Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Knew A Cardinal

"Yow," said Koko.

"I'm glad you agree. The one individual he should be investigating is the victim himself. Who was he - really? Where did he get a name like Hilary VanBrook? We know he came here from Lockmaster, but where did he operate before that? He was obviously not a native of the north country, so why did this brilliant man with a cosmopolitan background and impressive credentials choose to live in the outback? Where did he disappear on weekends? Why did he need that large house on Goodwinter Boulevard?"

Qwilleran had forgotten that he himself was indirectly responsible for bringing the principal to Pickax. Four years before - four long and eventful years - Qwilleran had arrived in Moose County as the reluctant heir to the Klingenschoen fortune, reluctant because he had no desire for wealth. He was a dedicated journalist who.enjoyed hacking a living on the crime beat. He was content with a one-room apartment, no car, and a meagre wardrobe that packed in a jiffy when his newspaper sent him off on assignment. Finding himself suddenly encumbered with millions - yet with no interest in financial matters - he solved the problem very simply: He established the Klingenschoen Memorial Fund to give the money away. Immediately a board of trustees started awarding grants, scholarships, and loans to benefit the community.

In direst need, it so happened, was the local school system, known to operate on the lowest per - pupil expenditure in the state. As the Klingenschoen Fund poured money into school facilities and teacher salaries, this cornucopia of largesse gave superintendent Lyle Compton an idea: Money might lure the celebrated Hilary Van Brook away from Lockmaster High School where he had accomplished wonders in a few years. Although Lockmaster considered Moose County a primitive wilderness populated by savages who could not even win a football game, VanBrook accepted the Pickax challenge - and the lucrative contract. Under his leadership the Pickax high school earned accreditation, the curriculum was expanded, and more graduates went on to college. Although the athletic teams did no better, faculty and parents considered the new principal a miracle-worker - while loathing his overweening personality and heartless policies.

A few months before his murder VanBrook wrote a typically curt and scornful letter to the Theatre Club, proposing a Shakespeare production as a change from the light comedies, musicals, and mysteries favored by local audiences. He volunteered to direct it himself. The play he proposed was The Famous History of the Life of King Henry the Eighth, and the officers of the Theatre Club uttered a unanimous groan.

Carol Lanspeak called Qwilleran for his opinion. "I'm consulting you," she said, "because the K Fund may have to bail us out if it's a flop. No one likes the idea, and yet Horseface has a reputation as a no-fail genius. We're asking him to meet with our board of directors for further discussion, and we're inviting you to audit the meeting. You can bring your tape recorder if you wish; it might make a subject for the 'Qwill Pen' column - that is, if we decide to cut our throats."

It was a dinner meeting held in a private room at the New Pickax Hotel, built in 1935, the year its predecessor burned down. After a dinner of meatloaf and scalloped potatoes (the hotel was not noted for its imaginative cuisine), the board waited for the guest of honor to arrive. VanBrook had declined to join them for dinner, a pointedly unfriendly gesture. When he finally arrived - late, without apology - Carol called the meeting to order and invited the principal to elucidate on his proposal. As if the board were composed of illiterates, he responded by reading a copy of the same letter he had mailed to them, spitting out the phrases with obvious disdain.

Qwilleran heard someone whisper, "Isn't he a pill?" Yet, the man had a rich, well-modulated voice; it was easy to believe he had been a professional actor. The principal finished reading and rolled his eyes at the walls and ceiling.

Officers and board members exchanged looks of dismay. The first to find nerve enough to speak was Scott Gippel, car dealer and treasurer of the club, whose girth was so enormous that he required two chairs. "The public won't go for that heavy stuff," he said.

Carol Lanspeak spoke up. "Since receiving Mr. VanBrook's letter I've read the play twice, and I regret to say that I. can't find a single memorable or quotable line except the first one: I come no more to make you laugh."

"That's when half the audience gets up and walks out," said Gippel good- naturedly, his not-too-solid flesh quivering with mirth over his own quip.

The chairman of the play - reading committee, a retired teacher of English, commented, "Mr. VanBrook has a point; it's time we attempted Shakespeare, but is this the right play for us? There is even some doubt that Shakespeare wrote Henry VIII. It reads - if you will pardon my candor - as if it were written by a committee."

Qwilleran stole a look at VanBrook, who was listening in supercilious silence, gazing at the ceiling and rolling his eyes as if searching for cracks in the plaster.

Fran Brodie said, "I'd like to make another objection. Henry VIII calls for a large cast, and we have limited space backstage and very few dressing rooms. The theatre was not designed for large productions."

"The cost of all those costumes will be prohibitive," Gippel added.

"And there are so few roles for women," Carol objected.

"If you ask me, it's too dull and too long," said Junior Goodwinter, the young managing editor of the Moose County Something. "And the last scene is a let- down, like the last half of the ninth in a 14-0 ballgame."

VanBrook rose to his feet. "May I speak?"

"Of course. Please do," said Carol with an artificial smile. She frowned at her husband, who had not opened his mouth during the objections. As president of the board of education he had helped convince VanBrook to leave Lockmaster, and he joined Lyle Compton in humoring the principal - who was doing so much good, and who was known to be temperamental, and whose contract was coming up for renewal. If Van Brook failed to sign again, he would undoubtedly return to the Lockmaster school system, and the good folk of Pickax would be left drowning in chagrin.

In a condescending manner VanBrook began. "Henry VIII is no longer than Romeo and Juliet, and it is shorter by far than Hamlet and Richard III. So much for too long." He darted a contemptuous glance at the editor. "As for too dull, the play has been captivating audiences for three centuries with its color and pageantry. Furthermore, it addresses such contemporary concerns as corruption, greed, power politics, and the abuse of women. As a morality play it deplores the vain pomp and glory of this world... Is everyone still with me?" His listeners wriggled uncomfortably, and he went on. "You say there are too few roles for women, and yet one of the strongest roles Shakespeare ever wrote for a woman is Katharine of Aragon, Queen of England. Anne Boleyn is another coveted role, and even the Old Lady is a small gem of a part. For those who fancy themselves in period costumes there are plenty of ladies-in-waiting sweeping on and off the stage. And if you think Henry VIII lacks great scenes, let me draw your attention to Buckingham's arrest, his unjust condemnation as a traitor, the roisterous party that King Henry crashes in disguise, the queen's court trial, her later confrontation with Cardinal Wolsey, Wolsey's repentant leave-taking, the coronation of Queen Anne, and the. heart- rending death of Katharine."

He flashed a triumphant glance around the conference room and continued. "It so happens that I have staged this play before, and there are certain techniques that can be employed - notably the use of students as supernumeraries, to be costumed at the school and transported to the theatre in school buses. The Klingenschoen garage at the rear of the theatre can provide dressing rooms for actors playing small roles and making infrequent entrances."