Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Sniffed Glue

Both cats squeezed their eyes, as if this were heady stuff.

"There's no telling what a young man will do when he cuts loose from his family and hometown. He might have run up gambling debts that he couldn't pay. It was odd that he married Belle in Las Vegas instead of at the Old Stone Church."

Qwilleran was swiveling his chair back and forth as he spoke. Abruptly he stopped and caressed his moustache. "And another possibility! David may have been a silent partner in Harley's adventure. Their grandfather was a bootlegger. Rumrunners from Canada used to land their goods on his beach. Perhaps something else has been landing on that beach. David's house would make a good look-out station."

Both cats now had their eyes closed and were swaying slightly.

"I hope I haven't bored you," he said. "I was just airing a few theories."

He finished writing his note to the Lanspeaks. His messages of sympathy were always beautifully worded; a sincere fellow-feeling had always been one of his assets as a newspaper reporter.

As he was addressing the envelope the telephone rang, and he swiveled to reach it on the table behind him. It was a call from Iris Cobb, manager of the Goodwinter Farmhouse Museum. In her usual cheery voice she asked, "Would you like to come over and see the museum, Mr. Q, before it opens to the public? You could come to dinner, and I'd make pot roast and mashed potatoes and that coconut cake you like."

"Invitation accepted, Mrs. Cobb," he replied promptly, "provided the coconut cake has apricot filling."

She had been his housekeeper when he and the Siamese lived in the big house, and the old formality of address still existed between them. It was always "Mr. Q" and "Mrs. Cobb."

"You could bring Koko and Yum Yum," she suggested, "I miss the little dears, and they'd enjoy prowling around this big place after being cooped up in your apartment."

"Are you sure they'd be welcome in the museum?"

"Oh, yes, they never do any damage."

"Except for an occasional ten thousand-dollar vase," Qwilleran reminded her. "What day did you have in mind?"

"How about Sunday at six o'clock?"

"We'll be there!" He made a mental note to buy a pink silk scarf at Lanspeak's. Pink was Mrs. Cobb's favorite color. He missed his former housekeeper's cooking. Now, as live-in manager of the museum, she had one wing of the farmhouse as a private apartment - with a large kitchen, she said. The invitation sounded promising.

Qwilleran turned back to his desk and found the desktop strewn with paper clips; the envelope he had been addressing was gone, and two cats were missing. A telltale slurping under the desk led him to Koko and a limp, sticky envelope.

"Okay, you scoundrels," he said as he crawled under the desk. "I consider this antisocial behavior. Shape up, or you'll get no pot roast on Sunday."

When the telephone rang a second time, he stowed the envelope in a drawer. It was five o'clock, and he knew who would be on the line.

"I'm about to leave the studio, Qwill. Do you mind if I drop in to check on Pete's work?"

"Sure, come along, Fran. It's a big success. The cork gives the room a good acoustical quality."

"I knew it would, and your voice sounds perfectly magnificent!" she said. "See you in five minutes." She sounded gayer than usual.

Francesca has been to lunch with a client, Qwilleran thought. To the Siamese he said, "She's coming for a drink, and I don't want anybody grabbing her ankle or stealing her personal property."

Shortly after, the designer turned her own key in the lock downstairs and bounced up to the apartment in high spirits.

"Scotch?" he asked. I "Make it light. I had a lo-o-ong lunch date with a new client. Don Exbridge! I'm doing his new condo in Indian Village."

Qwilleran huffed silently into his moustache. The recently divorced Exbridge was a developer and one of the most eligible catches in town; women melted at his smile.

They carried their drinks into the studio, and Qwilleran sat at his writing desk while Francesca curled up in the big lounge chair where he did his creative thinking and I occasionally a little catnapping. She curled up with more abandon than usual, he noted. He said, "The cork walls were a good choice for this room, Fran."

"Thank you. Pete did a great job. He always does."

"Even with mitered stripes?"

"Ah! The Brrr Blabbermouth has been telling tales!" she said with a grimace. "That stripe job was one of my early mistakes. At lunch today Don Exbridge asked for plaid wall covering in his den, and I vetoed it in a hurry. I told him his whole condo development is out-of-square. He just smiled his enchanting smile. He's very easy to get along with. We're going to Chicago to choose some things for his place."

Qwilleran frowned. "When are you and I flying Down Below to choose my bedroom furnishings?"

Fran reacted with surprise and pleasure. "How about next week? There's a new king-size four-poster I want you to see."

"I don't want anything that looks as if George Washington slept in it," he objected.

"This bed is contemporary. Stainless-steel posts with brass finials. And there are some new case pieces from Germany that you'll like-very neo-Bauhaus. Do you mind if I make the hotel reservations? I know a cozy place near the showroom district - expensive, but it'll go on your bill, and it won't hurt a bit. How about next Wednesday? If we catch the morning shuttle to Minneapolis, we can be in Chicago for lunch."

Qwilleran thought, When Polly finds out about this, it will be the coup de grace.

Fran said, "What else did Big Mouth tell you?"

"About the pink elephants and red velvet that he installed for Harley and Belle. Was that one of your mistakes?"

"NO!" she thundered in her best stage voice. "My boss handled that transaction. Amanda will sell clients anything they want, whether it's bad taste or utterly impractical or illegal. She's corrupt, but I like her."

"Arch Riker is going to marry Amanda."

"I hope he has a sense of humor. He'll need it!"

"Have you heard how the bank will replace Nigel and the boys?"

"Nothing official, but the rumor is that two women officers will be elevated to VP, and a new president will come in from Down Below. I hope he'll need an interior designer."

"Where were you when you heard about the suicide?" he asked.

"At the hairdresser's. Everyone cried. People really loved Nigel. He was so suave and good-looking and charming!"

"I was having dinner at the Old Stone Mill," Qwilleran said, "and one of the waitresses dropped a tray when she heard the news. I presume Nigel was suave, good-looking, charming, and a big tipper."

"Now you're playing the cynical journalist. Bravo!" she said. "Did you hear that Margaret's place on the library board is going to be filled by Don Exbridge?"

Qwilleran grunted in disapproval. Exbridge was the developer who had tried to have the historic courthouse demolished. He said, "Exbridge will convince the city to tear down our historic public library, so he can build a new one for $9.9 million."

"Now you're being vicious as well as cynical!" There was an amused glint in her steely, gray eyes. She liked to goad him. "Don would also like to replace Nigel on the Klingenschoen board of trustees."

"Perfect!" Qwilleran said. "He can manipulate Klingenschoen grants to buy political favors, like rezoning, tax abatement, sewers, and other benefits for his private enterprises... May I freshen your drink? Then we'll go to Stephanie's for dinner." Mischievously he added, "I heard some curious news last week. I heard that Harley disappeared for a year after finishing college." He knew it would ruffle her.

"He didn't disappear! He traveled for a year. For centuries young men have taken the grand tour before settling down. Nothing unusual about that!" She was on the defensive now.