Braun, Lilian Jackson - The Cat Who 009

“Forget parties,” he snapped. “There’s something wrong with the blasted heater!

The cabin’s like a subterranean cave! What do I do? Is there someone I can call?”

“Perhaps the pilot light’s out,” she said helpfully. “Did you look to see if the pilot light’s out?”

“I don’t even know where it is or what it looks like.”

“There should be a little access door on the front-“

Qwilleran sneezed. “Just tell me who repairs these things, Mildred. I’m on the verge of double pneumonia.”

“Are you on Glinko’s list?” she asked.

He was losing patience. “Glinko! Who’s Glinko?”

“Didn’t anybody tell you about Glinko? You can call him any hour of the day or night, and he’ll send a plumber, electrician, or any kind of repairman you need.

It’s a wonderful convenience for-“

“Okay, what’s his number?” he cut in, shivering and stamping his feet.

“Not so fast, Qwill. First you have to go to his shop, sign up, pay a fee, and give him a key to your cabin.”

“I don’t like the idea of handing out keys indiscriminately,” he said with irritation.

“People around here are perfectly honest,” she said with a note of gentle reproach. “You’ve lived Down Below too long. You suspect everyone.”

Thanking her briefly, Qwilleran dashed out to the car and dropped the cats into their travel coop again. “Sorry. You’re going for another ride,” he announced.

They headed for downtown Mooseville, three miles to the west, where the Huggins Hardware Store made duplicate keys.

The proprietor said, “Spending the summer up here, Mr. Q?”

“Only if I can get the chill out of the cabin, Cecil. Where can I find a repairman for a wall-heater?”

“Glinko’s got “em all tied up,” said the storekeeper. “See Glinko.”

Mildred had said that Glinko’s place of business was right behind the post office, and Qwilleran found only one building in that location: a garage-a greasy, shabby garage with a large door standing open. There was a car inside, with its hood raised. Under the hood a pair of spindly legs in old ragged trousers could be seen waving aimlessly, while the torso was buried among the valves, spark plugs, and cylinders. There was no visible head.

“Excuse me,” Qwilleran said to the waving feet. “Where-can I find Glinko?”

The torso reared up, and the head came into view-a face almost obscured by a wild set of whiskers, a rat’s nest of hair under a greasy beret, and a pair of bright, merry eyes. The gnomelike character slid across the fender and landed nimbly on the concrete floor. “Standin” right here,” he said with a toothless grin. “Who be you?”

“My name is Qwilleran, and I’m staying at the Klingenschoen cabin near Top o” the Dunes.”

The gnome nodded wisely. “That be the place with a K on a post.”

“Correct,” said Qwilleran. “I have a heating problem. I need a repairman.”

“See the wife,” said the little man, nodding toward the house in the rear. “She be the one does all that.”

Qwilleran grunted his thanks and found his way to the house, picking his way through tall weeds, chunks of concrete, and auto parts. Three other cars were parked in the weedy lot, waiting for Glinko’s attention, and they were all in the $40,000 class.

The house was no less dilapidated than the garage. The front steps had caved in, and Qwilleran climbed cautiously through the remaining boards and rapped on the torn screened door. The woman who waddled over to greet him, ample flesh bouncing and tentlike dress billowing, was all smiles and affability.

He introduced himself and said, “I understand you operate a service network.”

“Network!” she hooted, her plump cheeks trembling with merriment. “That’s a good one! Wait’ll I tell Glinko. Ha ha ha! Come in and join the club. You wanna beer?”

“Thank you, but I have two friends waiting for me in the car,” he declined.

She ushered him into a dingy living room where there was nothing to suggest a business operation. “Two hun’erd to join,” she stated. “Fifty a year dues, or a hun’erd if you wanna be on the fast track.”

Qwilleran thought the fee exorbitant, but he gave his name and the address of the cabin and opted for priority service. “Right now I need a wall-heater repaired in a hurry. How quickly can you dispatch a repairman?”

“Dispatch!” she cried with glee. “That’s a good one! Gotta use that! … Lemme see … In a hurry for a plumber, eh?” She gazed upward as if reading file cards on the water-stained ceiling. “Ralph, he went off to Pickax for a load o” pipe.

. ., Jerry, he come down with hay fever so bad he can’t see to drive…

Little Joe’s workin” out your way, puttin” in a new toilet for the Urbanks. I’ll radio out there.”

“Do you bill me for the work?” Qwilleran asked.

“Nope. You pay Little Joe when the work’s done. But you gotta gimme a key.”

He handed over the new key with reluctance. “I’ll write you a check for three hundred. Is that right?”

Mrs. Glinko shook her head and grinned. “Gotta have cash.”

“In that case I’ll have to go over to the bank. Do you want to write down my name and address? It’s spelled Q-w-i-1-1-e-r-a-n.”