Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Moved A Montain

The trapped driver was pounding on the window glass. "Get me out! Get me out!"

"Help's on the way! The sheriff is here!" Qwilleran reassured her, shouting to be heard. He noticed the rental sticker in the rear window. "Are you Sherry? I'm Qwilleran from Tiptop! Didn't expect you in this fog! When did your plane land? I thought all flights would be canceled."

He was trying to divert her attention, but she was too frightened for small talk. "Could it catch fire?"

"No! Don't worry! You'll be out in a jiffy!"

She only glared at him and hammered on the window uselessly. So this was Sherry Hawkinfield! If she were not so terrified she would be quite attractive, he thought.

Police, fire and rescue vehicles arrived, and Qwilleran stepped back out of the way, talking with Ardis, who had walked down to see the wreck. One man with a chainsaw was working on the tree trunk that barricaded the road. The rescue crew was cutting open the car with the Jaws of Life.

When the woman was finally helped out of the wreckage, her first words were, "Hell! I didn't buy insurance! How stupid! Why didn't I take out insurance?"

"Hi, Sherry," said Wilbank. "What are you doing up here?"

"Going to Tiptop to discuss business . . . Where is he?"

"Here I am," said Qwilleran. "As soon as they clear the road I'll drive you up there . . . Hold on!" he shouted to the driver of the tow truck. "Let's get her luggage out of the trunk!"

"Howya!" said the man. It was Vance, the blacksmith. "Glad you're gittin' around ag'in."

The sheriff said to Qwilleran, "How's everything at Tiptop?"

"Wet outside, comfortable inside. Is this your day off? Why don't you and Ardis come up for drinks at five o'clock?"

On the drive to the mountaintop he said to Sherry, "Would you like something for your nerves when we arrive? A drink, or a nap, or a shower?" She was looking disheveled in her travel denims and rumpled hair.

"All three," she said peevishly, staring at the dashboard. "What rotten luck!"

He tried to relieve the leaden silence that followed by making such insipid remarks as, "This is the worst fog I've ever seen." . . . And then, "Well, at least we don't worry about flooding up here." . . . And as he carried her luggage up the stone steps, "Fog has an interesting smell, doesn't it?"

When at last they entered the foyer of Tiptop, she was composed enough to say, "I could use that drink. Can you mix a sherry manhattan?"

"Six-to-one? Lemon peel?"asked Qwilleran, who had worked his way through college tending bar. "I want to freshen up first."

He gestured toward the stairway. "Make yourself at home. You have your choice of the four front rooms, and you know where the towels are kept. I'll take your luggage up."

"I can carry it," she"said sharply. "First I need to make a phone call. Now that I have no car, my friend will have to pick me up here after work." "Go ahead, and ask your friend to stay for a drink."

Soon he heard her on the phone saying, "Honey, you'll never guess what happened to me!"

After she had gone upstairs, Qwilleran quickly retrieved the old-fashioned key from the drawer of the huntboard and hung it on the picture hook behind the Beechum painting—just in case she might be nosy. Her offhand manners led him to expect anything. What had she learned at that school in Virginia?

A moment later he heard a scream on the second floor, and he dashed up the stairs three at a time. Sherry was standing in the upper hall looking wild-eyed and petrified. "Those cats!" she cried. "I'm deathly afraid of Siamese!"

Koko and Yum Yum, who had emerged languidly from their bedroom after their midday nap, were yawning widely and showing cavernous pink gullets and murderous fangs. Sherry screamed again.

"Take it easy," Qwilleran said. "They won't pay any attention to you. Didn't Dolly tell you I had two cats?"

"I didn't know they were Siamese!"

He settled the matter by announcing, "Treat!" and two furry bodies rippled down the stairs to the kitchen. He followed and gave them something crunchy to eat while he mixed a sherry manhattan for his guest. For himself he poured white grape juice and also gave Koko half a jigger in a saucer.

As he was carrying the tray into the living room, Sherry came downstairs slowly, looking at everything. "It's different. You've done something to it," she said.

"Sabrina brought in the plants and accessories to make it look more comfortable," he explained.

Sherry had changed into white pants and a white blouse with a red scarf—a striking complement to her pearly white skin and shiny black hair. It was a severe cut— shoulder-length like Sabrina's, with bangs like Sabrina's, and she tossed it back with a gesture he recognized.

Qwilleran served drinks in the living room, which Sherry studied minutely as if inventorying the accessories and estimating their retail price. After he proposed a toast, she said, "Thanks for getting me out of that scrape."

"One good turn deserves another," he replied. "You recommended the potato in the restaurant, and it was the best potato experience I've ever had. Why haven't I been served one before?"

"This is turnip country. Most of the commercial potato crop is shipped to gourmet centers in New York and California—"

"—where they're called Potato potatoes, no doubt," he said, hoping to get a smile, but she was still stiffly out of sorts.

Losing no time in getting down to business, she said, "So you're interested in the painting." She nodded toward the foyer.

"That's why I phoned you. Is it for sale?" "Everything's for sale."

"What are you asking for it?" He recalled that Sabrina estimated it would bring $3,000.

"Well, it's been appraised at $5,000, but you can have it for $4,500."

"It's a good painting," Qwilleran said, "but isn't that a trifle steep for the work of an unrecognized artist?"

"Ordinarily it would be," she said, "but this is no ordinary situation. It was painted by a convicted murderer, and the painting has notoriety value. I suppose you know what happened."

Qwilleran nodded sympathetically, but he thought, My God! She not only sent an innocent man to prison, but she's profiteering from her treachery. Wasn't the original price $300, including delivery? To Sherry he said, "I'll give your offer some serious consideration."

"What about the Fitzwallow chest? You said you were interested. I'd let that go for $1,000."

"It's a unique example of folk art. The question is: What would I do with it—unless I bought the inn?"

"The way things are going in the Potatoes," she said, "Tiptop will be a good investment."

"It needs a lot of work, though, chiefly lightening and Brightening. The veranda makes the rooms dark even in broad daylight, as you must know. Today's vacationers ike sunlight."

"You could take off the veranda and build open decks all around the building," Sherry suggested, showing some animation. "That's what my mother always wanted to do."

"It would be a costly project," Qwilleran objected.