Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Wasn't There

What did you think of Scotland?" "Ask me what I think of tourists!

We travel to a foreign country and never really leave home. We take our own egos, preferences, hobbies, dislikes, and conversation and never really appreciate what we see and experience. In Glasgow I went exploring at my own pace and enjoyed it more. You'd like the Charles Rennie Mackintosh exhibits, Fran." He handed her a small white box.

"Here's what the contemporary artists are doing in the Mackintosh tradition. I thought you'd like it." "It's lovely! It's Art Nouveau! What is this unusual stone?" "A Scottish cairngorm." She pinned it on the lapel of her bronze-toned suit and gave him a theatrical kiss.

"You're a darling! Will you have coffee?" "Not this time, thanks. It's late, and you're probably ready to close up. I just wanted to ask when you start rehearsals for Macbeth. How are you going to get the show on the boards by the last week in September?" "We're used to chaos in community theatre, Qwill, but it always works out by opening night. Dwight did the casting and blocking before he left, and I worked with the supporting cast while you were away, the witches, the bleeding captain, the porter, and so forth. Derek Cuttlebrink is doing the porter in act two, scene three. Knock, knock, knock! Who's there? He'll provide our comic relief." Before leaving, Qwilleran said, "About that fragment of the Mackintosh kilt--I'll take it. Now that I've seen the battlefield at Culloden, it has some meaning. Go ahead and have it framed... and I may see you at one of the rehearsals," he said as he left the studio. On the sidewalk he stopped abruptly. Parked at the curb was a tan car that had not been in evidence when he arrived a few minutes before. He walked behind it and wrote down the license number. Then, hurrying back into the studio just as Fran was preparing to lock the door, he demanded, "What's that tan car parked out in front?" "Is he there again?" she said indignantly.

"He's supposed to park in the rear. I'm going to complain to the hotel." "Who is he?" "The new chef they've just hired. God knows they needed one! The menu hadn't been changed for forty years." "Where did they get him? Where's he from?" "Fall River." "Fall River, Massachusetts? That's not exactly the gourmet capital of the east coast!" "No, but he's offering things like chicken cordon bleu instead of pig hocks and sauerkraut, and that's an improvement." "Does he have a beard?" Qwilleran asked.

"Yes, a shaggy one. He wears it in a hairnet to cook." "What does he give as his name, do you know?" Fran said hesitantly, "I think it's Carl. I'm not sure. You seem unusually curious about him." "May I use your phone?" "Sure. Go ahead. We'll put it on your bill," she said archly.

"As we say in Scotland," he admonished her, "don't be paw ky He called the police station.

Nine

The telephone at the apple barn rang constantly Tuesday morning, keeping Koko in a frenzy; he considered it his responsibility to monitor all calls. The barrage started with thank-yous from Lori Bamba and Hixie Rice, each of whom had to be told the significance of CRM, the Art Nouveau background of the peacock feather, and the name of the semiprecious stone. Then came a report from Chief Brodie: The tan car with the Massachusetts license was registered to one Karl Oskar Klaus of Fall River. He spelled the name. Klaus was the new chef at the hotel, he said.

"Do you know anything about him?" Qwilleran's attitude was challenging.

"Only that he hasn't robbed the bank yet," Brodie quipped.

"What do you have against Massachusetts?" "Nothing. In fact, my mother was born there. I'm a second-generation codfish." Next, a weary traveler phoned from Lockmaster.

"Welcome home, Bushy," Qwilleran said.

"How was your flight?" "Not too bad. As soon as I catch up on my sleep, I'll start developing my black-and-white film. I think I've got some good shots.

" "Hear any news about the jewel theft before you left?" "Nope.

Nobody was feeling too sorry for Grace Utley. It's hard to shed tears over lost diamonds when all you have is a $50 watch." Qwilleran said, "I'm looking forward to seeing your pictures, Bushy.

When will you have prints? Bring them up here and I'll buy lunch." "In a couple of days, okay? And Qwill... I'll be wanting to talk to you about a problem." "What kind of problem?" "Personal." He sounded discouraged for a young man who was usually so exuberant. The next call came from Arch Riker.

"When did you get in?" Qwilleran asked him.

"Three o'clock this morning! How long have you been home? Three days?

And you haven't written a line of copy!" "Sounds as if you're at the office. Go home and go to bed, Arch.

Everything's under control. Junior's saving me a hole on page two for tomorrow. Have I ever missed a deadline?" "Another thing!" Riker shouted into the phone.

"I came home on the same flight with Grace Utley--in the same row, for God's sake! And I wish you'd call her and get her off my back." For a veteran deskman, usually so placid, this was a surprising outburst.

"What does she want?" "She wants to publish a book about her teddy bear collection, and she wants someone to do the writing and editing. You could do it. You don't have anything else to do." "You must be kidding, Arch." "She'll pay. You could pick up a few bucks." "Sure. Just what I need," Qwilleran said.

"Go home and sleep it off, chum. You're pooped after that long flight, or ramfeezled, as the Scots say." "At least talk to her and get me off the hook. I've got a paper to publish." Qwilleran muttered a protest but agreed to follow through, after giving her a day to recover from jet lag. He promised to get rid of her in one way or another.

"Try murder!" Riker said and slammed down the receiver.

Before writing his column on castles, Qwilleran refreshed his memory by listening to a tape that he recorded after bumping his head on a stone lintel.

"There are said to be more than a thousand castles in Scotland, some with very low doorways. They were first built in medieval times by conquerors of Scotland, as fortresses from which to rule the rebellious natives. A livable castle consisted of an impregnable wall as much as fourteen feet thick, a ditch or moat, a tower called a keep, an iron gate called a yett, an inner courtyard, and housing for the conqueror's family, retainers, and soldiery. This stronghold also had a pit for prisoners, and gun-loops and battlements from which defenders could hold the fort, as the saying goes, and pour boiling oil on attackers.

"Many of these historic castles now lie in ruins. What is more stirring to the imagination than a noble ruin on a mountaintop, silhouetted against the sky... or on a cliff overlooking the sea.

or on a lonely island, reflected in the silvery water of a loch? Other castles have been restored as museums or palatial residences whose owners admit the public for a fee.

"Today we visited the island where Macbeth was buried in 105?" .

(sound of knocking.) "Now who the devil is that?" (pause.) "How do you feel, lover? You seemed rather quiet during dinner." "After conversing with the same crowd for five days, I'm running out of things to say and also the patience to listen." "May I come in? I want to check your pulse and temperature. Sit down over there, please." As soon as Melinda's voice issued from the player, Koko began protesting in a piercing monotone. After three years' absence, she still aroused his antagonism, the cause of which had never been clear.

Had he objected to her perfume? Did he detect her hospital connection?

Anything associated with a hospital was on Koko's hate list. No, more likely he had sensed her motives; Koko was dedicated to keeping Qwilleran single. Qwilleran retired to his studio to write a thousand words on castles, and the Siamese retired to some secret hideaway.