Braun, Lilian Jackson - The Cat Who 009

Traditional and wildly contemporary designs had the initials M.H. stitched into the corners.

“These represent an unbelievable amount of work,’” Qwilleran said, recognizing an idea for the “Qwill Pen.”

“I only applique the tops,” she said. “My craftworkers do the quilting.” Besides teaching school, writing for the local newspaper, and raising money for the hospital, she conducted a not-for-profit project for low-income handworkers.

Qwilleran regarded her with admiration. “You have boundless energy, Mildred. You never stop!”

“So why can’t I lose weight?” she said, sidestepping the compliment modestly.

“Ypu’re a handsome woman. Don’t worry about pounds.”

“I like to cook, and I like to eat,” she explained, “and my daughter says I don’t get enough real exercise. Can you picture me jogging?”

“How is Sharon enjoying motherhood?” Qwilleran asked.

“Well, to tell the truth, she’s restless staying home with the baby. She wants to go back to teaching. Roger thinks she should wait another year. What do you think, Qwill?’”

“You’re asking a childless bachelor, a failed husband, with no known relatives and no opinion! … By the way, I saw Roger on my way up from Pickax. He was hightailing it back to the office to file his copy for the weekend edition, no doubt.”

Mildred passed a sizzling platter of stuffed mushrooms and rumaki. “I liked your column on the taxidermist, Qwill.”

“Thanks. It was an interesting subject, and I learned that mounted animal heads should never be hung over a fireplace; it dries them out. The moosehead at the cabin may have to go to the hospital for a facelift. Also, I’d like to do something with the whitewashed walls. They’d look better if they were natural.”

“That would make the interior darker,” Mildred warned. “Of course, you could install skylights.” “Don’t they leak?” “Not if you hire a good carpenter.”

“Where do I find a good carpenter? Call Glinko, I suppose. Has anyone figured out his racket, Mildred? He has a monopoly, and I suspect price-fixing, restraint of trade, and tax evasion. They don’t accept checks, and they don’t seem to keep written records.”

“It’s all in Mrs. Glinko’s head,” said Mildred. “That woman is a living computer.”

“The IRS frowns on living computers.” “But you have to admit it’s a wonderful convenience for summer people like us.”

“I keep wondering what else they supply besides plumbers and carpenters.”

“Now you’re being cynical, Qwill. What was wrong with your space heater?”

“A dead spider in the pilot light-or so the plumber said; I’m not sure I believe it. Glinko sent me a woman plumber!” Mildred nodded. “Little Joe.” “She isn’t so little. Do you know her?” “Of course I know her!” Mildred had taught school in the county for more than twenty years, and she knew an entire generation of students as well as their parents. “Her name is Joanna Trupp. Her father was killed in a freak accident this spring.”

Qwilleran said, “There’s a high percentage of fatal accidents in this county.

Either people live to be ninety-five, or they die young-in hunting mishaps, drownings, car crashes, tractor rollovers …”

Mildred beckoned him to the dinner table.

“Is Little Joe a competent plumber?” he went on. “I thought of writing a column about her unusual occupation.”

“I don’t know what it takes to be a competent plumber,” Mildred said, “but in school she was always good at working with her hands. Why she decided to get a plumber’s license, I haven’t the faintest idea. Why would any woman want to fix toilets and drains, and stick her head under the kitchen sink, and crawl under houses? I don’t even like to clean the bathroom!”

The casserole was a sauced combination of turkey, homemade noodles, and artichoke hearts, and it put Qwilleran in an excellent frame of mind. The Caesar salad compounded his pleasure. The raspberry pie left him almost numb with contentment.

As Mildred served coffee on the terrace she said, “There’s a party on the dunes tomorrow night. Why don’t you come as my date and meet some of the summer people? Doc and Dottie Madley are hosting. He’s a dentist from Pickax, you know.

They come up weekends.”

“Who will be there?”

“Probably the Comptons; you’ve met them, of course .\ . The Urbanks are retired; he’s a chemist and a golf nut and a bore … John and Vicki Bushland have a photo studio in the next county. He’s an avid fisherman. Everyone calls him “Bushy’, which is funny because he doesn’t have much hair… The attorney from Down Below is newly divorced. I don’t know whether he’ll be coming up this summer … There’s a young woman renting the Dunfield cottage …”

“How about the retired sea captain?”

“Captain Phlogg never mixes, I’m glad to say. He’s a stinker in more ways than one.”

“I’d like to write a column on that guy, but he’s a disagreeable old codger.

I’ve been in his antique shop a couple of times, and it’s a farce!”

“He’s a fraud,” Mildred said in a confidential tone. “He’s never been to sea! He was just a ship’s carpenter at the old shipyard near Purple Point.”