Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Knew A Cardinal

"Well, this is a roundabout explanation. Are you ready? A year ago there was a fatal accident at the humpback bridge. Remember?"

The humpback bridge over Black Creek was notorious as an accident site. By speeding across it, young drivers could get a roller-coaster thrill, and if they traveled fast enough they were airborne for a second or two.

Qwilleran said, "As I recall, two kids were killed at the bridge, but it turned out to be a double suicide. Right?"

"That's the one - a lovers' pact. It happened September tenth - exactly one year before VanBrook got his. The person who called us seemed to think that was noteworthy."

"Do you know who called?"

"He declined to identify himself, but we gave him a code name so he can collect his fifty grand if the tip checks out."

"How was Dave supposed to be involved?"

"He's the father of one of the kids."

"I don't get it," Qwilleran said.

"Neither did I, until we checked our files. Dave's daughter was valedictorian of the June class at Pickax High, and her boyfriend was a football player. We ran a 'Died Suddenly' obit when it happened, and then the usual letters came in from irate readers demanding that the humpback bridge should be flattened out. Nothing was ever done about the bridge, of course, but Roger, who gets around to the coffeeshops a lot, came up with the scuttlebutt. The young couple had hoped to attend a state college where they could live in a coed dorm. Unfortunately, the boy's grades were borderline, and VanBrook refused to graduate him."

"Nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"Except that it was considered an act of vengeance on the principal's part. His regime had been opposed by Concerned Parents of Pickax for a couple of years, and the football player's father was the most outspoken of the whole pack. After the suicides, he went to VanBrook's office and staged a violent scene in front of witnesses. He may have made threats."

"What's his name? Do I know him?"

"Possibly. He has a soft-drink distributorship - Marv Spencer."

"Are we supposed to assume that the two fathers collaborated on revenge - on the anniversary of the suicides?"

"That was the general idea. We turned the information over to the police."

"They'll listen, but they won't buy it," Qwilleran said, although he later recalled that Dave Landrum had been rehearsing for the Duke of Suffolk in Henry VIII until insulting treatment from the director caused him to walk off the set in anger.

Riker asked, "How was the steeplechase?"

"I'm writing a column on it for Tuesday. You'll have it at noon tomorrow. Frankly, it would be a better show with more horses and fewer people."

At six o'clock Qwilleran tried once more to reach Polly-and again at eight o'clock. Worried, he phoned her sister- in-law and expressed his fears.

"She went away for the weekend," said the woman. "She didn't say where, Mr. Q, but the invitation came up suddenly, and she asked me to feed Bootsie. She'll be home later this evening."

"Thank you," he said. "Now I can stop worrying." Truthfully, the news only exacerbated his unease.

He wrote his Tuesday column, presenting Lockmaster and the steeplechase from a Moose County point of view: factual, descriptive, politely complimentary, and not overly enthusiastic. He hand-delivered it to the city desk Monday morning and then headed for the public library.

Passing the Toodle Market (Toodle was an old family name in Moose County) he stopped in to buy powdered soap for bubble blowing - a brand recommended by Lori Bamba. He also purchased some deli turkey breast for the Siamese. That was when he noticed a sign behind the butcher counter: YES, WE HAVE RABBITS.

"How do you sell the rabbits?" he asked the butcher.

"Frozen," said the man, with the expressionless face of one who has spent too much time at ten degrees Fahrenheit.

"I'll take one," Qwilleran said, thinking he could keep it in his freezer while scouting for someone to cook it for the Siamese.

The butcher disappeared into the walk- in cold vault and returned clutching something that was almost the size and shape of a baseball bat, but red and raw.

"Is that a rabbit?" Qwilleran asked with a queazy gulp.

"That's what you asked for."

"Will it stay frozen till "I get it home?"

"If you don't live south of the equator." For emphasis he raised the rabbit and slammed it down on the butcher block, neither of which suffered from the blow.

"Wrap it well, please," said Qwilleran. "I'm walking." The package he received resembled a concealed shotgun, and he shouldered it for the walk to the library, covering the four blocks more briskly than usual. In the foyer the Shakespeare quotation on the chalkboard was Silence is the perfect herald of joy. He huffed into his moustache. What was that supposed to mean? Dodging the friendly clerks he headed for the stairs to the mezzanine.

There she was, in her glass-enclosed office, like a sea captain in the pilot house, wearing her usual gray suit but with a blouse that was brighter and silkier than usual.

"Good-looking shirt," he said, dropping into a chair with a loud thump; he had forgotten the hard oak seats.

"Thank you," she said. He waited for her to say where she had bought it - and why - but she merely smiled pleasantly. And cryptically, he thought. Had it been a gift from Redbeard? he wondered.

"I tried to reach you this weekend," he said. "You should train Bootsie to answer the phone."

"Perhaps I should invest in an answering machine," she said.

Polly had always resisted the idea, and he found her sudden change of attitude suspect. "Did you have a good weekend?" he asked.

"Very enjoyable. Irma Hasselrich invited me to her family's cottage near Purple Point. We went birding in the wetlands and saw hundreds of Canada geese getting ready to migrate."

Qwilleran drew a deep breath of relief. "I didn't know Irma was a birder."

"One of the best! Her lifelist puts mine to shame. Last year she sighted a Kirtland's warbler while she was traveling in Michigan. How did you enjoy the steeplechase?"

"I ate too much and lost twenty bucks, and somehow the sight of ten thousand people screaming and jumping up and down like puppets fails to stir my blood, but I explored Lockmaster, and when I found the library I went in and met your friend."

"How did you like Shirley?"

"She's as friendly as an old shoe. In fact, I suggested that she and her husband come up here and have dinner with us some weekend. She showed me the wedding pictures, including a couple of shots of you. You seemed to be having an unusually good time. I hardly recognized you in that bright blue dress."

"Do you like it? Now that my hair is turning gray, I think I should start wearing brighter colors. Did you have brunch at the Palomino Paddock?"

"No, but the Bushlands gave a dinner party, and I met the editor of the Lockmaster Logger - also a fellow who trains horses and publishes a newsletter called Stablechat. " Qwilleran was observing her reactions closely. "He said he'd met you at the wedding. Perhaps you remember a stocky man with a reddish beard and receding hair."

"I don't recall," said Polly, although he thought her cheeks became suddenly hollow. "There were so many guests - about three hundred at the reception. Would you like some tea?"

"No, thanks."

"Coffee?"

"No, thanks. In the snapshots you were dancing with this fellow. His name is Steve, as I recall."

"I think perhaps I do remember him," she admitted uncertainly. "I also met the woman who played Katharine in Henry VIII. We should invite her and Steve up here some weekend. We could have drinks at the barn and then dinner at the Mill."

Polly turned pale, and he relented. He had taunted her long enough; it pained him to see her squirm. Charitably, he asked if she might be free for dinner.