Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 11 Who Lived High

He heard an unfamiliar voice say, "Hello, Mr. Qwilleran. You'll never guess who this is!... Amberina, from the Three Weird Sisters in Junktown! Do you remember me?" "Of course I remember you," he said diplomatically, at the same time thinking fast. The three women had an antique shop, but which of the sisters was Amberina? The giddy young blond or the man-crazy redhead or the unimpressive brunette? "How's everything Down Below?" he asked. "I haven't been there for quite a while - three years, as a matter of fact." "You'd never recognize Junktown," she replied. "We're being gentrified, like they say.

People are buying the old townhouses and fixing them up, and we're getting some first-class restaurants and antique shops." "Do you still have your shop?" "No, we gave it up. Ivrene finished art school and got a job in Chicago. Cluthra married money - wouldn't you know? - and moved to Texas. And I'm working for an auction house. From what I hear, Mr.

Qwilleran, your life has changed, too, with the inheritance and everything." "Much to my surprise, yes... By the way, did you hear about Iris Cobb?" "Gosh, were we ever shocked! When she was in Junktown she was such a live wire." "Does Mary Duckworth still have the Blue Dragon?" "She sure does! It's the best antique shop on the street - the most expensive, that is. Robert Maus has opened a classy restaurant, and Charlotte Roop is his manager. You know both of them, I think." Why, Qwilleran thought, is this woman calling me after three years? His momentary silence brought her to the point.

Amberina said, "Mary wanted me to call you because she's going out of town. She has something she'd like to suggest to you." "Well, fire away!" "Do you know the big old white apartment building called the Casablanca? It's sort of rundown, but it's a landmark." "I vaguely remember it." "It's a tall building between Junktown and the reclaimed area where they're putting up the new office towers and condos." "Yes, now I know the one you mean," he said. "Well, to make along story short, some developers want to tear it down, which would be a crime! That building is really built! And it has a lot of history. Junktown has formed a task force called SOCK - Save Our Casablanca Kommittee - spelled with a K, you know." "Does SOCK have any clout?" Qwilleran quipped.

"Not really. That's why we're calling you." "What's the proposition?" She drew a deep breath. "The Casablanca used to be the best address in town. SOCK wants you to buy it and restore it... There! I said it! It wasn't easy." It was Qwilleran's turn to take a deep breath.

"Now wait a minute, Amberina. Let me straighten you out. I'm no financier, and I don't get involved in business ventures. Nothing is further from my mind. In fact, I've turned my inheritance over to the Klingenschoen Memorial Fund. I have nothing to do with it." Actually he made suggestions to the Fund, but he saw no need to mention that.

"We all remember what you did for Junktown when you wrote for the Daily Fluxion, Mr. Qwilleran. Your series of articles in the paper really woke us up and started our comeback." He stroked his moustache as he remembered his memorable winter in that slummy part of town. "I admit my Junktown experience whetted my interest in preservation," he said, "and theoretically I endorse your cause, although I'm in no position to know whether it's feasible." "Oh, but you should see the Casablanca!" she said with enthusiasm. 'The experts tell us it has great possibilities." Qwilleran was beginning to remember her now. Amberina was the least weird of the Three Weird Sisters. "The building used to be very grand," she was saying. "Some changes have been made; but the architects say they're reversible. It could go back to being a fashionable place to live, and that would be a real boost for Junktown. Right now the Casablanca is... well, the tenants are a mixed bag. But they're interesting! Mostly singles, but a few couples, not necessarily married.

Whites, blacks, Asians, Hispanics... yuppies, artists, truck drivers, wealthy widows, college students, a couple of stunning call girls, and a few bums and crazies, but they're harmless." "You make it sound irresistible." "I live at the Casablanca myself," she said with a small hysterical laugh.

Quill now remembered more about Amberina. She had dark hair, very attractive blue eyes (probably wore contacts), and a husband. Yet she now spoke as if she lived alone. "I'd like to see the place," he said.