Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Sniffed Glue

"Chad Lanspeak is a suspect! Carol and Larry are in a panic!"

"Hmmm," he said, tamping his moustache. "What time do the police think Harley was killed? Your father wouldn't tell me anything. I don't know why. Suddenly he clammed up."

"I know why," said Fran. "Last year he was reprimanded for talking about a case under investigation. Poor Dad! He loves to talk. I can probably find out for you. Why do you want to know?"

"Chad came to my apartment at 6:15 P.M. to sell me some handmade snowshoes. The transaction took longer than I expected, so it was 7:30 before he dropped me off at the community center. I know, because I looked at my watch and figured you'd give me hell for being a half-hour late. According to the newspaper account, David and Jill found the bodies at 7:15. Assuming Chad had put in a full day at the store, he couldn't be implicated."

"You should phone Carol and Larry and tell them that," said Fran.."They've called in their attorney. Do you know Hasselrich?"

"He's the attorney for the Klingenschoen Fund."

"Call Carol and Larry right away. It'll relieve their minds."

Qwilleran punched the number of the Lanspeak residence, visualizing their attractive country house as he waited for them to answer: split-rail fences, cedar shake roof, picturesque barn. "Hello, Larry? This is Qwill. I have some information for you that may be vital... Yes, I know. Fran told me, but assuming Chad worked a full day in the store, he's in the clear. He was with me from 6:15 to 7:30 and supposedly came directly from work. What time did he check out?... Well, then, he should be covered. You remember I told you he was selling me snowshoes. That's why I was late for rehearsal... That's right. He drove me downtown in his rattletrap truck and dropped me off at the rehearsal hall at 7:30... Yes, I thought it might help. I even have a pair of Beavertails to prove it. Tell Hasselrich, and let him take it from there. I'm standing by if he wants me to do anything... So long, Larry. Chin up!"

As he poured Scotch for Fran, she walked around the living room, appraising it with a professional eye-moving a table three inches to the left, adjusting the blinds, straightening the picture of the 1805 gunboat. "How did this print get so crooked?" she asked. "We haven't had any earthquakes or sonic booms."

"Blame it on Koko," QwiJ!eran said. "He likes to rub his jaw against the comers of picture frames, and that one is easy to reach from the back of the sofa. If you knew anything about cats, that would be perfectly obvious."

She settled down with her drink. "I still can't believe we've lost Harley."

"No one says much about his wife. Did you know her very well?"

Fran shifted her eyes. "I met her a few times."

"Did she come from Chipmunk?"

"Somewhere out in that direction."

"What did people think about their marriage? Why were they married in Las Vegas?"

"Honestly, Qwill, I don't feel like talking about it. Harley isn't even buried yet. It's too painful. Mind if I smoke?" With gestures that had a practiced grace she shook out a cigarette, flicked the silver lighter he had given her for Christmas, and inhaled deeply.

Qwilleran waited for her to enjoy a few puffs before saying, "You and David were close friends, weren't you?"

"How did you know? It was just a high-school crush."

"Did you ever think you might marry him?"

"Did you ever think you might be a nosey bastard... darling?"

Archly he said, "I have a compassionate curiosity about my fellow beings. It's one of my noble traits." He produced a bowl of cashews and watched her gobble them hungrily. "Seriously, Fran, do you suppose the local investigators are competent to solve this case?"

"The state police have sent a detective up here, Dad says. A homicide expert. But don't underestimate our local cops. They've grown up here, and they know everyone. You'd be surprised how much they know about you and me and Chad and everyone else. They don't keep files on us; they just know."

Qwilleran poured another drink for her; her glass was emptying fast. "What's the Fitch mansion like?" he asked.

"Banana-split architecture at its gooiest!" she said. "A mix of Victorian Gothic, art deco and Italian. But it has a certain country charm. All those chimneys! All those rambling stone walls around the property!"

"I wonder if the killer or killers had time to find what they wanted before being interrupted. No doubt they had a lookout in their vehicle - someone who alerted them when David and Jill were approaching. What do you think they were looking for?"

"Money and jewelry, I suppose. They started ransacking the desk in the library and the dresser drawers upstairs. Harley's grandmother left jewelry in trust for Harley and David to give to their wives when they married. Belle had some pretty good things."

"What about books? Might they be looking for rare books?"

"Are you kidding? They were probably dropouts from Chipmunk who wouldn't know a rare book from a telephone directory."

"What kind of firearm did they use?"

"A handgun that's very common around here for hunting... Hey, don't let Dad know I'm telling you this. He's not supposed to discuss it, but he and Mother have a rap session at the kitchen table after every shift, and I have big ears."

"You have very lovely ears, if I may digress."

"Well, thank-you," she said amiably, looking surprised and pleased. "I just might go to dinner with you, if you extend the invitation."

"First I want to feed the cats," Qwilleran said. He released them and set out two bowls of the chefs specialit‚ du jour, a kind of bouillabaisse without the mussel shells. "It would be interesting to know," he said, "if Harley knew the killer. I imagine it was someone who had been in the house and knew what they had. It was someone who knew their rehearsal schedule and expected them to be gone by 6:30. That is, if they were killed between 6:30 and 7:15. On the other hand, if they were killed before 6:30, it was by someone who picked a random time for robbery and murder."

"Qwill, this is giving me a headache. Can't we discuss the wallpaper and then go to dinner? Come over here and let's look at the samples."

They sat together on the sofa, with the heavy wallpaper book on their collective knees. The Siamese, meanwhile, had declined to eat; it was the same stuff they had been served for breakfast, and soupy concoctions were not their favorites. The two cats sat across from the sofa, staring into space.

Fran said, "I'd really love to see you do your bedroom in aubergine, avocado and rose taupe."

"I like it the way it is - tan, brown, and rust," Qwilleran informed her.

"Well, if you insist! How do you like this one? It's a marvelous texture in rust."

"The color's too dull," he said. "Here's one with more life but not so much surface interest."

"Too flashy."

"How about this one?"

"Too dark."

"The wallcovering is only for the upper half of the wall," she reminded him. (The lower walls were paneled with the narrow wood beading common in nineteenth-century railway depots.) "In other words, it's simply a background for prints and watercolors that will be framed in chrome to tie in with your chromium exercise equipment. That is, if you're sure you want to keep the bike and rowing machine in your bedroom. Couldn't they go in the cats' apartment?"

Qwilleran scowled at her.

"Okay, they couldn't go in the cats' apartment. However," she went on, "I definitely think we should get rid of those ugly old-fashioned radiators. You owe it to yourself to install a completely new heating system."

"Those ugly old-fashioned radiators give good, even heat," Qwilleran said, "and they look right with the ugly, old-fashioned paneling. The plumber says they're over seventy-five years old and still in excellent operating condition. Show me any new invention that will still be good seventy-five years from now."