Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 11 Who Lived High

"I've been here two years, but it seems I never get around to unpacking," she said with a humorously hopeless shrug. "Now - let me tell you about Courtney's place, so it won't come as a total shock. He has one of the big old apartments, and he puts on the dog when he entertains, even hiring a woman to cook and a man to serve. But he doesn't have any furniture!" "If the food is good, I'm prepared to eat off the floor," Qwilleran said. "Incidentally, I have yet to see an apartment in this building other than the penthouse and the Art Deco extravaganza on Twelve." "I meant to ask, how did you get along with the Countess?" "Very well. We played Scrabble, and I let her I win a little." "You men are so gallant - when you lose." A pair of topiary trees flanked the entrance to 8-A. "He only puts them out when he's having company," Amber explained as she clanged the door knocker.

"I hope he also takes in the brass knocker when he goes to bed," Qwilleran said. "Someone stole my plastic rubbish container last night." The door was opened by an emaciated grayhaired man in a white duck coat-someone Qwilleran had seen in the lobby, or on the elevator, or possibly in the laundry room. Not far behind him was the host, wearing a coolie suit in black silk and making gestures of Oriental welcome.

"Well, look at you!" Amber exclaimed.

"Just in from the rice paddy?" Qwilleran asked. They entered a large room with dark walls lighted only by candles, Amber remarking, "I see Mrs. Tuttle cut off your electricity again." Courtney reproached her with flared nostrils. "What you see here," he said to Qwilleran, loftily, "is one of the original suites, occupied for sixty years by a bachelor judge. All I did was paint the walls Venetian red. The black walnut woodwork and the hardwood floors are original. I apologize for the lack of furniture. Special-order items take an unconscionably long time." "They're growing the trees," Amber said.

As Qwilleran's eyes became accustomed to the dim light, he realized he was in a room at least fifty feet long and bare enough to be a ballroom. In one comer was a compact seating arrangement: two couches right-angled against the wall, covered with fringed Spanish rugs and heaped with pillows of some ethnic origin. The couches were actually army cots, he later decided. For a cocktail table there was a large square of thick plate glass supported by concrete blocks, and under it was a worn Persian rug, the only floor covering in the room. Three long-stemmed white carnations in a tall crystal vase looked aggressively contemporary. In candlelight the comer was almost glamorous.

"You have a new rug," Amber observed.

"A semi-antique Tabriz, my dear-this month's acquisition from our friend Isabelle." She explained to Qwilleran, "He means Isabelle Wilburton. He's systematically stripping the poor woman's apartment." "I am keeping the poor woman afloat," Courtney said with hauteur. "Last month's acquisition was that painting over the sideboard - American, of course - probably of the Hudson River school. A curator from the art museum is coming here tomorrow to identify it incontrovertibly." The misty landscape in an elaborate gilded frame was hanging above a sideboard composed of two large, wooden packing cases, on which stood a silver teaset. "Would we all like a margarita?" "Qwill doesn't drink," Amber announced.

"Evian?" asked the host.

"Evian will do," Qwilleran said, "if you don't have Squunk water." The other two gave him a brief questioning glance. No one outside of Moose County had ever heard of Squunk water. Then Courtney turned to the white-coated server. "Hopkins, bring us two margaritas and an Evian for the gentleman." The white coat disappeared into the gloom at the far end of the room, and the host went on. "Originally the suite consisted of this drawing room plus a large bedroom totally without closets plus a huge bathroom. Where did they hang their clothes in 1901? And what did they do in the bathroom that required so much space? Fortunately the judge added closets and a kitchenette." Amber said to Qwilleran, "You should see Court's previous apartment. It was like a cell at Leavenworth." "Courtney!" he corrected her with a frown.

The drinks and a silver bowl of macadamia nuts were served by Hopkins, moving as if in a trance.

Qwilleran asked, "How was your card game Wednesday night?" "Not too excruciating, although I could manage nicely without the camomile tea and caraway seed cake. The Countess was my partner. Considering that she acts like a ghost of the 1920s, she's a killer at the bridge table." "Who else was there?" Amber asked.

"Winnie Wingfoot and that pushy Randy Jupiter. He probably bribed Ferdie to include him," Courtney said with a curled lip.

"I think Randy has a lot of personality," Amber said in his defense.