Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Sniffed Glue

"Never heard of it."

"He docked around here and hung out at the Shipwreck Tavern."

"Never go there."

"He also built model ships."

"Never heard of 'em."

"Do you know a sailor by the name of Gary Pratt in Brrr?"

"Nope."

"If the model ships come on the market, would you be interested in buying any of them?"

"How much he want?"

"I don't know. He's dead. But the estate might be willing to sell."

"Give 'em ten apiece."

"Is that a firm offer?"

"Take it or leave it be." The captain poured an amber liquid from a flask into a mug and took a swig. Qwilleran departed with his gunboat picture, grumbling at Koko for giving him a false clue. It never occurred to him that he might have misinterpreted Koko's maneuver.

-Scene Six-

Place: The Goodwinter Farmhouse

Museum

Time: Sunday evening

Introducing: IRIS COBB, resident

manager of the Museum

QWILLERAN carried a wicker picnic hamper into the cats' apartment. "All aboard for the Goodwinter Museum!" he announced. The Siamese, who had been sunning drowsily on a windowsill, raised their heads-Koko with anticipation, Yum Yum with apprehension. While the male hopped eagerly into the hamper, the female - suspecting another visit to the clinic - raced around the room faster than the eye could see. Qwilleran intercepted her in midair, dropped her into the travel coop and closed the lid.

Koko scolded her with macho authority and she hissed with feminist spunk as Qwilleran carried the hamper downstairs to the energy-efficient two-door that served his transportation needs. He also transferred the cats' commodes to the car. They now had a matched pair of oval roasting pans with the handles sawed off to fit the floor of the back seat.

It was a half-hour drive to the museum in North Middle Hummock - out Ittibittiwassee Road and across the Old Plank Bridge, then past the Hanging Tree, where a wealthy man once dangled from a rope. Beyond were prosperous farms and country estates. At the end of a lane lined with maple trees stood the rambling farmhouse, sided with cedar shakes that had long ago weathered to a silvery gray. Qwilleran had visited the house before, when it was occupied by the socially prominent Mrs. Goodwinter. Now the property of the Historical Society, it had been restored to the way it looked one hundred years before.

He drove to the west wing and unloaded the two roasting pans. "Where shall I put these?" he asked without ceremony when his former housekeeper greeted him at the door.

"Oh, you have two litterpans now!" she said in surprise.

"A new arrangement - at the request of our Siamese princess."

"Put the pans in the bathroom," she said. "I put a bowl of water in there and a placemat for their dinner. They always loved my pot roast."

"Who didn't?" Qwilleran said over his shoulder as he returned to the car for the hamper. When he opened the lid two necks stretched upward and two heads swiveled to survey the scene. Then the cats emerged cautiously and began a systematic exploration of the resident manager's apartment.

With these important matters concluded, Qwilleran observed the amenities. "You're looking very well," he told his hostess. "'Your new responsibilities agree with you."

Her cheerful face, framed by a ruffled pink blouse, was radiant as she peered through the thick lenses of pink-rimmed glasses. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Q!"

"How are your eyes, Mrs. Cobb?"

"No worse, thank heaven." She was a plump and pleasant woman, overly good-hearted, inclined to be sentimental, and brave in the face of the tragedies that had marked her life.

"How do you feel about living out here alone? Do you have a good security system?"

"Oh, yes, I feel very safe. Our only problem, Mr. Q, is mice. We've been thoroughly inspected by the carpenter, mason, plumber, and electrician, and none of them can figure out how the mice are getting in. There's an ultrasonic thing, but it doesn't discourage them. I've set traps with peanut butter and caught three."

"I hope they haven't done any damage to the museum."

"No, but it's something we worry about... Would you like to look around the apartment while I wash the salad stuff?"

The focus of her living quarters was the country kitchen, where a round oak table and pressed-back chairs were ready for dinner. (Dinner for three, Qwilleran noticed. Nothing had been said about another guest.) There was a small bedroom with an enormous bed - the kind Lincoln would have liked. And there was a parlor with wing-back chairs in front of the fireplace, a rocker in a sunny window, and a large Pennsylvania German wardrobe that had been in the Klingenschoen mansion at one time. Koko soon discovered the sunny window. He even recognized the wardrobe. Yum Yum stayed in the kitchen, however, where the pot roast was putting forth tantalizing aromas.

Mrs. Cobb said, "I invited Polly Duncan because she helped with research for the museum, but she had a previous engagement. So I called Hixie Rice. She's been advising us on publicity, you know. She had a date to go sailing this afternoon, but she'll be here a little later."

"Hixie is always good company," Qwilleran said, wondering if Polly really had another engagement, or if she was avoiding him.

"You'll never recognize the main part of the house when you see it," Mrs. Cobb said as she twirled the lettuce in a salad basket. "Remember all that decorator-type wallpaper? When we removed it, we found the original w had been stenciled, so we did some research on stenciling and got the paperhanger to restore it for us. He was very cooperative. He's a nice young man but down in the dumps because his girl jilted him and married someone wealthy. I told him to forget his old flame and find a girl who appreciate him. He's almost thirty; he should get married... Now prepare for a surprise!"

She led the way into a section of the house built in mid-nineteenth century and now restored to the simplicity of pioneer days. Furnishings such as a rope bed, trestle table and pie safe had come from the attics of Moose County residents.

"We want it to look as if our great-great-grandparents still live here," she said. "Can't you just imagine them cooking in the fireplace, reading the evening prayers by candlelight, and taking Saturday night baths in kitchen?"

The floors sloped; the floorboards were wide; the six-over-six windows had some of the original wavy glass. Mrs. Cobb conducted the tour with professional authority while Qwilleran and Koko tagged along, the latter sniffing invisible spots on the rag rugs and rubbing his back against furniture legs. Yum Yum stayed in the kitchen, guarding the pot roast.

"And now we come to the east wing, added in 1890. We use these rooms to exhibit collections. Here's the Halifax Goodwinter Room with the doctor's collection lighting devices - from an early rush lamp to an elegant Tiffany lamp in the wisteria pattern - very valuable."

At this remark Qwilleran kept a close watch on Koko, but the cat was not attracted to art glass. He merely rubbed his jaw against the corner of a showcase.

"The Mary Tait MacGregor Room is all textiles. Old Mr. MacGregor gave us his wife's quilts, hooked rugs, jacquard coverlets and so on, all handed down in her family." Koko rolle;d on a hooked rug done in a distelfink pattern.

The Hasselrich Room featured Moose County documents, which Qwilleran said he would like to study at some future date: land grants, early birth and death certificates, journals of nineteenth-century court proceedings, and ledgers from old general stores, itemizing kerosene at a nickel a gallon and three yards of calico for fifteen cents.

"It breaks my heart to show you the next room, considering what happened," said Mrs. Cobb. "Nigel was president of the Historical Society, and he didn't even live to see it dedicated. That roll top desk belonged to Cyrus Fitch, and in one of the drawers we found a list of his bootleg customers. Imagine! He was smuggling whiskey during Prohibition! They're all dead now, except Homer Tibbitt."