Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 11 Who Lived High

"A bient“t." Sometimes he wished he could find the words to express what he wanted to say to Polly. Though a professional wordsmith, he was tongue-tied with this woman of whom he was so fond, but she understood. Feeling suddenly bereft of human companionship, he considered calling Amber Kowbel but decided he was not as bereft as all that.

On the Scrabble table Koko was sitting tall in his impudent pose, with ears askew and whiskers tilted. He had been up to some kind of mischief; Qwilleran could read the signals. A brief search revealed a scattering of Scrabble tiles on the floor under the table.

"You joker! You think that's funny!" "Rffifffirrrr," said the cat.

"What's this new noise you're making? It sounds like a Scrabble tile stuck in your throat." Qwilleran stooped to gather up the tiles, and at the same instant Koko jumped from the table with a flip of his tail that struck the man on the cheek, stinging like a whip.

"Please! Watch your tail!" Koko walked stiff-legged from the room, turning once to look scornfully over his shoulder. Koko's scorn had an edge like a knife.

Qwilleran wondered, Did I say something wrong? Is he trying to tell me something?

Compulsively he tried to make a word out of the tiles that Koko had dislodged: H, R, A, S, B, X, and A. On the first try he came up with SOAR, but that was worth only four points. BOAR was good for six. (He was beginning to think in terms of scoring.) HOAR was even better - seven points - but HOAX added up to fourteen. Qwilleran congratulated himself; he was getting the hang of it.

Out in the foyer Koko was warbling his new tune: "Rrrrrrrrrrr!"

10

ON THURSDAY MORNING, when Qwilleran was brushing the Siamese and giving them their daily dose of flattery, he was interrupted by a phone call from Jeff Lowell of Grinchman & Hills. "I hear you're going to do a book on the Casablanca," he said.

"News travels fast." "I saw Mary Duckworth last night. The reason I'm calling-we have photographs in our archives of both exterior and interior, taken in 1901. You're welcome to use them. We even have shots of Harrison Plumb's Moorish suite on Twelve with its carved lattices and decorative tiles and iron gates - fantastic!" "Was the Art Deco renovation ever photographed?" "Not to my knowledge. Our firm wasn't involved with that." "It should be photographed. Could you recommend someone to do it?" "Sure could!" He mentioned a name that sounded like Sorg Butra.

"Spell it," Qwilleran asked.

"S-o-r-g B-u-t-r-a. Want me to tell him you're interested?" "Just give me his phone number. I haven't broached the subject to the Countess as yet. Did Mary mention anything else I discussed? About the Bessinger murder?" "No, I just saw her briefly in a theater lobby." "I have a theory I'd like to try out on you, whenever we can get together." "Well, I'm leaving for San Francisco right now, but I'll get in touch when I get back. Enjoyed lunch on Tuesday, Qwill." "So did I. Have a good trip, Jeff." "Nice guy," he said to the cats when he resumed the brushing. "I never met an architect I didn't like." "Ik ik ik," said Koko.

"Now what does that mean?" The phone rang again, and this time it was from the Daily Fluxion police bureau.

"Sure, Matt, I'm always interested in ideas," Qwilleran said. "What's on your mind?... Well, I don't know about that. Hames is a smart cop, but he goes overboard about Koko... Yes, I admit he's a remarkable cat, but... Okay, Matt, let me think about it. Why don't we have lunch?... See you at the Press Club at noon." "That was Matt Thiggamon," he explained to the cats afterward. "He wants to do a story on you, Koko - on your sleuthing. How does that grab you?" Koko rolled over, thrust one leg skyward, and proceeded to groom the base of his tail.

"I assume you're giving him the leg. I agree with you. We don't want any publicity, but I'm taking him to lunch anyway. I wonder what the weather is going to be." He tuned in the newscast and learned that a law clerk who had been fired returned and shot his boss and the boss's secretary; a city councilman was found to have more than a hundred unpaid parking tickets; and the weather would be cold and overcast with a slight chance of showers. In Pickax, he reflected, WPKX would be announcing that a bow- hunter had bagged an eight-point buck, and a fourteen-year-old girl had won the quilt contest.