Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Sniffed Glue

"If they're still alive," he interrupted. "The sheriff thought they might be pinned under the car. They don't answer when I call their names. Another guy said there are predators out there."

"Don't listen to those alarmists. I'll pull my car farther off the highway, and we'll sit and wait... No! I won't listen to any protests. There's a blanket in my trunk. It gets chilly after midnight at this time of year. Put those things in the backseat, Qwill." He put the commodes and hamper in her car, and then he and Polly settled in the front seat of the car he had given her for Christmas. His gloom was palpable. "I don't mind telling you, Polly, how much those two characters have meant to me. They were my family! Yum Yum was getting more lovable and loving every year. And Koko's intelligence was incredible. I could talk to him like a human, and he seemed to understand every word I said. He even replied in his own way."

"You're speaking in the past tense," Polly rebuked him. "They're still alive and well - somewhere. I have enough faith in Koko to know he'll be able to take care of himself and Yum Yum. Cats are too agile to let themselves get trapped under the car. Flight is their forte, and their best defense."

"But the Siamese have lived a sheltered life. Their world is bounded by carpets, cushions, windowsills, and laps."

"You're not giving them credit for their natural instincts. They might even walk back to Pickax. I read about a cat whose family took him to Oklahoma for the winter, and he walked back to his home in Michigan - over 700 miles."

"But he was accustomed to the outdoors," Qwilleran said.

The sheriff's deputy stopped again, and when he saw Qwilleran's companion, he said, "Do you need any potatoes, Mrs. Duncan?" They both laughed. To Qwilleran he said, "Glad you've got company. I'll keep an eye on you two."

As he drove away Polly said, "I've known Kevin ever since he was in junior high, bringing his homework assignments to the library. His family had a potato farm."

Gradually she talked him out of his pessimistic mood by introducing other subjects. Nevertheless, every ten minutes Qwilleran left the car and walked up and down the roadside, calling... calling.

Returning from one disappointing expedition he said to Polly, "You were out late tonight."

"There was a party at Indian Village," she explained. "I usually go home early when I'm driving alone, but I was having such a good time!"

Qwilleran considered that statement in silence. Don Exbridge had a condo in Indian Village.

"The party was given," she went on, "by Mr. and Mrs. Hasselrich, honoring the library board. They're charming hosts."

"I hear Margaret Fitch's place on the board will be filled by Don Exbridge," he said glumly.

"Oh, no! Susan Exbridge is a trustee, and it would hardly be appropriate to have her ex-husband on the board. Where did you hear that?"

"I don't recall," he lied, "but I noticed you were dining with him at Stephanie's, and I assumed you were briefing him on his new duties."

Polly laughed softly. "Wrong! The library needs a new roof, and I was trying to charm him into donating the services of his construction crew. But since you bring up the subject, I saw you dining with a strange woman after you told me you were dining with your architect from Cincinnati."

"That strange woman," Qwilleran said, "happens to be the architect from Cincinnati. You get two black marks for assuming the profession is limited to males."

"Guilty!" she laughed.

The sheriff's car was coming down the highway again, and it stopped on the opposite shoulder. When the deputy stepped out, he was carrying something small and light-colored. He was carrying it with care.

"Oh my God!" Qwilleran said and tumbled out of the car, hurrying across the pavement to meet him. "Brought you some coffee," the deputy said, handing over a brown paper bag. "From the Dimsdale Diner. Not the best in the world, but it's hot. Temperature's dropping to fifty tonight. Couple of doughnuts, too, but they look kinda stale."

"It's greatly appreciated," Qwilleran said with a sigh of relief as he pulled out his bill clip.

"Put that away," the officer said. "The cook at the diner sent it."

The kindness of Polly and the deputy and the cook at the diner and the motorist with the flashlight did much to relieve Qwilleran's depression, although he still felt a numbness in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to talk about the cats. He said to Polly, "They're always inventing games. Now their hobby is posing like bookends."

"Does Koko still recommend reading material for you?"

"He was pushing biographies until a few days ago. Now he's into sea stories."

"Has he lost interest in Shakespeare?"

"Not entirely. I saw him nuzzling The Comedy of Errors and Two Gentlemen of Verona the other day."

"Both of those plays involve sea voyages," Polly reminded him.

"I'm sure it's the glue he's sniffing. The subject matter is coincidental. But you have to admit it's uncanny."

"There are more things in Koko's head than are dreamt of in your philosophy," said Polly, taking liberties with one of Qwilleran's favorite quotations. And so they talked the night away.

Qwilleran said, "Now that I'm dropping out of the Theatre Club, Polly, I'm going to review plays for the paper."

"You'll make a wonderful drama critic."

"It means two passes to every opening night, fifth row, center. I hope you'll be my steady theatre date."

"I'll be happy to accept. You know, Qwill, your columns have been very good. I'm sorry I scolded you about your journalism. I especially liked your profile on Eddington Smith."

"Incidentally, when Edd and I were discussing the Fitch case, I mentioned the possibility of rare-book thieves, and he hemmed and hawed - never would say what was on his mind."

"Well, it's a possibility," she said. "I've heard that Cyrus Fitch owned some pornographic books that certain collectors would commit any crime to possess. They're said to be locked up in a small climate-controlled room along with George Washington's Farewell Address and Gould's Birds of Great Britain."

"If Edd lets me go to the mansion to. help him dust books, I'll check out the hot stuff," Qwilleran said.

And then she told him something that caused him to wince. "I'm leaving for Chicago Wednesday. A library conference. I'm catching the morning shuttle."

She added a questioning glance. It was customary for him to drive her to the airport, but... he and Fran were also leaving on the Wednesday morning shuttle! He thought fast.

"Wait! I think I heard something!" He jumped out of the car and walked a few paces, stalling for time. Here was a ticklish situation! He and Polly were rediscovering their old camaraderie; they had shared the blanket during the chilly hours before dawn; he had hoped for reconciliation. How would she react to a jaunt to Chicago with her rival? As far as he was concerned, it was a business trip to select furniture. Would Polly accept that explanation graciously? Did Fran - with her "cozy hotel" - contemplate it as a business trip? She had made the hotel and travel reservations and would add the charges to his bill - plus an hourly fee for her professional advice, he surmised.

It was awkward at best. One half of his brain ventured to suggest canceling the trip. The other half of his brain sternly maintained his right to schedule a business trip anywhere, at any time, with anyone.

The sky was beginning to lighten in the east, and he walked back to the car.. "You stay here. I'm going to lookaround," he said. "If they holed up for the night, they'll start getting hungry when the sun rises, and they might come crawling out. Watch for them while I go searching."

"Will the glasses help?" Reaching under the seat, Polly handed him the binoculars she used for birding.