Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 11 Who Lived High

Even the prospect of writing a book on the Casablanca was losing its appeal. At this moment he had only one reason to stay. He wanted to have lunch with Lieutenant Hames as soon as the detective returned to town. He wanted to tell him about Koko's discoveries: first the bloodstain, then the bracelet, and finally the confession on the wall. He would relate how the cat found the exact spot where the artist was said to have jumped from the terrace. Then he would advance his theory that special-interest groups were resorting to criminal means to clear the way for the Gateway Alcazar: knifing the heir to the Casablanca and throwing her lover from the terrace, after drugging them both. But in attempting to frame Ross they had used an unlikely signature on his alleged confession and had misspelled Dianne. Furthermore, one tenant heard screams as the body plummeted to earth. As a newsman Qwilleran had seen suicides jump off high buildings and bridges, and they jumped in desperate silence.

He walked home slowly and found the crumbling front steps a disgrace, the lobby grim, the tenants depressing, and Old Red an affront to human dignity. Koko met him at the door as usual and trotted to the library as usual, where he took up his position on the Van Gogh volume as usual, tensing his taillike a corkscrew.

"What are you trying to tell me?" Qwilleran asked him. "Was that Vincent's favorite perch?" The thought crossed his mind that Vincent had witnessed the murder, and he had an irrational desire to visit the Bessinger-Todd Gallery once more.

When he phoned, he was answered in a hurry. "Is the gallery still open?" he asked. "This is Jim Qwilleran at the Casablanca." "I've just locked the door. This is Jerry Todd. What can I do for you?" "I never had a chance to talk with you about artwork for my barn, and I may be leaving soon." "If you want to come over, I'll wait," the art dealer suggested.

"Be right there." Qwilleran ran downstairs, thinking it quicker and easier than taking the elevator. He hailed a cab and arrived at the gallery within minutes.

Todd unlocked the door. "That was fast." "I see you've sold a lot of things since Friday night," said Qwilleran, observing the empty walls.

"Very successful opening," the dealer said cheerfully, pinching his nose in the odd way he had. "The Pizza Eaters, The Wing Ding Eaters and The Hot Dog Eaters all went to one buyer, a fastfood chain. They wanted them for their corporate headquarters. It will occupy an entire floor of the Gateway Alcazar. Did you see anything you liked at the opening?" "Nothing suitable for a barn, to tell the truth." "Perhaps you should consider contemporary tapestries if you're going to have a lot of wood surfaces. We have one artist who does abstract weavings in nature themes. I can show you pictures of her work." He produced an album of color slides.

Qwilleran, who truthfully had no plans to convert his barn, was captivated. "How large are they?" "She takes commissions to order, including some huge tapestries for hotel lobbies. You'd never guess it, but she's just a tiny little thing. Here's her picture." The artist had a roguish pixie face that appealed to Qwilleran. "Your suggestion is certainly something for me to consider," he said. "I'll get back to you after I consult my architect." "Architects approve of her tapestries. They complement rather than compete with the architecture, and her perception of dimension is outstanding. She shows great sensitivity with threads, and of course she dyes her own colors." At that moment a mushroom-tinted Persian walked into the room waving a plumed tail. "Is that Vincent?" Qwilleran asked.

"Yes, that's Vincent. He was Dianne's cat and I adopted him. They don't allow pets where I live, but he's happy in the gallery, and customers like him," said Todd, pinching his nose. Vincent circled the two men with dignity and oscillating tail.