Lilian Braun - The Cat Who Turned On and Off

After Qwilleran had brought Iris Cobb home from Police Headquarters and had called Mary Duckworth to come and stand by, he went to the office. With a bleak expression on his face, accentuated by the downcurve of his moustache, he threw ten pages of triple-spaced copy on Arch Riker's desk.

"What's the matter?" Arch said.

"Rough morning! I've been up since five," Qwilleran told him. "My landlord was killed. Fell down a flight of stairs." "You mean Cobb?" "He was stripping one of the condemned houses, and when he didn't come home, I went out with Mrs. Cobb to look for him. We found him dead at the foot of the stairs. Then the police took us in for questioning. Mrs. Cobb is a wreck." "Too bad. Sorry to hear that." "It was the Ellsworth house on Fifteenth Street." "I know the place," Riker said. "A big stone mausoleum. Hector Ellsworth was mayor of this town forty years ago." "He was?" Qwilleran laughed without mirth. "Then Cobb lost his last battle with City Hall. They finally got him! I'm beginning to believe in the spirit world." "How are you going to write this up?" "It's a trifle awkward. Cobb was trespassing." "Scrounging? All the junkers do that. Even Rosie! She never goes out without a crowbar in the car." "Tell your wife she's guilty of looting city property. Cobb was caught once. They arrested him and gave him a heavy fine-and a warning, which he disregarded." "Doesn't sound like the kind of jolly Christmas story the boss wants." "There's one thing we could do," said Qwilleran. "Cobb was organizing a Christmas celebration for Junktown — a Block Party — and the city was giving him a hard time. Wouldn't let him decorate the street, play Christmas music, or serve refreshments. All kinds of red tape. Why don't we talk to City Hall and railroad this thing through for Wednesday afternoon? It's the least we can do. It's not much, but it might make the widow feel a little better." "I'll ask the boss to get the mayor on the phone." "The way I see it, there are five city bureaus giving Junktown the run-around. If they could just get someone from the mayor's office to cut through the whole mess…" "All right. And why don't you write a plug for the Block Party? We'll run it in tomorrow's paper. We'll get every junker in town to turn out. And write something about Cobb — something with heart." Qwilleran nodded. The phrases were already forming in his mind. He'd write about the man who tried to make people hate him, but in the topsy-turvy world of the junker, everyone loved his perversity.

Qwilleran stopped in the Fluxion library to look up the clips on Hector Ellsworth and at the payroll cage to pick up his check, and then he returned to Junktown.

Mary Duckworth, handsomely trousered, met him at the door of the Cobb apartment. He was aware of a subtle elation in her manner.

"How's Iris?" he asked.

"I gave her a sedative, and she's sleeping. The funeral will be in Cleveland, and I've made a plane reservation for her." "Anything I can do? Perhaps I should pick up the station wagon. It's still behind the Ellsworth house. Then I can drive her to the airport." "Would you? I'm packing a bag for her." "When she wakes," Qwilleran said, "tell her that Junktown is going to have everything C.C. wanted for the Christmas party." "I know," said Mary. "The mayor's office has already called. His representative is coming here to speak to the dealers this afternoon, and then we'll have a meeting upstairs tonight." "In Hernia Heaven? I'd like to attend." "The dealers would be delighted to have you." "Come across the hall," Qwilleran said. "I have something to report." As he unlocked the door of his apartment, the cats — who had been curled together in a sleeping pillow of fur in the Morris chair — immediately raised their heads. Yum Yum scampered from the room, but Koko stood his ground, arching his back and bushing his tail as he glared at the stranger. His reaction was not hostile — only unflattering.

"Do I look like an ogre?" Mary wanted to know.

"Koko can sense Hepplewhite," Qwilleran said. "He knows you've got a big dog. Cats are psychic." He threw his overcoat on the daybed and placed his hat on the desk, and when he did so, he saw a small dark object lying near his typewriter. He approached it gingerly. It looked like the decomposed remains of a small bird.

"What's this?" he said. "What the devil is this?" Mary examined the small brown fragment. "Why, it's a piece of hair jewelry! A brooch!" He combed his moustache with his fingertips. "Some uncanny things have been happening on these premises.

Yesterday some benevolent spirit left me a dollar bill!" He examined the birdlike form woven of twisted brown strands.

"You mean this is real hair?" "Human hair. It's memorial jewelry. They used to make necklaces, bracelets, all sorts of things from the hair of someone who had died." "Who would want to keep such stuff?" "Iris has an extensive collection. She even wears it occasionally." Qwilleran dropped the brooch with distaste. "Sit down," he said, "and let me tell you what I discovered about the Ellsworth house in the Fluxion clip file." He offered her a gilded chair, flipping the red cushion to the side that was not furred with cat hair. "Did you know that Ellsworth was a former mayor?" "Yes, I've heard about him." "He died at the age of ninety-two, having achieved a reputation for eccentricity. He was a compulsive collector — never threw anything away. He had a twenty-year accumulation of old newspapers, string, and vinegar bottles. And he was supposed to be worth quite a sum of money, but a large chunk of his holdings was never found…. Does that suggest anything to you?" Mary shook her head.

"Suppose someone was looking for buried treasure in the old house last night… and suppose C.C. arrived with his crowbar, looking for black walnut paneling… and suppose they thought he was after the strongbox?" "Don't you think that's rather far-fetched?" "Maybe he accidentally found the loot when he ripped open the paneling… and maybe another scrounger came along and pushed him downstairs. I admit it's far-fetched, but it's a possibility." The girl looked at Qwilleran with sudden curiosity. "Is it true what my father says about you? That you've solved two murder cases since joining the Fluxion?" "Well, I was instrumental — that is, I didn't do it alone. I had help." He touched his moustache tentatively and threw a glance in Koko's direction. Koko was watching, and he was all ears.

"Do you really think that Cobb might have been murdered?" "Murder shouldn't be ruled out too quickly — although the police accepted it as an accident. A man with Cobb's personality must have had enemies." "His churlishness was a pose — for business reasons. Everyone knew that. Many junkers think prices go up if a dealer is friendly, and if his shop is clean." "Whether it was an act or not, I don't suppose anyone hated him enough to kill him. Competition for the Ellsworth treasure would make a better motive." Mary stood up and looked out the back window for a while. "I don't know whether this will have any bearing on the case," she said finally, "but… when C.C. went scrounging late at night, he didn't always go to a condemned building." "You think he was playing around?" "I know he was." "Anybody we know?" Mary hesitated and then said, "One of The Three Weird Sisters." Qwilleran gave a dry chuckle. "I can guess which one." "She's a nymphomaniac," said Mary with her cool porcelain look.

"Did Iris suspect?" "I don't think so. She's near-sighted in more ways than one." "How did you know this was going on?" "Mrs. Katzenhide lives in the same apartment building. Several times she saw Cobb paying late evening calls, and you know very well he was not there to discuss the hallmarks on English silver." Qwilleran studied Mary's face. Her eyes were sparkling, and her personality had a new buoyancy.