Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Knew A Cardinal

Qwilleran had dropped his three books on a table in the foyer area. After his exertions at the VanBrook house he was tremendously hungry. He thawed a carton of chili, a small pizza, and two corn muffins, while sitting down to this lunch in the snack area he heard a loud plop! It was followed by another loud plop! He recognized the sound, that of a book falling on an uncarpeted floor leaving his lunch, he investigated the main floor and found two volumes of Sir Walter Scott on the earthen tiles of the foyer. Koko was pushing Ivanhoe around with his nose, but it was not the spine he was sniffing; he was nosing the fore-edges.

Qwilleran retrieved it - a book in flexible leather binding with gold tooling and gilt edges - published in 1909 with end papers and frontispiece in Art Nouveau style. It was a better edition than the set of Dickens but damaged by dryness. He riffled the pages - and gasped! They were interleaved with money! With ten-dollar bills! The other book, he soon discovered, was the same. The "bookmarks" in The Bride of Lammermoor were twenties! Both books had come from a red-dot carton. He tried a little computation: fifty-two red-dot boxes... approximately twenty books per carton... twenty or thirty bills in each box... And yet, considering the rate of inflation and opportunities for investment, who would hide this amount of money in the house? Unless...

Hurrying to the telephone he called Exbridge & Cobb Antiques. "Susan," he said, "I've discovered something remarkable about the red dots, and I think you should get the attorney up here in a hurry before we open any more cartons... No, I can't tell you on the phone... Yes, I'm willing to meet with him - any time."

Qwilleran had forgotten his chili, and he knew the pizza would be cold, but they could be reheated. There was little left to reheat, however. The cheese and pepperoni had disappeared, and the chili was reduced to beans, while two cats washed up assiduously. No matter; food was no longer on Qwilleran's mind. He carried the two volumes of Scott and Memoirs of a Merry Milkmaid to his studio, followed by two well-fed Siamese.

There were other personal papers in the hollow book, in addition to the catalogue: unidentified phone numbers on scraps of paper, legal documents in Summers, Bent & Frickle envelopes, columns of figures in five digits or more, cryptic memos that the late principal had written to himself, onion- skin copies of old business agreements signed "William Brooks." Little of it seeped into Qwilleran's comprehension, but Koko, who was sitting on the desk watching every move, occasionally extended a tentative paw. Yum Yum was on her hindlegs searching the wastebasket for crumpled paper, which had an irresistible attraction for her. She searched, however, in vain. Qwilleran had learned never to crumple discarded paper if he expected it to stay in the round file for more than three minutes.

Among the items that tempted Koko's paw was an envelope labeled "Copies." The originals, according to the notation, were in the files of Summers, Bent & Frickle. One of them, titled "Last Will and Testament of William Smurple ," was dated recently, September 8, and it bequeathed the principal's entire estate to the Pickax School District, exactly as Lyle Compton had confided to Qwilleran.

The other document caused a tingling in Qwilleran's upper lip that made him reach for the phone. He asked directory assistance for a number in Lockmaster, and when "he called it, a woman's musical voice said, "Amberton Farm."

"This is Jim Qwilleran, calling from Pickax," he said. Soothed by her pleasant voice he spoke less brusquely than he had intended. "Is this the right number for Steve O'Hare?"

"No, Mr. Qwilleran, this is the farmhouse. His office in the stables has its own phone - "

"I'm sorry."

"That's perfectly all right. I'm Lisa Amberton, and I understand you're interested in our farm. I'd like to show you around if you'd care to drive down."

"I'll take you up on that later, but right now I need to talk to Mr. O'Hare."

She gave him the number, and he called the trainer. "Okay, Steve, I'm ready to talk," he announced. "How soon can you come up to Pickax?"

"Jeez, that's sooner than I expected, but I can come any time. I'd like to bring Mrs. Amberton, okay? She says she wants to meet you."

"Not this time. I want you to come alone for some private discussion - just a deal between you and me."

"Sure. I understand," Steve said genially. "How about at five o'clock? I get through at three, and I'll have to clean up. I didn't line up that information you wanted, though." He sneezed loudly.

"The r‚sum‚? Forget it for now. See you at five."

Qwilleran massaged his moustache with satisfaction and tripped jauntily down the spiral staircase to the kitchen, where he pressed the button on the coffeemaker.

While he was waiting for the beverage to brew, the telephone rang, and he took the call in the library area. It was Vicki Bushland's anxious voice. "Qwill, there's been an accident down here!" she said. "Fiona's son is in the hospital. We're very much upset. I thought you'd want to know."

"What kind of accident?"

"He was taking jumps, and the horse went down. Robbie's hurt seriously. He wasn't wearing his hard hat. I don't mind telling you, Fiona's almost out of her mind."

"When did this happen?"

"A couple of hours ago. Isn't it tragic? So soon after winning his first race! Fiona's afraid he'll never walk again - let alone ride. I think it's his spine."

"Terrible news," Qwilleran murmured. Then he added, "I was talking to Steve just a moment ago. To Mrs. Amberton, also. They never said a word about an accident."

"They're very cool - that Amberton crew," Vicki said with a sign of bitterness. "The way they think, stableboys are a dime a dozen. Twenty more are begging to take Robbie's place! It would have been a different story if the horse had been Son of Cardinal. They had to destroy it."

Qwilleran was silent.

"Fiona says you're interested in buying the farm, Qwill."

"Let's put it this way: They're interested in selling it... What's Fiona's number? I'll call her."

"Try to give her some hope. She's terribly down. If she isn't home, try the hospital." Vicki gave him two numbers.

Phoning the hospital he learned only that the patient was in surgery; no report on his condition had been issued.

"Could you locate Fiona Stucker, his mother?"

"I'll connect you with the ICU lounge," the operator said.

The volunteer who presided over the lounge said Ms. Stucker had just stepped out. "Will you leave a message?"

"No, thanks. I'll call back." As he hung up he heard Yum Yum mumbling to herself in the adjacent lounge area, intent on some personal project. Here was a situation he always investigated; she had a hobby of stealing wrist watches and gold pens and stashing them away under the furniture. As he suspected, she was lying on her side near one of the sofas, reaching underneath it to fish out a hidden treasure. It was a piece of crumpled paper. To her consternation he confiscated it, knowing she would swallow pieces of it - the predatory instinct.

"N-N-NOW!" she demanded. "No!" Qwilleran insisted.

It was a yellow slip of paper he had not seen before, and when he smoothed it out, it proved to be a salescheck from the Tacky Tack Shop, Lockmaster, for the purchase of two sweatshirts. The date of the transaction was September 9. The customer's name was not recorded, but it appeared that Fiona had dropped it when she visited on the day before. Penciled scribbling on the back looked like directions for reaching the Qwilleran barn. Yum Yum had found it, hiding it under the sofa for future reference.

A sudden movement from the cats alerted him, and he caught a glimpse of activity in the woods. Someone was approaching from the direction of Main Street - on foot.. That alone was unusual. Although the gate was left open during daylight hours, most visitors arrived on wheels. Very few persons in Pickax chose to use their legs. This caller was walking timidly, and he was carrying a book.