Lillian Braun: The Cat Who Ate Danish Modern

"He might have managed the wool, but there was something else in the cloth. After he came home, he must have upchucked the whole thing and hidden it under the Spanish chest. I found it an hour ago." Cokey clapped her hands to her face. "And you recognized it? Don't tell me you actually recognized it!" "Yes, and I think it would have looked familiar to you, too. It was a yellowish-pink wool with gold metallic threads." "Natalie Noyton! That handwoven dress she wore to the party!" Qwilleran nodded. "It appears that Natalie was in Dave's apartment Monday night, and she may have been there when he was shot. At any rate, it was something that had to be reported to the police, so I took the peach-colored wool over to Headquarters. That's why I was late." "What did they say?" "When I left, they were hustling out to Lost Lake Hills. Our police reporter promised to call me here if anything develops." "I wonder why Natalie didn't come forward and volunteer some information to the police?" "That's what worries me," said Qwilleran. "If she had information to give, and the killer knew it, he might try to silence her." The domed ceiling of the club multiplied the voices of the Saturday-night crowd into a roar, but above it came an amplified announcement on the public-address system: "Telephone for Mr. Qwilleran." "That's our night man at Police Headquarters. I'll be right back." He hurried to the phone booth.

When he returned, his eyes had acquired a darkness.

"What's wrong, Qwill? Is it something terrible?" "The police were too late." "Too late?" "Too late to find Natalie alive." "Murdered!" "No. She took her own life," said Qwilleran.

"Evidently a heavy dose of alcohol and then sleeping pills." A sad wail came from Cokey. "But why? Why?" "Apparently it was explained in her diary. She was hopelessly in love with her decorator, and he wasn't one to discourage an affair." "That I know!" "Natalie thought Dave was ready to marry her the moment she got a divorce, and she wanted him so desperately that she agreed to her husband's terms: no financial settlement and no request for child custody. Then last weekend it dawned on her that Dave would never marry her — or anyone else. When Odd Bunsen and I turned up at her house Monday morning and she refused to see us, she must have been out of her mind with disappointment and remorse and a kind of hopeless panic." "I'd be blind with fury!" said Cokey.

"She was blind enough to think she could set things right by killing David." "Then it was Natalie — " "It was Natalie…. Afterward, she went home, dismissed the maid, and lived through twenty-four hours of hell before ending it. She's been dead since Tuesday night." There was a long silence at the table. After a while Qwilleran said, "The police found the peach-colored dress in her closet. The shawl had quite a lot of fringe missing." Then the menus came, and Cokey said: "I'm not hungry. Let's go for a walk-and talk about other things." They walked, and talked about Koko and the new cat whose name was Yu or Freya.

"I hope they'll be happy together," said Cokey.

"I think we're all going to be happy together," said Qwilleran. "I'm going to change her name to Yum Yum. I've got to change your name, too." The girl looked at him dreamily.

"You see," said Qwilleran, "Koko doesn't like it when I call you Cokey. It's too close to his own name." "Just call me AI," said Alacoque Wright with a wistful droop in her voice and a resigned lift to her eyebrows.

It was Monday when the news of Harry Noyton's Danish enterprise appeared on the front page of the Daily Fluxion under Qwilleran's by-line. In the first edition a typographical error had substituted «devious» for "diverse," but it was a mistake so customary that the item would have been disappointing without it: "Harry Noyton, financier and promoter of devious business interests," said the bulletin, "has acquired the worldwide franchise for a Danish scientist's unique contribution to human welfare — calorie-free beer with Vitamin C added." On the same day, in a small ceremony at the Press Club, Qwilleran was presented with an honorary press card for his cat. On it was pasted Koko's identification photo, with eyes wide, ears alert, whiskers bristling.

"I took his picture," said Odd Bunsen, "that night in David Lyke's apartment." And Lodge Kendall said, "Don't think I had an easy time getting the police chief and fire commissioner to sign it!"

When Qwilleran returned to the Villa Verandah that evening, he entered the apartment with his fingers crossed.

He had brought Yum Yum home from the hospital at noon, and the two cats had had several hours in which to sniff each other, circle warily, and make their peace.

All was silent in the living room. On the green Danish chair sat Yum Yum, looking dainty and sweet. Her face was a poignant triangle of brown, and her eyes were enormous circles of violet-blue, slightly crossed. Her brown ears were cocked at a flirtatious angle. And where the silky hairs of her pelt grew in conflicting directions on her white breast, there was a cowlick of fur softer than down.

Koko sat on the coffee table, tall and masterful, with a ruff of fur bushed around his neck.

"You devil!" said Qwilleran. "There's nothing neurotic about you, and there never was! You knew what you were doing all the time!" With a grunt Koko jumped down from the table and ambled over to join Yum Yum. They sat side by side identical positions, like bookends, with both tails curled to the right, both pairs of ears worn like coronets, both pairs of eyes ignoring Qwilleran with pointed unconcern. Then Koko gave Yum Yum's face two affectionate licks and lowered his head, arching his neck gracefully. He narrowed his eyes, and they became slits of catly ecstasy as the little female recognized her cue and washed inside his ears with her long pink tongue.