Cat Who Went Up the Creek

Qwilleran hung up with satisfaction. Starting an unfounded rumor was one of the chief pleasures 400 miles north of everywhere.

At six o’clock he ambled along the creek to Cabin One, where the Underhills were waiting outside Hannah’s porch.

“She’s putting her face on,” Wendy said. “She bought a new pantsuit to wear tonight, and she looks splendiferous!”

Doyle said, “Have you seen our new neighbors in Cabin Four? They claim to be fly-fishermen, and one was fly-casting in the creek this morning, but I think they’re cops, working on the Hackett case.”

“Here she comes!”

Hannah did indeed look handsome, a far cry from the dumpy, dowdy character in the opera. Her fans applauded and shouted “Bravo! . . . Congratulations! . . . Will you give me an autograph?”

She responded with smiles and admirable poise.

They walked up to the inn with an escort of squirrels, expecting peanuts.

“They multiply like rabbits,” Doyle said. “What happens when the inn has ten thousand on the premises?”

“They transport them to Canada,” Qwilleran said, “under cover of darkness.”

At the inn Cathy Hooper was enjoying her responsibility as interim manager. “Mr. and Mrs. Bamba are in Mooseville,” she said, “taking Lovey and Grandma to church and out to Sunday dinner.”

Qwilleran’s party was seated at his favorite table in the window, and he ordered a bottle of champagne for his guests and a split of “poor man’s champagne” for himself (an extra-dry ginger ale). He had also arranged for a floral centerpiece with Hannah’s name on the tag. Glasses were raised to Hannah, and compliments flowed like the wine.

Then Qwilleran said, “I have something to report about the video of ‘Pirates’ that you lent me, Hannah. It has an unusual appeal for my male cat, although he’s never attracted to the TV screen unless the programming is about tropical birds. I’ve played it twice, and both times he’s become quite excited.”

“Keep it for a while,” she said. “Although I enjoyed rehearsing and performing, I’m glad it’s over and I can do other things. You don’t need to return it until you leave.”

Wendy asked, “What other things are you going to do?”

The reply was hesitant. “Well . . . right now I’m concerned about the boy next door. He’s awfully neglected and I can’t help thinking about my grandson who’s his age. I keep some books and games and puzzles for his visits, and I’m going to ask Marge if he can come over for milk and cookies and Chinese checkers.”

They placed their orders (roast loin of lamb for the women, lamb shank for the men). Then Qwilleran brought up the subject of the old books in the cabins. “I assume you all have a shelf of popular classics. I suggest an exchange program. I have an Alice in Wonderland. Any takers?”

Hannah said, “I could read it to my grandkids when they come visiting.”

Doyle said, “If anyone has a Fanny Hill, I’ll trade two to one.”

“Would you settle for Lolita in French?” Qwilleran asked.

Wendy asked, “Would anyone like The Picture of Dorian Gray? I think it’s by Ogden Nash.”

“Oscar Wilde,” Qwilleran said. “I’ll take it. My favorite is Trollope.”

Jules Verne and Henry James went on the block.

The books were forgotten when the entrees were served, but after a while Qwilleran inquired about the Bushland photo show in Pickax.

Doyle said, “That guy has great talent, and he’s real down-to-earth. He invited us for a cruise on his boat.”

Hannah said, “I know Bushy. He photographed my miniatures. His ancestors were commercial fishermen.”

Qwilleran asked Doyle, “Are you satisfied with the wildlife shots you’re getting?”

“Well, I’m limited, shooting from the creek. Most species are inland, but Wendy doesn’t want me to go into the woods.”

“There are bears and wolves in the woods,” she said. “And swamps. I don’t want him going ashore alone. Anything could happen. He could break a leg, and who would know—”

“I could take a cell phone.”

“That would do a lot of good if a black bear came up behind you while you were shooting her cubs. Female bears can be very protective, very savage. You’ve seen that huge mounted bear at the Black Bear Café! . . . What do you think, Qwill?”

What could he say? “It would seem prudent to have a partner.”

Hannah said, “Qwill, do you remember the bears that used to come to the dump in Mooseville? They were a big tourist attraction. But they were feeding the bears, and the wildlife people objected. Then the dump was replaced by a modern disposal system. And the bears disappeared.”

Doyle guessed, “Probably sent to zoos around the country.”

“I know what happened to them!” Wendy said with her brown eyes flashing. “A friend of mine is a forest ranger. She told me the bears were transported to the Black Forest Conservancy, where they can have a natural diet—and proliferate!!”

“Wendy always overreacts,” her husband said.

“He never listens to me! And he knows it stresses me when he takes chances!”