Lilian Braun - The Cat Who Robbed a Bank

“We’ve had several cancellations,” the innkeeper said. “Just spread a rumor about a killer on the loose, and folks lock themselves in the bathroom.”

At a table in the window overlooking the lake Mildred said, “Let’s not ruin our lunch by talking about the terrorist in our midst.”

“I have good news,” said Polly. “After the Cavendish sisters moved out, I worried about getting a noisy neighbor. The walls are deplorably thin! Well, yesterday the new owner came into the library and introduced himself. He’s a rare book dealer from Boston!”

“You can’t get anyone quieter!” Arch said cheerfully.

“He does mail-order business from his home and is having shelves installed on all the walls. Until his furniture and books arrive he’s staying at the Mackintosh Inn.”

“What’s he like?” Mildred asked eagerly. She was always looking for interesting guests to invite to dinner.

Polly said he was middle-aged, nice-looking, soft-spoken, and quite charming. “Of course, he’s tremendously knowledgeable. I expect to learn a lot from him. He specializes in incunabula.”

Qwilleran huffed into his moustache and decided, then and there, to close the barn for the winter and move back into his condo, but he said to the group, “I have some news for you, too. The Cavendish sisters, the Tibbitts, and a few others at Ittibittiwassee Estates have organized what they call The Absolutely Absurd Press, Inc., and I have a list of the absurd titles they propose to publish.” He read the list, pausing after each title for the amused response – sometimes a giggle, sometimes a guffaw. “I’d also like to add one of my own: Five Easy Piano Pieces for the Index Finger.”

The laughter was spontaneous, followed by thoughtful silence as three minds went into gear.

“No hurry,” Qwilleran told them. “You have until four o’clock.”

By the time coffee and dessert were served, Polly had proposed Recipes for Entertaining by Lucrezia Borgia.

Arch’s contribution was My Secret Life as a Pussycat by King Kong.

Mildred said that books on food were always popular and suggested Ichabod Crane’s Low-Fat Cookbook.

The two men looked at each other mischievously, “Remember Ichabod?” they said in unison.

Mildred clapped her hands, “Is this another story about your misspent youth?” Whenever the foursome met, Qwilleran and Arch reminisced about growing up in Chicago.

“We were reading Washington Irving that year, and we called our English teacher Ichabod because he was tall and skinny,” said Qwilleran. “He was a joker and played tricks on his students when giving tests. We had a great desire to get back at him… Remember that school, Arch?”

“It was an old one and about ready to be torn down. They don’t build them like that any more, with the first floor way off the ground.”

“The way it happened,” Qwilleran went on, “we had to report to room 109 for an English test after lunch, and we got there early. Somehow we got the idea of going in, throwing the bolt on the door, and locking everybody out. Then we went out the window and dropped down on the ground, about six feet. By the time we brushed ourselves off and came in the front door, the whole class was standing in the hall, and the teacher was running around trying to get a janitor with a ladder. The window was wide open, of course.”

“Were you ever found out?” Mildred asked.

“Oh, he knew we did it. We were the only kids in the class smart enough to think of it. But he had a sense of humor.”

Mildred said, “I wish I’d known you then!”

“I’m glad I didn’t!” Polly said.

Qwilleran returned his passengers to Indian Village, dropping the Rikers at The Birches and driving Polly to The Willows.

“Will you come in to say something friendly to Brutus and Catta?” she asked.

“Just for a while. Does your new neighbor have cats?”

“No, but he offered to take care of mine whenever I need to be out of town. He’s a very thoughtful person. He brought me this scarf, which I thought was an unusually lovely gesture.”

“What’s his name?”

“Kirt Nightingale.”

“What’s his real name?”

“Oh, Qwill! You’re always so suspicious!”

“Does he know about our ten-foot snowdrifts and wall-to-wall ice?”

“Oh, yes! He grew up here. His relatives have moved away, but he has fond memories of winters in Moose County.”

“Perhaps he’d like to join the curling club.”

As soon as Qwilleran arrived home he telephoned Pat O’Dell, Celia Robinson’s husband, who ran a janitorial service. He asked to have Unit Four at The Willows cleaned for immediate occupancy.

“Is it cold feet you’re gettin’ now?” Pat asked in his lilting Irish brogue.

“You might say that, Pat. Wetherby Goode predicts November weather for October.”

“Sure, a’ it’s only one man’s opinion, I’m thinkin’. But a pleasure it’ll be to do whatever you want.”

While hanging up the receiver Qwilleran noticed that the lid was off the turned maple box and the pennies were gone. A quick glance revealed the two culprits on the fireplace cube, looking down on the scene of the crime. Koko looked proud of himself; Yum Yum looked guilty.

“You scalawags!” Qwilleran scolded fondly, “One of you is a bank robber, and the other is a petty thief.”

She had not gone far with her loot; the pennies were not shiny enough to appeal to her exquisite taste. They were on the rug nearby. What interested Qwilleran was Koko’s motive; curiosity about its contents? His catly response to a challenge? He had found out how to clamp his jaws around the knob and lift the well-fitting lid with a vertical jerk of the head. Smart cat! He had been obsessed with the problem, and now that it was solved, he would walk away and forget it with his tail held high.

Qwilleran himself was becoming obsessed with the Klingenschoen file. Now he understood why he had never received birthday presents from grandparents, while his friend Archie boasted about getting a cowboy suit and even a two-wheel bike! The next letter was dated October 10:

Dear Fanny –

Thank you for the gorgeous wedding gift! We’re putting it away until we have our house in the suburbs. I can picture it on a console table in the foyer or on the fireplace mantel. All that is in the future – not too distant, I hope. Right now we have to think about Dana’s career. Shall we give up our jobs and move to New York where there are plenty of auditions? Or stay here where I have steady income and a promise of promotion? Although Dana is doing well at the store, his heart isn’t in retailing. He could make better money as a manufacturer’s rep, but I’d hate to have him on the road all the time. What kind of life is that for two people so much in love? We read the want ads every day and hope – and hope – and hope. Dana isn’t quite as optimistic as I am, but I know something wonderful is just around the corner.

Love from Annie

A question arose in Qwilleran’s mind. What was the gorgeous wedding gift? All the time he was growing up in a respectable townhouse apartment with a foyer and a fireplace, he had never seen such an impressive object, or had paid no juvenile attention. Annie might describe it in a later letter; a crystal vase, a silver bowl, a porcelain figurine… He went on to October 22:

Dear Fanny –

Can you stand some terrifically good news? If I sound incoherent it’s because I’m tipsy with delight! I’ve just found out I’m PREGNANT! Dana is sort of stunned. They laughed at me at the library because I immediately checked out an armful of books on parenting. Speaking of parents, I dashed off a note to Mother, but it was returned unopened. Too bad. Some mother/daughter talk would be comforting right now. You are my dearest friend, Fanny. If the baby is a girl, I’ll name her after you. If it’s a boy, Dana can name him. Frankly, he would be more enthusiastic if he had a decent job, preferably with a repertory acting company. I wish you could see him on the stage, Fanny. He’s so talented! It breaks my heart to see him so frustrated. I try to make him feel that he’s loved, no matter what. We have each other, and that’s what matters, and soon we’ll be THREE! Can you believe it?