Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Knew A Cardinal

"Someone shot a cardinal in my barnyard! I'm not angry; I'm mad as hell!"

"Do you know who did it?"

"Yes, and he's going to get a tongue lashing that he won't forget! What's on your mind? Is the contest called off?"

"No, you'll be sorry to hear. We're due at Tipsy's for dinner around six o'clock. I have a hair appointment this afternoon, and then I'll have some time to kill, in case you want to invite me over. I could use a fortifying drink before having dinner with my boss. Lyle is such a sourpuss!"

"It's all an act," Qwilleran reassured her. "Lyle Compton is a pussycat masquerading as an English bull."

"Anyway, I'm dying to see the barn without five hundred paying guests bumping into me. I was one of the guides, you know."

"You're invited," he said with curt hospitality. Koko was still licking his paws, and Yum Yum was still in a simulated coma, although she revived promptly as soon as the harness was removed. Qwilleran glanced at his watch. The delegation would have had time to return to Lockmaster, unless Steve stopped on the way for a drink.

He phoned the Bushland house. "This is Qwill. How do I reach Fiona?"

"You sound upset. Is anything wrong?" Vicki asked in alarm. "She was due at your place with Steve and Robbie a couple of hours ago."

"They were here and they left, and that brat shot a bird in my barnyard - a cardinal! I want to have a few words with his mother before I light into him."

"I'm so sorry, Qwill. I'll have her call you," Vicki said. "She's due here to help me with a hunt breakfast for tomorrow."

"Do that. Not later than five o'clock."

The arrival of Mildred Hanstable was therapy for Qwilleran's bruised sensibilities. A healthy, happy, outgoing, buxom woman of his own age, she had an aura of generosity that attracted man and beast. The Siamese greeted her with exuberance, sensing there was a packet of homemade crunchies for them in her voluminous handbag.

Seating herself on a sofa, Mildred arranged the folds of the ample garment that camouflaged her avoirdupois. She had given up the battle to lose weight and now concentrated on disguising the excess. "I'm happier," she confessed to Qwilleran, "now that I've decided Nature intended me to be rotund. I'm the prototypical Earth Mother. Why fight it?... And, to answer the question you haven't asked: Yes, I'd like a Scotch.... Tell me, Qwill, how does it feel to be wallowing in space?" She waved an arm to indicate the vast interior of the barn.

"Wide open spaces are fine," he said, "but I'm used to four walls and a door. Instead of rooms I have areas: a foyer area, a library area, a dining area. You're sitting in the main lounge area. I'm going to do the honors in the bar area adjoining the snack area. It's all too vague." He served drinks and a bowl of nuts on a small pewter tray, a barn- warming gift from his designer.

"Your kitchen area is scrumptious," she said. "Are you going to learn to cook? Or are you thinking of getting married?" she asked mischievously. Mildred taught home economics in the Pickax schools and had offered to give him lessons in egg boiling.

"Neither could be further from my mind," he said as he picked up a few dark blocks scattered on the pale Moroccan rug.

"What are those things, Qwill?"

"I've started collecting antique typeblocks, and the cats keep stealing them out of the typecase that hangs in the library area."

"Why don't you move it to an area they can't reach?"

"There's no such thing as a place Siamese can't reach. They'll swing from a chandelier if necessary." He showed her a small metal plate mounted on wood. "This is their favorite block, which I take to mean that they'd like an occasional dish of hasenpfeffer. Do you know how to cook rabbit?"

"Of course! It's just like chicken. When we were first married, Stan did a lot of rabbit hunting, and I made Belgian stew every weekend."

"Would you be good enough to cook a batch for the cats? I bought a frozen rabbit from Toodle's."

"You know I'd be happy to. And may I ask a favor? Now that you've moved out of your garage, Qwill, would you allow the hospital auxiliary to use it for a gift shop? We need a central location."

"I'll put you on the list," he said, "but the Arts Council wants it for a gallery, and the Historical Society wants it for an antique shop. Actually, I hesitate to let it go until I've spent one winter in this barn. The cost of heating and snow removal may be prohibitive."

"If you can afford to feed the Siamese lobster tail, you can afford a big heating bill," she said. As if they understood "lobster tail," Koko and Yum Yum immediately presented themselves, and Mildred went on: "The father of one of my students runs the animal shelter, and he told me that one mating pair of cats can produce twelve cats in a year and sixty- three in two years. In ten years there will be eighty million direct descendents!"

"Tipsy lived fifty years ago," Qwilleran said. "No wonder there are so many black-and-white cats around."

"The animal shelter is swamped with unwanted cats and kittens. Also, hundreds of homeless cats roam the countryside - having litters, starving, freezing, and getting run over."

"What are you trying to tell me, Mildred?" He knew she was a zealous crusader for causes.

"I think the Klingenschoen Fund should underwrite a campaign for free spaying and neutering. I'll be glad to present a proposal to the trustees. Hixie Rice could organize it. We'll need publicity, programs in schools, rescue teams - " She was interrupted by the telephone.

"Excuse me," Qwilleran said. He took the call in the library area.

"Oh, Mr. Qwilleran!" cried a shaken voice on the line. "I feel terrible about the bird! Robbie didn't do it. He wanted to use Steve's gun, but I wouldn't let him. Steve likes to - uh - take pot shots at - uh - targets, you know."

"I appreciate your calling," he said stiffly. "Sorry I accused your son. I'll have plenty to say to Steve about this thoughtless act!"

When he returned to the lounge area, Mildred was struggling to get out of the deep-cushioned sofa. "I guess it's time we got on the road," she said.

"Before we leave, Mildred, I'd like your opinion on a domestic problem - in the laundry area." He led her to a partitioned alcove where racks were hung with yellow towels, yellow shirts, and yellow undershorts.

"My favorite color!" she said. "But not mine."

"Did you leave something in a pocket when you put it in the washer? What was it? Do you know?"

"It was a sprig of green leaves with a purple Bower."

"Where did you get it? And why was it in your pocket? Or am I being too nosey?"

"It's a long story," he said evasively.

She buried her nose in a towel. "It could be saffron. I used to put it in boiled rice, and it turned it a lovely color. Do you know what saffron costs today? Twelve dollars for a measly pinch! The stores up here don't even carry it any more."

"Why so expensive?"

"Well, it comes from the inside of a tiny flower. That's all I know. Have you tried bleach?"

They drove to Kennebeck in Qwilleran's car, and while Mildred chattered about roadside litter and the high cost of art supplies, he was pondering VanBrook's indoor garden. If the man had been raising saffron, he had a $20,000 crop in one small room. He would have to export it, of course - to gourmet centers around the country. By using lights he might grow five crops a year - a lucrative hobby for a rural principal... And then Qwilleran thought, Did VanBrook know of another use for saffron? Did he learn something in the Orient? Perhaps it could be smoked! In that case, the crop was worth millions! And then he wondered, as he had done earlier, What was in those hundreds of boxes - besides books?

Before he could formulate a satisfying guess, they arrived at Tipsy's restaurant. Hixie Rice greeted them and conducted them to a table, the one beneath the fraudulent black-booted Tipsy. Lyle Compton was already there, sipping a martini.