Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Sniffed Glue

"A damn shame, Pete."

"Yeah, I really went for that girl." He turned an unabashed face to Qwilleran. "The reason I was late today - the police wanted to ask some questions."

"I'm sure they're questioning everyone who knew Belle. That's the way it's done."

"Yeah, but I guess they thought I had reasons for... killing them both."

After the work was finished and Pete had cleared out his ladders and buckets, it was late. Qwilleran had no desire to go out to a restaurant, so he thawed some frozen stew for himself and gave the cats the rest of their chicken liver pate. Yum Yum nibbled it daintily, but Koko lacked appetite. He prowled the living room nervously, as if a storm might be brewing, although nothing but fine weather was predicted.

"You liked the paperhanger, didn't you?" Qwilleran said to him, "and I think he liked you. He seems like a decent guy. I hope the police don't find a way to pin something on him."

Qwilleran was restless, too. He tuned in and rejected I four out-of-county radio stations before settling on WPKX for the local news:

A North Kennebeck motorist driving west on Ittibittiwassee Road narrowly escaped injury when a vehicle behind him, which had been speeding and weaving across the yellow line, passed recklessly, forcing him off the pavement. Following this and other similar incidents, the sheriff's department has announced a new war on drunk driving... In other news: Pickax will have posies this summer. Fifty flower boxes on Main Street have been planted with petunias... Sports news at this hour: The Pickax Miners beat the Brrr Eskimos in softball tonight, eight to three.

Next Qwilleran tried the out-of-town newspapers, but even the Daily Fluxion and Morning Rampage failed to capture his attention. He made a cup of coffee and drank only half of it. He wanted to phone Polly but was reluctant to do so; he would have to explain the female architect.

In desperation he pulled Moby-Dick off the shelf - a book he had not read since college days - and the first three words grabbed his attention: "Call me Ishmael." Halfway through the first paragraph he settled down with enjoyment. This was the kind of literature that he and Polly used to read aloud during lazy weekends in the country. He was still reading when the 2:30 A.M. freight train sounded its mournful whistle on the north side of town. The Siamese had long since fallen asleep.

And he was still reading when a succession of sirens screamed up Main Street. It sounded like three police cars and two ambulances. A major accident, he told himself. Another drunk driver leaving a bar at closing time. Reluctantly he closed the book and turned out the lights.

Qwilleran slept well that night and dreamed richly. He was embarking on a whaling voyage... seeing the watery part of the world... a sailor aloft in the masthead jumping from spar to spar like a grasshopper. He was not ready to give up his dreaming when the telephone jolted him awake.

"Qwill, have you heard the news on the radio?" It was Francesca. She and her father had a habit of phoning at an unreasonable hour.

"No," he mumbled. "What time is it?"

"Seven-thirty. There was a car-train accident last night."

"Did you wake me up to tell me that?"

"Wake up, Qwill, and listen to me. Three youths were killed when they rammed their car into the side of a moving freight train."

Qwilleran grunted. "Someone's going to get sued if they don't do something about those dark crossings: no street lights; no red Warning lights; no barricades." He was fully awake now. "Kids get a few beers, drive seventy in a forty-five-mile zone, with the radio blasting so they can't hear the train whistle. What does anyone expect?"

"Please, no soliloquy, Qwill. I called to tell you that the victims were three teenagers from Chipmunk, and one of them was Chad Lanspeak!"

Qwilleran was silent as he sorted out his reactions and groped for words.

"I know it's going to be rough on Carol and Larry," Fran went on, "but here's the significance of the accident. Dad says it winds up the Fitch case! The other two kids were the prime suspects!"

Still he said nothing. "Qwill, have you gone back to sleep?"

"Sorry, Fran, I haven't had my coffee yet. I'll have to think about this for a while. We'll talk about it later."

He replaced the phone gently and touched his moustache almost reverently. It was tingling as it did in moments of intuitive premonition. It was telling him that the car-train accident, no matter what others might say, had no bearing on the investigation of the Fitch murders.

ACT ONE-CURTAIN

INTERMISSION

FOLLOWING THE DEATH of the prime suspects, the concerned citizens of Moose County were noticeably relieved. It was over! Everyone knew the homicide detective had returned to his headquarters in the state capital.

Furthermore, it was June, and they had weddings, graduations, parades, fireworks, picnics, family reunions, and camping trips to think about. Conversation in the coffee shops returned to normal: the weather, fishing conditions off Purple Point, and the selection of a beauty queen for the Fishhook Festival in Mooseville.

Qwilleran alone failed to share their relief. The state detective, he told himself, had left town to catch the real criminals off-guard. It might take time, but someone, somewhere, would be deluded into a false sense of security. Someone would return to the scene of the crime. Someone would talk too freely in a bar. Someone would inform the police.

An uneasy sensation on Qwilleran's upper lip convinced him that the final curtain had not fallen on the Fitch murder case.

ACT TWO

-Scene One-

Place: Qwilleran's apartment; later,

Stephanie's restaurant

Time: Late afternoon on the day following the car-train accident

QWILLERAN sat at the big desk in his cork-lined studio, writing a letter of condolence to Carol and Larry Lanspeak. The Siamese were sitting on his desk in parallel poses - Yum Yum waiting to grab a paper clip and Koko hoping to lick a stamp, a quarter inch of pink tongue protruding in anticipation.

Yum Yum had leaped to the desktop first, arranging her parts in a tall, compact column. She sat on her haunches with forelegs elegantly straight, forepaws close together, tail wrapped around her toes clockwise. Koko followed suit, arranging himself alongside the female in an identical pose, even to the direction of the tail. They were almost like twins, Qwilleran thought, although Koko's strong body and noble head and intelligent eyes and imperious mien gave him a masterful aura that could not be mistaken.

"I feel sorry for the Lanspeaks," he said to the

Siamese. His voice sounded rich and mellow, thanks to the cork wallcovering, and the cats liked a rich, mellow, male voice. "I can provide Chad's alibi for the night of the murder, but the Chipmunk stigma will always link him to the killers in the public memory. As the saying goes... 'lie down with dogs; get up with fleas.' "

Koko scratched his ear in sympathetic agreement. "I'm not convinced that the Chipmunk hoodlums killed Harley; there are too many alternatives. I may be beating the drum for an unpopular cause, but I'm going to follow my instincts." He groomed his moustache with his fingertips.

"Harley disappeared for a year after graduation, and no one really knows where he went or what he was doing. He could have been mixed up in almost anything. Just because he was an admirable figure in Pickax, it doesn't follow that he played that role out of town. He was a versatile actor, and he liked to play against type. That Boris Karloff bit he was rehearsing was his kind of number."

Koko blinked in apparent acquiescence; Yum Yum maintained her wide-eyed, baffled, blue stare.

"His year of sowing wild oats, if that's what it was, could have led to blackmail. He could have made enemies. He might have experimented with drugs and become involved with a drug ring. And a sexual escapade with some questionable character, male or female, is not beyond the realm of possibility."