facility... and clothes. She had a great interest in fashion. And naturally we talked about birds. Irma's life list included the Kirtland's warbler, the red-necked grebe, and the white-winged scoter.

She had traveled around the country on bird-counts." Polly stopped and regarded him wistfully, and he squirmed in his chair, knowing she would expect him to go birding in Irma's place. Clearing his throat to signal a change of subject, he asked casually, "Have you noticed any more suspicious characters around town since we returned?" "Well... no.. I haven't really been looking." "In times like these a woman should keep her eyes open and her wits about her, no matter where she is." "Oh, dear! I suppose you're right, but it sounds so threatening!" He avoided pursuing the unpleasant subject but tossed off a parting reminder to be careful, with no mention of the tan car with a Massachusetts plate. Later in the afternoon he reported it to Nick Bamba, however. Nick had an eagle eye for anything automotive: car makes and models, license plates, bumper stickers, drivers, and even the driving habits of individual motorists. When Nick arrived to deliver his wife's typing, his first words were, "I see you've got a new car." "Not new, just different," Qwilleran said.

"My old one conked out, and I hate to let Gippel skin me on a new model. The prices are outrageous. My first car, when I was sixteen, was $150." "How come you got a white one?" "Does it look like a diaper service?

It's all they had on Gippel's lot--that is, the only car where the floor of the backseat would accommodate the cats' commode... Nick, how would you like a wee dram of Scotch, hand-carried from the distillery for a moment such as this?" "Sure would, but don't make it too wee." They sat in the lounge area, Nick sipping Scotch on the rocks, Qwilleran sipping white grape juice, and both of them dipping into bowls of Mildred Hanstable's homemade sesame sticks. Then the Siamese started parading in front of them.

Whenever the Bambas visited the barn, Koko and Yum Yum made themselves highly visible, walking back and forth languorously, pivoting and posing like models on a fashion-show runway.

"So what did you think of Scotland?" Nick asked.

"The Western Isles and Highlands are fascinating," Qwilleran told him.

"The landscape is almost spooky, with a haunting melancholy in spite of all the tourists and backpackers." "How were the country inns?" "Pleasant, hospitable, comfortable. The food was different, but good.

Have you and Lori given any more thought to opening a bed-and-breakfast?" "We talk about it all the time. With the tourist business increasing, we think we should act now and get in on the ground floor, but it'll take a lot of nerve to quit my good job with the state." "Is the tourist season long enough to make it worthwhile?" "Right now there's a seven-month season for boating, camping, hunting, and fishing, and there's talk about developing a winter sports program." "May I touch up your drink, Nick?" "No, thanks. One's enough. It's really smooth. Did you see them making it?" "Not exactly. This stuff has been lying around in a cask for fifteen years." The Siamese were still making themselves conspicuous, and Yum Yum carried something in her jaws and laid it at Nick's feet.

"Hey, what's this?" he asked. Qwilleran said, "It's an emery board.

She was stealing them from our cat-sitter, and I keep finding them around the house. You should be flattered that she's parting with one of her treasures." "Thanks, baby," Nick said, leaning over to scratch her ears.

"If we open a country inn, Qwill, we're going to permit pets. I don't know how practical it'll be, but we'll work it out somehow." "Good for you! When I drove to the mountains earlier this year, I stopped at a motel that actually provides an overnight cat for guests who don't have their own. They do a brisk business at two dollars per cat, per night." "Lori and I never knew why you canceled that trip," Nick said.

Confidentially, Qwilleran explained the prowler episode.

"I don't want this to go any further," he said, "but I had reason to believe he wanted to grab Polly and hold her for ransom." "No! You don't mean it! Did the police do anything about it?" "Brodie offered her protection, and I came home immediately. The prowler had a wild beard, and I saw a young man of that description at the library, acting suspiciously. He drove an old maroon car with a Massachusetts plate. Later, the state police saw him leaving the county, and there's been no further sighting-until today." "What happened today?" "I saw a car with a Massachusetts plate, and they're rare around here, if not virtually unknown." "You're right about that," said Nick.

"I hardly ever see a New England car. Funny, isn't it?" "This was not the original maroon car, but it had the original bushy beard behind the wheel. I didn't catch the license number." "I'll watch for it." Nick's eye had been sharpened by his job at the prison.

"It's a tan car. Try to get the number. Brodie ran a check on the previous vehicle. It's registered to one Charles Edward Martin." "Will do, Qwill. Now I've got to get home to dinner. Here are your letters to sign. Anything to go?" "Only this." Qwilleran handed him a small white box with CRM on the cover.

"A souvenir of Scotland for Lori." "Gee, thanks. She really likes that cape you brought her from the mountains." Nick had to wade through a tangle of legs, tails, and undulating bodies on his way to the door.

"And thanks for the Scotch. It's good stuff!" Qwilleran had still another gift to deliver that day, and he walked downtown for the third time. The three commercial blocks of Main Street constituted a stone canyon. In the nineteenth century, the surrounding countryside had been quarried to pave Main Street and build the stores and civic buildings. Squeezed between the imitation forts, temples, and castles was the Old English storefront housing Amanda's Studio of Interior Design. When he walked into the studio, he was greeted by Fran Brodie, who was always as chic and personable as her boss was dowdy and cranky.

"How's Amanda?" he `=5

"Did she recover from the tour?" "Oh, yes," Fran replied with an airy wave of the hand.

"Dr. Zoller repaired her denture, and she's once more her old, sweet, smiling self. She left on a buying trip this morning.