Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Knew A Cardinal

From the backseat Qwilleran asked, "Is a horse farm a good investment?"

"I doubt it. The average one around here is a status symbol or a private obsession, to my way of thinking," Kip said. "Do you like horses? Do you ride?"

"The horse is an animal I admire greatly. They're beautiful beasts, but I've never had any particular desire to sit on one. I might enjoy living among them, though, if I didn't have to do any of the work."

"The Ambertons are selling their farm, and they have good stock and the best of everything in facilities."

"Horse breeding is a high-risk venture, you know," Moira put in quietly.

"What do you know about their stablemaster?"

"Steve? He hasn't been here long," Kip replied, "but people say he's an excellent trainer. You saw how Son of Cardinal came through on Saturday. From what I hear, he knows the business inside out."

"Where did he come from?"

"Various places-New York State, Kentucky, Tennessee, I believe."

"Why is he working in Lockmaster?" Qwilleran asked.

The driver changed his grip on the wheel and looked out the side window before answering. "I suppose he liked the environment... and the opportunity to move around. The Ambertons travel around the country, eventing."

Moira spoke up sharply. "Why don't you tell the truth, Kip?" She turned to face Qwilleran. "He got into trouble Down Below, doping racehorses."

Her husband said, "I'm sure he's clean now."

The car was slowing, and she was unbuckling her seatbelt. "Maybe so," she said, "but most owners are afraid of him." She hopped out in front of the insurance agency where she worked. "Next time we see you, Qwill," she said with a wave of the hand, "let's hope it's a happier occasion."

They drove on, and Kip said, "Why don't you stick around and have dinner with us tonight?"

Suddenly Qwilleran wanted to return to Pickax. "Thanks, but I'm due home at five o'clock."

"Okay. Next time. By the way, that's a very generous reward Pickax is offering in the VanBrook case. We picked it up and ran a short piece in yesterday's paper."

"I hope it gets results," Qwilleran said absently. He was pondering Moira's statements.

"Where do you want to be dropped off?"

"My car's parked at the church... Moira seems to have reservations about Steve, doesn't she?"

"Well, he's not a bad guy... but we were all at a party at the Hunt Club on New Year's Eve - a boozy affair, you know - and Steve got out of line, rather crudely. Moira took umbrage, to put it mildly. She's still miffed. It wasn't anything serious. He was drunk. He likes his liquor, and he likes women."

Qwilleran picked up his car and stopped at a phone booth to call Polly at the Pickax library. "Correction," he said. "I can be home in time for dinner. If you're free, we could go to the Mill." She accepted, and he found himself driving back to Pickax faster than usual.

At the barn Koko greeted him with the excited chasing that meant a message on the answering machine. He checked it out and immediately put in a call to Susan Exbridge, suspecting an auspicious development in the Dennis Hough situation that had been bothering her.

"Darling! I have exciting news!" she exclaimed. "Hilary's attorney in Lockmaster called me about liquidating the estate, and he came up here today to discuss it. He's Torry Bent of Summers, Bent & Frickle, and he's the personal representative for the estate."

"Did you go through Hilary's house?"

"Yes, he had a key, which he turned over to me after he decided I had credentials and an honest face. It's a strange place, and I do mean strange! The upstairs rooms are filled to the ceiling with boxes of books, and one room is full of dead plants!"

"What will you do with all those books?"

"God knows! Secondhand books are an absolute glut on the market, but we'll open all the boxes - what a job! - and hope to find something rare and valuable. Edd Smith will be able to advise us on that."

"I'll be glad to help you open boxes," Qwilleran said with alacrity. "I'm very good at sorting books, and after tomorrow nigh I have nothing scheduled."

"Qwill, you're a darling! How about Thursday morning? I'll take you to lunch. I took Torry to lunch at the Mill, and he was quite impressed!"

"By the restaurant or the liquidator?"

"Both, if I'm tuned in to the right channel, and I might add that he's a charmer! Also, he's divorced - tra la!"

On this salubrious note the conversation ended, and Qwilleran marked Thursday for Susan in his datebook - something he would avoid mentioning to the chief librarian.

When he called for Polly at her carriage house, she was wearing a vibrant pink blouse with her gray suit-her other gray suit, reserved for social occasions.

"That color is becoming to you," he said. "What do you call it?"

"Fuchsia. You don't think it's too intense?"

"Not at all."

It was a short drive to the Old Stone Mill on the outskirts of town, and they filled the time with comments on the weather: the highs and lows, humidity and visibility, yesterday and today. At the restaurant they were shown to Qwilleran's favorite table, and he ordered the usual dry sherry for Polly and the usual Squunk water for himself. When the drinks arrived, they both raised their glasses and said "Cheers!"

There was a lull before Polly ventured, "Whose funeral did you attend?"

"Vicki Bushland's grandmother. A splendid woman, eighty-eight years old and an enthusiastic birder. You would have liked her."

"You seem to be gravitating toward Lockmaster lately."

"It's very pleasant country down there," he said, "and there's a horse farm coming up for sale that might be an investment for the K Fund. I believe I could get interested in horses without trying too hard."

"You wouldn't live down there, would you?"

"Not right away, but it's a beautiful setup." He then gave a glowing description of the Amberton farm. "A delegation is coming up tomorrow for a conference."

"It sounds as if you're serious."

"It's tempting! I have one reservation, however. The stablemaster is highly competent, but he has an unsavory past. Besides having a reputation as a heavy drinker and a womanizer, he was chased out of jobs Down Below for illegal use of drugs in connection with racehorses. Too bad. I believe I mentioned him before. His name is Steve O'Hare."

Polly put down her glass abruptly and turned pale. "Do you feel all right?" he asked.

"A little dizzy, that's all. I skipped lunch - trying to lose a few pounds," she said with a pathetic smile. "The sherry - "

"We'll have the soup served right away." He signaled the waitress. "Eat a roll. I'll butter it for you. And don't worry about losing weight, Polly. I like you best just the way you are." When the chicken gumbo was served and she had revived, he went on. "Do you realize this is our first dinner together in ten days? And we've missed two weekends! That's no kind of track record for you and me."

"I know," she said ruefully. "We belong together. The last two years have been the best years of my life, dearest."

"I could say the same... What are we going to do about it?"

"What do you want to do about it?"

The halibut steaks arrived, with broccoli spears and squash souffle, and the answer was deferred.

Polly said, while dealing with a small bone in the fish, "Is there... anything new... at barn?"

"You won't recognize the orchard. It was damaged by last week's storm, but the debris has been cleared up and some of the worst trees removed. The number of prowlers has increased since the barn tour. Those who objected to paying five dollars are now trying to get a free peek. I've ordered mini-blinds, but it takes three weeks."

"Have the tapestries arrived?"

"Yes, and they've been hung. I think you'll like them. The largest hangs from the railing of the topmost catwalk, and I only hope it's secure. It's hooked onto tack-strips, and in our household we're subject to Yum Yum's law: If anything can be unhooked, untied, unbuckled, or unlatched, DO IT! She started with shoelaces and advanced to desk drawers. Tapestries may be next on her list, so I'm monitoring the situation closely. Her voice is changing, too. After all, she's about five years old - a mature female. Frequently she delivers a very assertive contralto yowl that sounds suspiciously like NOW!"