Cat Who Went Up the Creek

So, Qwilleran asked himself, had someone wanted Hackett’s forty-thousand-dollar car badly enough to kill for it? Or was there another motive? That being the case, where did the attack take place? And what was Hackett doing there early on a Sunday morning? And how did he end up in the creek, upstream from the Nutcracker?

The creek came down through a dense forest owned by the Klingenschoen Foundation and known as the Black Forest Conservancy. Qwilleran stroked his moustache. He was getting a familiar sensation on his upper lip.

chapter five

On Tuesday morning, Qwilleran gave the Siamese a fine breakfast, some intelligent conversation and ten minutes of sport with the old necktie. Even so, they regarded him reproachfully, huddled in a compact bundle of fur, fluffed up to show disapproval.

“I’m sorry, you guys,” he said. “I’m doing the best I can. As soon as the police release the cabin, we’ll move. Bear with me!” They merely sulked.

At least they’re not raising the roof, he thought.

He was taking the copy for Tuesday’s “Qwill Pen” to be faxed in the manager’s office. When he arrived, Lori was on the phone, however, and he waited in the hall. She was saying:

“Yes, I know . . . I know, Mrs. Truffle, but . . . I agree, it was most unfortunate, but . . . Mrs. Truffle, will you let me explain that our insurance will cover repairs . . . On the contrary, they do expert repairs, but it will mean sending it to Chicago. When are you leaving for Milwaukee? . . . And when will you return? . . . Then we’ll wait till you get back, and you can supervise the shipping . . . No! No! You have nothing to worry about. The repairs will be undetectable . . . Hope you have a nice—” Lori was interrupted by a slammed receiver.

“Excuse me,” Qwilleran said. “Are you having trouble?”

“Sit down, Qwill. That was Mrs. Truffle, who is renting one of the cabins while a local contractor is building a vacation home for her. She’s going to Milwaukee on business for a couple of days. The last time she went, squirrels gnawed through the roof and chewed one of the Oriental rugs she’d brought up for the new house. They also dragged some of her underwear through the hole in the roof—good nesting material, I suppose.”

Qwilleran chuckled. “She sounds like the kind of person who attracts glitches.”

“They never told me that innkeeping would be like this . . . What can I do for you, Qwill? Is that your copy for today’s paper? I’ll fax it right away.”

Going into the dining room for breakfast, he took a table near a couple who were mesmerized by the squirrel show outside the window.

“They’re fantastic,” said the woman.

“They’re rodents!” said the man.

“Well, I think they’re adorable. Beautiful tails!”

“They’re rodents!”

Leaving the dining room without a second cup of coffee, he came upon Nick Bamba, going to the post office for mail. “Want to ride along, Qwill?”

As they drove away from the inn, Qwilleran said, “I’m going to write my next column on squirrels.”

“The price of peanuts will go up all over the county,” the innkeeper said cynically.

“I hope you don’t mind if I poll your lodgers. Not everyone will be pro-squirrel.”

“That’s all right. I’m not a hundred percent in favor of the hungry horde myself. I know they’re a big attraction but they multiply exponentially, and next year we’ll be wading shin-deep in fluffy tails.”

Qwilleran chuckled. “When the Klingenschoen Foundation bought the mansion for an inn, they thought the squirrels were an asset.”

“What do those guys in Chicago know?”

He began his public opinion poll on the patio at the rear of the inn, where guests gathered to watch the performers’ acrobatics . . . and to simper over the friendliness of the hungry little animals. The tape recorder in his pocket captured it all:

“Look! He’s not afraid of me! He comes right up to me for a peanut!”

“Be careful, Stella. They have sharp teeth.”

“It’s wonderful—don’t you think?—that a wild animal is so trusting of humans?”

“Their tails are so graceful!”

“They have such bright, intelligent eyes!”

“And great ingenuity. Did you ever see one get at a squirrel-proof birdfeeder? He studies it for a while and then figures it out.”

“I had to stop feeding birds. I was filling the feeder three times a day. We’d rather have the squirrels.”

“We’d rather have the birds.”

“Well, that’s what makes horse racing, isn’t it?”

(Laughter.)

“It’s not always funny. Our whole town was blacked out for thirty hours when a squirrel gnawed an overhead power line.”

“What happened to the squirrel?”

(Laughter.)

“The window-washer told me there’s a nest on the roof, between the turret and the slate—just like the crook of a tree. That’s him running up and down the side of the building.”

“It’s not a him; it’s a her. She goes up to feed her babies.”

From the patio Qwilleran went into the conservatory, where some of the older guests were watching the squirrels through the glass.

“My sister-in-law was in a deep depression, but the daily visits of a gray squirrel got her out of it.”