Lilian Braun - The Cat Who Played Post Office

"He's handin' out cigars, but he ain't the father." "I butcher my own hogs, make my own sausage. Only way to go." "It says in the Bible that a fool's voice is known by its multitude of words, and that fits him all right!" "Birds! That's my bag, and I always limit out." "If she's a lawyer, why would she want to get married?" "They had to shoot the whole herd. Damn shame!" "All she wants is his dough, I betcha." "Man, my wife makes the best rabbit stew you ever tasted." "Never heard the name. Is it Russian or something?" "My mother-in-law's been here goin' on three weeks." Before heading for the airport Riker dropped Qwilleran off at his house. "Did you get any clues from all that bull?" he asked.

Qwilleran shook his head. "They know who I am. They clammed up." If he was expecting a joyous welcome from the Siamese, he was disappointed. They could smell the hospital, and they circled him with distaste, Yum Yum hissing and Koko producing a chesty rumble that sounded like distant thunder.

The situation was still a standoff when he left for his one o'clock appointment.

He walked into the law office slowly, still hampered by the wrappings on his sutured knee. Penelope also lacked her usual verve. She was wearing dark glasses and looking pale. In a shaky voice she said, "You look a trifle battered, Mr.

Qwilleran, but we are all thankful it was no worse. What can I do for you?" He stated his question about the Klingenschoen will.

"As you know," Penelope reminded him, "it was a holographic will. The dear lady insisted on writing it herself, without an attorney and without witnesses, to protect her privacy. Let me review the document again to refresh my memory." The clerk brought the handwritten will, and Penelope read it carefully, shaking her head. "You are justified in being concerned. In the event of your death the estate would go to the alternate heirs in New Jersey. But surely you have nothing to worry about. Except for your temporary injuries, you seem extraordinarily healthy." "Then brace yourself," Qwilleran said.. He repeated his suspicion about the so-called accident and his distrust of the East Coast heirs. "Is there anyone in town who comes from that part of the country or has connections there?" "Not to my knowledge," she said, looking pensive and withdrawn.

He refrained from mentioning his private list of suspects. Hackpole had worked in Newark. The gardener was a Princeton man. Qwilleran's own former in-laws — an obnoxious crew — pursued some questionable profession in the Garden State.

To the attorney he said, "In any event I feel strongly that the money should stay in Moose County. It belongs here, and it can do a lot of good. How can we circumvent the present situation? Are there any loopholes? May I write a will myself, assigning my claim to the Klingenschoen Foundation?" "I'm afraid not," Penelope said. "The language of the original will fails to grant you that power… Let me think…

This is really an unfortunate development, Mr. Qwilleran. I can only hope you are wrong in your suspicions." "Then be advised," he said, "that I'm going to write the will anyway. If anything happens to me, you'd better demand an investigation into the cause of my death." "I must say, Mr. Qwilleran, you are very calm and businesslike about a distressing possibility." "I've been in hot spots before," he said, waving her comment aside. "I'll write a holographic will, so Goodwinter and Goodwinter cannot be faulted for giving me bad advice. And I'll see that all the bases are covered — the police, the prosecutor's office, the media…" "What can I say?… Except that I'm quite upset about your allegations." "So be it. Discuss it with your brother, if you see fit, but right or wrong, that's going to be my course of action." As he hobbled from the office he thought, She's hung over; she needs a hair of the dog. So he hobbled back into Penelope's presence. "Your rain check is still good, Miss Goodwinter. I'd like to suggest cocktails and dinner at the Old Stone Mill tonight, if you don't mind dining with a walking accident statistic." She hesitated briefly before saying, "Thank you, Mr. Qwilleran, but not tonight, I'm afraid." Her telltale physiological condition surprised him more than her refusal of his invitation. Regarding the latter he decided she just didn't like frozen ravioli.

At breakfast the next morning Mrs. Cobb had more Goodwinter gossip to report.

"Sorry to be late," Qwilleran apologized as he sat down to a plate of real buttermilk pancakes and real Canadian peameal bacon. "I seem to require more sleep since my accident." He sniffed critically. "I smell lavender." "That's English wax," the housekeeper said. "Mrs. Fulgrove is working on the dining room furniture." She tiptoed to the door of the breakfast room and closed it gently. "'She told me the Goodwinters had another fight when he got home from Washington. Miss G was shouting about mosquitoes — and a woman — and a dead body, whatever that means. None of it was very clear to me. Mrs. Fulgrove is hard to understand. She also said something about a cow opening a restaurant in Pickax." "It can't be any worse than the restaurants we've got," he said. "It might even be better. Any phone calls?" "Lori Bamba called. She said her husband will drop off the first batch of letters for you to sign. Mrs. Hanstable phoned to say she's picking wild blueberries and asked if we wanted any. She sells them to raise money for the hospital." "I hope you placed an order." "I told her two quarts. She'll drop them off tomorrow when she comes in town to have her hair done." "You women," he said, "structure your lives around your hair appointments." "Oh, Mr. Q," she laughed, admonishing him with her eyes. She was acting girlish, he thought, and he soon found out why. "I've been invited out to dinner tonight," she said. "A man I met at the Historical Society." "Good! I'll grab a hamburger somewhere." "You don't need to do that, Mr. Qwilleran. I bought four beautiful loin chops and some big Idaho bakers, and I could put them in the oven before I go. I thought maybe you'd like to ask someone over." "Good idea! I'll invite Junior. I owe him one." In the afternoon Nick Bamba arrived with seventy-five beautifully typed letters. He said proudly, "Lori makes each reply a little different, so it won't seem like a form letter. She's good at writing." Qwilleran liked the young engineer from Mooseville. He had a healthy head of black curly hair and eyes like black onyx that shone with enthusiasm, and he always had some choice tidbit of information to impart.

"Glad you weren't seriously hurt, Qwill. Lori was praying for you." "Tell her I need all the prayers I can get. How's she feeling? " "Okay, except mornings, but that's natural." "Would you like a beer?" "Got anything stronger? Lori's on the wagon for the duration, so I do my drinking away from home." "Spoken like a considerate husband," Qwilleran remarked.

They sat in the solarium with their drinks and discussed the Trotter case, bicycles, dogs, and the coffee crowd at the Dimsdale Diner.

"On the way down here," Nick said, "I stopped at the diner for lunch, and I saw something unusual. Is Alex Goodwinter your attorney?" "Actually his sister is handling the estate." "I hear she's pretty sharp. I wish I could say the same for Alex. He gave a talk to the Mooseville Boosters a while back, and he's the dullest speaker I ever heard. He makes a good appearance, and a good presentation, but when it's allover, what has he said? Nothing!" "What happened at the diner?" Qwilleran asked casually, although his curiosity was rampant.

"I was sitting at a window table, eating some by-product of a sawmill called meatloaf, and I saw this Cadillac pull into the parking lot. Usually it's all pickups and vans, you know." "You mean you could actually see through the dirt on those windows?" "Lori says I can see through a brick wall." "So what did you see?" "It was Alex driving the Caddie, and he sat there at the wheel with the motor running until one of the owners of the place went out and got in the front seat with him." "Which partner?" Qwilleran asked.