Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Lived High

Returning to 14-A he found Mrs. Jasper in the kitchen, with Koko watching her every move.

"The boss, he be tellin' me what to do," she said. "Now I'll take the towels and things down to the laundry and have a bit of lunch afore I come up again." Qwilleran went into the library to peruse his notes gleaned from photo captions at the public library. Koko followed and leaped to the library table, where he took up his post on the volume of Van Gogh reproductions. He could have chosen Cezanne, Rembrandt, or one of the other masters, but he always elected to sit on the Van Gogh, complacently washing up. It occurred to Qwilleran that Vincent, the Bessinger Persian, might have elected to sit in that spot while waiting to steal a Scrabble tile.

From his notes he could reconstruct the romantic past of the Palm Pavilion. Harrison Plumb had celebrated his daughter's birthday with a musicale featuring a string quartet from the Penniman Conservatory. The Wilburtons hosted a reception for a visiting professor of anthropology who was lecturing at the university. The Pennimans entertained the French ambassador. Mr. and Mrs. Duxbury gave a dinner for the governor. No amount of restoration and no amount of Klingenschoen money, he had to admit, would ever recall the magic of the Casablanca's first quarter of a century. It could only be captured in a book, with pictures and text, a thought which reminded him to line up the photographer. He called Sorg Butra's number and was informed that the photographer was out of town on assignment. Qwilleran left a message for Butra to call him.

It was a call he would never receive.

When Mrs. Jasper returned with her laundry basket, he flagged her down at the library door, saying, "When did you first come to work at the Casablanca, Mrs. Jasper?" "Just afore the 1929 Crash. That's when folks was jumpin' off the roof. It were terrible." "Come in and sit down. Do you remember the names of any people you worked for?" She sat on the edge of a chair with the basket on her lap, her rosy cheeks glowing. "I only worked for one family, and they was just two of 'em - father and daughter. He were a nice man with a little moustache. Mr. Plumb were his name." "His daughter still lives here!" "Aye, on Twelve. Miss Adelaide. Her and me was the same age." "Here, let me take that basket. Make yourself comfortable," he said with a sudden surge of hospitality. "Would you like a cup of coffee?" "I just had a nice cup o' tea downstairs, thankee just the same." "What kind of work did you do for the Plumbs?" "I were backstairs maid. I had a room of my own - imagine!-and me just a young girl from Chipmunk. They hired a lot of help in them days. We had a good time." "What was Adelaide like when she was young?" "Oh, she were a sassy girl, that one! Mr. Plumb spoiled her somethin' terrible. Bought her an automobile for her birthday, and the houseman used to drive her up and down Zwinger Boulevard like a princess. I remember her comin'-out party and the dress she wore - all beads and feathers and way up above her knees. That were the style then. After that the young men came callin' and bring-in' chocolates and flowers. First thing we knowed, she were engaged to the handsomest of the lot." Mrs. Jasper shook her head sadly. "But it were too bad the way it worked out." "What happened?" "Well, now, the weddin' were all set, invitations and all, weddin' dress ordered special from Paris. Then somethin' happened suddenlike. Mr. Plumb were upset, and Miss Adelaide were poutin', and the help was tiptoein' around, afraid to open their mouth. I asked Housekeeper and she said Mr. Plumb were short of money. Next thing, he sold the automobile and let some of the help go, and Miss Adelaide stayed in her room and wouldn't come out, no matter what. Housekeeper said Mr. Plumb made her break her engagement. After that he got sickly and died." Mrs. Jasper leaned forward, wide- eyed. "It be my notion that Miss Adelaide poisoned him!" Qwilleran, who had been lulled into a reverie by the singsong quality of the woman's voice, fairly jumped out of his chair. "What makes you think so?" "She talked to me chummylike, us bein' the same age." "What did she tell you?" "Oh, she hated him for what he did! That were what she told me, stampin' her feet and throwin' things and screamin'. She were spoiled. Always got what she wanted and did what she wanted. I wouldn't put it past her to poison her own father." "How would she get her hands on poison?" "There were rat poison in the basement. The janitor had it in his cupboard with a big skull and crossbones on it." "Come on, Mrs. Jasper," Qwilleran chided. "Can you picture the belle of the Casablanca prowling around the basement to steal rat poison?" "Not her. It were the houseman, to my way o' thinkin'. He were a young man what looked like a movie star, and she smiled at him a lot. Housekeeper said no good would come of it." "Very interesting," said Qwilleran, huffing into his moustache. He had a sympathetic attitude that encouraged confidences, true or false, and persons in all walks of life had poured out their secrets, but servants' gossip hardly qualified for the Casablanca history.

"Aye, it were interesting," Mrs. Jasper went on. "After Mr. Plumb died and she got the insurance money, the houseman bought hisself an automobile! Where would a young whippersnapper get money for an automobile in them days?" "How many times have you told this story, Mrs. Jasper?" "Only to my Andrew after we was married, and he said not to talk about it, but the Countess be old now, and it don't matter, and I always wanted to tell somebody." "Well, thank you," he said. "It's after three o' clock now, and I must take the cats to the doctor." "I'll water the trees and then I be through," said Mrs. Jasper.

Qwilleran paid her and said he would see her the following Monday - another promise he would be unable to keep.

Both of the Siamese were on the waterbed. "Everyone up!" he called out cheerfully. "Get your tickets for a ride in the Purple Plum!" He made no mention of the clinic, and yet they knew! No amount of coaxing would convince them to enter the carrier.

First he tried to push Koko through the small door, beginning with the forelegs, then the head, but the cat braced his hind legs against the conveyance, straddling the door and lashing his tail like a whip. Even employing all his cunning, Qwilleran still could not engineer four legs, a head, a lashing tail, and a squirming body into the carrier simultaneously. In frustration he abandoned the project and had a dish of ice cream, and when he returned to the scene some minutes later, both animals were huddled in the carrier contentedly, side by side.

"Cats!" Qwilleran grumbled. "CATS!" He carried the coop from the apartment and rang for the elevator.

"Don't shriek when the car is in operation," he cautioned Yum Yum. "You know what happened last time." He held his breath until Old Green landed them safely on the main floor.

"Bye-bye, kitties," called Mrs. Tuttle, looking up from her knitting as they passed the bullet-proof window.

The two old women in quilted robes had their heads together as usual, scowling and complaining. "Moving out?" one of them croaked in a funereal voice.

"No, just going to the doctor," he replied. It was a mission he never accomplished.

A brisk breeze was blowing down Zwinger Boulevard, whipping around the Casablanca and whistling through the cat carrier, and Qwilleran removed his jacket and threw it over the cage. As fast as possible he zigzagged through the parking lot, sidestepping the potholes. Not until the obstacle course was half negotiated did he look up and realize that slot #28 was vacant. The Purple Plum had vanished.

19

QWILLERAN TORE BACK into the building with two confused Siamese bumping around inside the carrier. "Mrs. Tuttle!" he called out at the desk. "My car is gone! It's been stolen!" "Oh, dearie me!" she said, not as perturbed as he thought she should be. "Did you lock your doors? Someone had cassettes stolen, but he left his doors - " "I always lock my doors!" "Was it a new car?" "No, but it was in excellent condition." Rupert, hearing the commotion, sauntered over and leaned on the counter. "Don't pay to keep a nice car." Mrs. Tuttle offered to call the police.