Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Knew A Cardinal

"Thank you, Qwill," she said. "It was an absolutely wonderful weekend, but strenuous. I'm not conditioned to all. that partying. That's why I left the message not to call me. The wedding ceremony was absolutely beautiful! The bride wore her grandmother's lace dress with a six-foot train, and everyone was terribly emotional. The reception was held at the Riding and Hunt Club, and I danced with the bridegroom and the bride's father and - simply everyone!"

Qwilleran and Polly never danced. The opportunity seldom arose, and he was unaware that she liked to dance. "How many guests were there?" he asked.

"Three hundred, Shirley said. Her son made a handsome groom. He's just out of law school and has a job with the best law firm in Lockmaster. You've never met Shirley, have you? She's the one who had the litter of kittens and gave me Bootsie. We've been friends for twenty years. Her husband is in real estate. His name is Alan, spelled A-l-a-n."

She's chattering, Qwilleran thought; why is she chattering? Polly's manner of speech was usually reserved and often pedantic; she made a brief, pithy statement and waited for her listener's reaction. Today her speech bubbled with the exuberance of a younger woman - one who has been out on the town for the first time. He combed his moustache with his fingers. "So you had brunch at the Paddock! Do you consider it as good as its reputation?"

"Absolutely!" she said. "It's a marvelous restaurant, and I stayed longer than I anticipated."

He wondered about that "absolutely." It was not Polly's kind of word, and yet she had used it three times. Ordinarily she would say "definitely" or "without doubt," but never "absolutely."

"But tell me about Hilary VanBrook," she was saying. "Everyone is shocked - and worried about what the police will uncover."

"May I shut the door?" he asked. There were a few loiterers in the reading room, and everyone in Pickax had big ears.

"I heard on the radio," Polly said, "that you gave an all-night party!" She regarded him accusingly.

"WPKX has a talent for garbling the news to give the wrong impression," he said. "Actually the entire cast and crew of Henry VIII descended on me around midnight and stayed until 3 A.M. After they had left, Koko started creating a disturbance that aroused my curiosity. I went out and found the body. The shooter had used a silencer, and yet that cat heard the shot. Or perhaps he knew by instinct that something was wrong. During the party he was on top of the schrank, staring down at VanBrook's head, and I thought Koko recognized a hairpiece. He can always tell the difference between real and false. But now I believe he knew something was going to happen to the man - and that he was going to get it in the back of the head!"

"Oh, Qwill! Isn't that a trifle extreme? I know cats have a sixth sense, but I can't believe they're prescient."

"Koko is not your average cat."

"Weren't you surprised that Mr. VanBrook attended the party? He has a reputation for being asocial."

"He had an ulterior motive, Polly. He expected to line up a field trip for the entire student body, marching grades nine to twelve through my barn! A lot of nerve, I thought."

"He was a very arrogant man. No one liked him, but people don't kill simply because a person is socially unacceptable."

"Don't be too sure. A man shot his neighbor last month in an argument over dog-doo."

"Yes, but that was Down Below. They don't behave that way up here... Excuse me." Her telephone rang, and she answered briskly. "This is Mrs. Duncan... Well, good morning!" she added in a softer tone, her face suddenly aglow with pleasure. She glanced at Qwilleran as she said, "I'm just fine, thank you... Absolutely!...

Well, I'm in a conference at the moment... Yes, please do." She hung up the phone, smiling to herself.

Who was that? Qwilleran wanted to ask but decided against it. If Polly wanted him to know, she would tell. He said, "I'd better hie myself home. Bushy is taking pictures of the barn this morning."

"That's nice," she said, straightening papers on her desk. "He was the official photographer at the wedding." She seemed preoccupied, and Qwilleran left without making any further remarks.

In walking back to the barn he took the long way around in order to pass the office of the Moose County Something. It occurred to him that their police reporter might have information withheld from the public. The press always had an inside story or was privy to the latest rumor.

Junior Goodwinter hailed him from the managing editor's office. "Hey, Qwill! Did they let you out on bail?"

"If I'm charged, Junior, I'm going to implicate you. Maybe we can be cellmates. What's the latest?"

"No one has been charged yet. The police aren't talking, but we pumped the Dingleberry boys and found out that the cremated remains are supposed to be sent to Lockmaster at the request of VanBrook's attorney."

"No funeral here? That's his final insult to the public." The citizens of Pickax dearly loved a celebrity funeral with a marching band playing a dirge and a long procession to the cemetery. It had been a cherished tradition since the nineteenth century.

"That's right. No funeral," said the editor. "We called Lyle Compton about the possibility of a memorial service, and he said no one would attend. He said Van Brook's assistant will be elevated to the job of principal, at least protem. The board will have to vote on it, but the guy's competent, and there's no reason why he shouldn't get the job.... That's all the news to this moment, but Arch wants to see you."

Arch Riker and Qwilleran had been lifelong friends Down Below, and they had worked together at the Daily Fluxion. During Riker's twenty-five years as an editor he had never rated more than a desk, a telephone, and a computer terminal. Now, as publisher of a backwoods journal, he sat in a large carpeted office with a desk the size of a Ping-Pong table. What's more - fellow staffers at the Fluxion would never believe this - he had draperies on the windows, installed by Amanda's Studio of Interior Design.

"Sit down," he said to Qwilleran. "Help yourself to coffee."

"Thanks, but I've just had three cups at Lois's."

"What's the scuttlebutt over there?"

"Everyone's on edge, fearing that some prominent member of the community is guilty. They overlook the fact that a brilliant man, who has done much for the education system, has been struck down in the prime of life.

True, he was an outsider and not well- liked, but a crime is a crime, even if the victim is a pariah or even if the murderer is the publisher of the Something."

"While you're on your soapbox, why don't you do a column on the subject, Qwill?"

"No, thanks. It happened in my backyard, and I'm keeping out of it, but I suggest you write an editorial." His hand went involuntarily to his moustache.

Riker recognized the gesture. "Are you getting the investigative itch? Do you think you might do some private sleuthing?"

"Not this time. I have confidence in Brodie. He grew up here, and he's a walking file on everyone in the county. It wouldn't surprise me if he knows who pulled the trigger and is setting a trap for him - or her." He started to leave the office.

"Aren't you getting any vibrations from Koko?" Riker asked mockingly.

"He keeps pulling engravings from my typecase, but so far the message is only FOOD. See you later, Arch."

On the way out of the building Qwilleran stuck his head in an office where Hixie Rice was selling a full-page ad to the owner of a food market, exuding charm and enthusiasm into the instrument.

"Any word about Dennis?" he asked after she had hung up triumphantly.

"His parking space is still empty. Why didn't he tell someone - you or me or Susan or Fran? It worries me."

"If you infer that he's a fugitive from justice, get it out of your head, Hixie. We all know he's a decent guy, and I maintain he's on his way home to see his wife and child - possibly because of some sort of family emergency down there, or because his wife found a buyer for their house. She probably called while he was at the theatre and left a message on his answering machine."