Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 11 Who Lived High

"You people around here are so damned casual about car theft!" Qwilleran complained. "Even the old ladies in the lobby talk about muggings the way we talk about weather in Moose County." Koko jumped on the back of the long sofa and walked its length like a model on a runway. On the way back he stopped to sniff the guest's hair.

"Hey, what's going on back there?" Jupiter said, slapping the back of his head.

"Sorry," said Qwilleran, pushing the cat off the sofa. "He likes your shampoo... Now, can you tell me what happened at the hotel over the weekend?" "It was in the Fluxion this afternoon, so it's no secret any more. Two men and a woman in a suite on the top floor were gunned down execution-style, so you know it's drug-related. The hotel always tries to put the lid on anything like that. They think it'll scare off the tourists and conventions... Hey, what's he doing?" Koko was on the cocktail table, biting the corners of record jackets. Qwilleran sent him flying with a gentle backhand, and the cat spent the next ten minutes licking his damaged ego.

"How'd you get your big jazz collection, Randy?" "I was lucky. I had an uncle who was a bebop drummer-never made it big, but he got me hooked, and then he died and left me all his records. D'you have any requests?" "Well, I told you I like sax - Sidney Bechet, Jimmy Dorsey, Stan Getz, Charlie Parker, Coltrane. If I could play an instrument, that's what I'd like to play. It's almost like the human voice." "Okay, we'll start with Charlie... What's that thumping noise?" "That's Keestra Hedrog and her Gut Dancers. They rehearse in 14-B every Monday night. I'll close the doors and it won't bother us." Koko was standing in the doorway, half in and half out of the room, and when Qwilleran climbed out of the pit and tried to close the double doors, the cat stood as if glued to the threshold. "Are you coming in or staying out?" Qwilleran asked.

Koko deliberated, unable to make up his mind, until a slight tap from a size twelve shoe sent him catapulting into the gallery-down into the pit, up onto the rim, circling it like an indoor track, picking up speed and flying across the cocktail table, scattering cassettes in all directions.

"Cripes! He's like a tornado!" Jupiter said as he retrieved his collection.

"Sorry, he's wound up tonight for some reason.... Koko! You behave, or leave the room!" The cat jumped to the top of the bar, among the bottles and decanters, where he could keep the visitor under surveillance, and the evening progressed uneventfully for a while.

Jupiter played a program that went from bebop to swing to Chicago jazz to big band to Dixieland to blues to rag.

After his third drink he pantomimed a bebop drummer in sync with a recording, and the frenetic performance sent Koko burrowing under the dhurrie.

"Now what's he doing?" the man wanted to know.

"That rug covers the stain where Dianne Bessinger bled to death." "No kidding!" "I believe it was Labor Day weekend. How long have you lived here?" "I moved in... let's see... Memorial weekend." "Did you get to know Dianne or Ross?" "No, they never came into the bar, and I don't go for this kind of stuff." Jupiter waved an arm around the gallery walls.

Qwilleran said, "Since moving into this apartment I've discovered some new twists regarding the murder. Did you know that there are prominent men in town who would profit by Dianne's death?" "No kidding!" "It's a fact." Jupiter said he'd like another drink, and after pouring it Qwilleran said, "What's more, I hap- pen to have evidence that Ross did not kill Dianne." "You're kidding!" Koko had returned to the sofa-back and was sniffing the bartender's head again. His neck was reddening. He brushed the cat away like an annoying fly.

"Yes, there's no doubt in my mind that it was a frame-up. In fact, I have an appointment at the Homicide Squad tomorrow - to turn my information over to the detectives." "How'd you find out?" The vodka was coloring Jupiter's face to match his moustache.