Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 11 Who Lived High

At first he refused to believe it. Then he realized that Mrs. Tuttle had sent Rupert up to lock the door and foil the would - be suicide. He banged on the door with a fist, hoping that Keestra Hedrog would be spending a quiet Sunday afternoon at home and would hear him. The only response was a muffled "Yow!" from behind the door of 14-A. Koko knew he was in trouble, but a lot of good that did!

Qwilleran returned to the roof and looked over the edge, doubting that he could signal for help from that height.

There was no one in the parking lot, Sundays at the Casablanca being as quiet as Saturdays were hectic. He circled the roof, hoping to see a pedestrian walking a dog on Zwinger Boulevard, or a jogger behind the building, or someone throwing rubbish into the dumpster. There was no one in sight, and it was getting cold.

Slowly he started down the two flights to Fourteen. In the stairwell he could hear the machinery in the elevator housing, as well as a certain familiar clanking and banging that meant Old Red or Old Green was approaching Fourteen.

He ran down the stairs and was pounding on the door and calling for help when the elevator arrived.

"Oh, dear!" said a timid voice. "Who's that?" "I'm locked in the stairwell! Get the manager to open the door!" "Oh, dear! This is Charlotte, Mr. Qwilleran. We were just coming to see you... Raymond, go down to the desk and tell them. I'll stay here." There were sounds of an elevator descending. "How did you get locked in there, Mr. Qwilleran?" asked the reedy voice that now sounded so welcome, so comforting.

"You'll never believe my story," he said on the other side of the door. "I'll tell you when I get out." "Roberto is expecting you for dinner tonight. He said to send you up to his apartment when you arrive." "Am I holding you up? I don't want you to be late for work." "Oh, no, it's only twenty-five minutes to four. I'm sure Raymond will get someone right away." Qwilleran had always found conversation with Charlotte to be strained, even without a heavy door between them, and he was relieved when the elevator made its noisy arrival and Rupert unlocked the door.

"Nobody told me you was on the roof," he said.

"Nobody knew. Thanks, Rupert. I wasn't looking forward to spending the night in the stairwell. You'll have to let me into 14-A, too. I forgot my key." Standing by were Charlotte Roop and her friend with the ear patch. Qwilleran felt momentarily grateful to both of them, and he felt a flash of sympathy for Dunwoody, wondering why he wore such a noticeable badge of his deformity.

Perhaps he could not afford a prosthetic ear.

"'Come in," he said. "Welcome to the garden spot of the Casablanca." The two entered, gazing in wonder.

"Were you never here before?" he asked.

"No," said Charlotte. "I never was." "Where did it happen?" Dunwoody asked.

"Where did what happen?" "The murder." "I don't know," Qwilleran said untruthfully. He opened the French doors to the gallery. "This is the former swimming pool, now a combination living room and art gallery. Won't you go in and sit down? Be careful going down the steps. I'll try to find the cats." Awestruck, the couple wandered into the sky- lighted wonderland of potted trees and gargantuan mushrooms.

Qwilleran found Yum Yum in the bedroom, dozing on the waterbed, and he found Koko in the bathroom, sitting in the turkey roaster - just sitting there. "No comment, please," he said to the cat. When he returned to the gallery with an animal under each arm, his visitors were huddled close together on the twenty-foot sofa like babes in the wilderness.

"Here they are! This one is Koko, the male, and this is Yum Yum, the female," he said, aware of the inanity of the statement.

"What kind are they?" asked Dunwoody.

"Siamese. Very intelligent." Yum Yum demonstrated her intelligence by scampering up the stairs, through the French doors and back to the waterbed. Koko scratched his ear with a hind foot, a trick that required him to cross his eyes and show his fangs - the least attractive pose in his entire repertory.

"May I offer you a drink?" Qwilleran asked.

"Nothing for me," said Charlotte.

"Wouldn't mind a beer," Dunwoody said, his impassive face showing a glimmer of interest.

Excusing himself, Qwilleran went to the kitchen and returned with a tray. "Just in case you want to change your mind," he said to Charlotte, "here is a glass of white grapejuice." He refrained from saying that it was Koko's private stock; the notion would have offended her. Dunwoody reached for his glass of beer gingerly; it was doubtlessly the only beer he had ever drunk from Waterford cut crystal. "Cheers!" Qwilleran said grimly as he raised his own glass of grapejuice.

"Unusual room," said Dunwoody. "The entire apartment was created from a former restaurant called the Palm Pavilion. The building has an interesting history. I'm thinking of writing a book about it." Charlotte said to her friend, "Mr. Qwilleran is a brilliant writer." They both gazed on him in wonder.