Lilian Braun - The Cat Who Dropped a Bombshell

The Siamese frisked about, happy to see him: Andy usually maneuvered a few crumbs of cheese to them.

To Qwilleran he said, "Been listening to Joe on the air. That storm that's been stalled over Canada has started moving across the lakes. It might reach us by tomorrow and eliminate our parade on Monday."

"We can hardly complain," Qwilleran said. "We've had a spectacularly good summer."

"It's a pity, though. Our granddaughter is supposed to be on the Queen's float, and my wife is cutting a truckload of peonies in our backyard for the parade."

"Joe has been wrong before, Andy."

"Yeah, but . . . What kind of cheese is this? It's good!"

"It's domestic. Not all the good stuff comes from Switzerland and France. How's everything at City Hall, Andy? Who's watering the pansies?"

"Ach, mon! We haven't had trouble with the vandals all summer."

"Do you know that woman in Kennebeck who sees into the future, Andy?"

"She goes to our church. A fine woman. She saw the shooting as a crime, not an accident, but that doesn't hold up in court."

Qwilleran could have told him about Koko's death howl, signifying foul play, but as evidence it lacked credibility, to say the least.

Suddenly Koko emerged from somewhere and hopped up to the kitchen window, where he stared out with ears alert and tail pointed.

Both men turned to look at the dark glass.

In a minute or two, they heard a muffled blast and saw a bright flash in the dark sky.

Brodie jumped to his feet, talked on his cell phone, hurried to the door. "Crazies! Firebombed the window boxes at city hall!"

He rushed to his vehicle leaving Qwilleran to reflect: the anti-pansy faction! . . . Too bad. Another idea of Hixie's ruined but she won't give up!

Only then did it dawn on Qwilleran that Koko had been staring out the window into the blackness for half an hour - before the blast.

That cat! Qwilleran thought. He looks like a cat, walks like a cat, talks like a cat, but he knows what's going to happen - like that woman in Kennebeck. Is it because he has sixty whiskers instead of the normal forty-eight?

Baffled, he scooped himself a dish of ice cream.

Chapter 16

Early Sunday morning, two surprised Siamese were stuffed into their cat carrier and loaded into the SUV along with luggage, a food cooler, "Qwill Pen" notes, and desk clutter. Qwilleran had brought the outdoor furniture in from the gazebo and stacked it in the foyer, and Pat O'Dell's maintenance crew would disassemble the gazebo screens and otherwise storm proof the barn for a short absence.

They were moving to their condo in Indian Village, which was in a strip of four, called the Willows and shared with Polly, Wetherby Goode, and Dr. Connie, the veterinarian.

When the refugees from the barn arrived, the village management had already shuttered the large glass window walls and sandbagged the banks of the creek that they overlooked.

Eliminating the view made for a gloomy interior, but Qwilleran could read and the cats could sleep and Wetherby would find excuses for parties.

This would be the first time the connecting doors between the underground garages had ever been used.

Qwilleran notified Wetherby when he arrived. Then they joined Dr. Connie and Polly at the weatherman's unit for an impromptu lunch.

As they waited for the wind and rain to strike, conversation about the weather was avoided.

Polly talked about the success of the "violet" book. Qwilleran said he'd like to write a biography of the late Homer Tibbitt. Connie talked about her new marmalade cat, a litter mate of Dundee. The host played the piano.

Then the wind came up, and it started to rain hard, and they returned to their respective condos - through the basement tunnel - to be with their pets, who would need comforting. The question of who-comforted-whom was a topic for Qwilleran to cover in his journal that night. He wrote:

Sunday - I daresay no one is sleeping tonight, least of all Koko and Yum Yum. The wind screeches; the rain slaps against the building. It stops for a while, and the cats crawl out from under the blankets, and then it starts again, with renewed ferocity.

During the lulls, Joe calls all of us to see if we're okay. He warns us that it may start again.

And it does!

I'm no radio-nut myself, but everyone else in the county tunes in WPKX newbites, especially on weekends and holidays, when the Something doesn't publish. The station calls their newsbites a public service, but I suspect they're just trying to scoop the newspaper. Furthermore, why should I listen to the newsbites, when all my friends are addicted and will phone me with the news of the latest fires, thefts, accidents, and other calamities?

It's the Moose County Grapevine.

All night a howling, blasting wind and a drenching, whipping rain took turns in tormenting the residents of the Willows. No one could get any sleep, least of all the six cats.

On Monday, the second day of the sporadic hurricane, Junior Goodwinter, the managing editor of the paper, called.

"The way it looks, no paper tomorrow, but a skeleton crew is on call, and we might put out a Hurricane Edition - just a few pages with emergency news. We see it as a collector's item, a sort of historical document."

"Is there anything I can do, Junior?"

"You might write a short ?Qwill Pen' piece about Cool Koko's reaction to the hurricane - something to make readers smile."

Judd Amhurst called from Winston Park. "Lucky to be out there, Qwill. Will you tell Polly that we rescued Dundee from the bookstore, and he's staying with Peggy? Rudy is with me, keeping his head while all the rest of us are losing ours."

Hixie Rice called. "Glad you made it back to the condo, Qwill. Most of us are sitting it out at the clubhouse." (He thought, Getting sloshed.)

He said, "Too bad about the parade."

Then Polly called to remark that the wind had quieted a little. Qwilleran told her the good news about Dundee.

"Wait a minute! There's a death notice on the radio!" In a minute she returned. "Doris Ledfield died tonight! Following a respiratory infection! I'll hang up in case they broadcast more details."

Before she could call back, Maggie Sprenkle phoned.

"Qwill, I feel awful! I was so elated yesterday after the auction, and now I feel terrible! First I heard about dear Doris's passing on the radio, and I couldn't believe it! No one knew she was that ill! But when I called the Old Manse to talk to Nathan, the nurse said he was quite ill himself and couldn't speak to anyone!" She stopped to sob. "Perhaps I shouldn't tell you this, Qwill, but I must talk to someone!"

"I understand, Maggie," he said. "Consider me a member of the family."

After a few more tears she felt the strength to go on.

"We were very close - the Sprenkles and the Ledfields - and Nathan once told Jeremy and me in our rose garden, when Doris was having one of her setbacks, that he couldn't live without her. And if anything happened to her, life would have no meaning. He could not go on alone.

"We mumbled words of sympathy and affection, but I have always been haunted by that recollection. I can't help wondering if he'll do something rash. . . ." She burst into tears again.

"It's understandable, Maggie. It was right to share it with me. Have a cup of tea, and remember what Jeremy would say."

"You're right, Qwill. Thank you so much." As she hung up, he could hear one more painful wail.

Koko had been listening, and he rushed around growling before throwing back his head and uttering what Qwilleran had come to know as his death howl.

Before the night was over, Qwilleran's phone rang frequently, as friends felt it their duty to keep him informed:

"The Road Commission is telling drivers to stay off the highway, Qwill."