Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 11 Who Lived High

"Building's on fire! Get out fast!" he yelled, then dashed for the stairs. The fire bell had started its urgent clamor, and at the tenth floor tenants began stumbling into the stairwell, grumbling and questioning.

Qwilleran caught up with Riker and said, "Give me the cats and you go ahead. Try to get a cab out in front." "What... ?" "Don't ask. Just do it!" On the main floor the tenants, clutching cats and other treasures, were in an uproar.

Qwilleran shouted to Mrs. Tuttle over the heads of the milling crowd, "Can you get Miss Plumb out?" "We phoned and Rupert went up there!" The emergency door was open, and sirens could be heard, converging from all directions. Not stopping to recognize faces in the lobby, Qwilleran pushed through to the front door and found Riker flagging a cab. He put the carrier in the front with the driver and shouted, "Penniman Plaza!" before climbing into the backseat.

Angrily Riker said, "Will you tell me what this is all about?" "I don't know." Qwilleran pounded his moustache with his fist... "Oh, my God!" A deafening explosion rocked the cab. A flash of light illuminated Zwinger Boulevard. Looking out the rear window they saw the Casablanca crowned with fire.

"Jeez!" yelled the driver. "Cracked my windshield!" He started to pull over.

"Don't stop! There'll be fallout." Moments later, the roof of the cab was showered with debris. Sirens screamed. Red and blue flashing lights filled the street. At the hotel the security guards were out on the sidewalk, looking toward the west.

While the cab waited, Qwilleran ran in to the registration desk and came out with the word that the Airport Motel was the nearest facility that would accept pets. The driver headed for the freeway, and his passengers rode in silence, sickened by the enormity of the disaster and stunned by the thought of their near-extinction. All was quiet in the cat carrier.

Finally Qwilleran said, "The noise I heard... the noise Koko detected... under the floor... It sounded like someone in the crawl space, setting a fire... I didn't have time to think... Now I realize they were planting a time bomb." His thoughts went to those whose lives had touched his briefly: The Countess... Had they been able to dislodge her from her palace? Rupert with his handgun and Ferdinand with his muscle could overpower her, if not convince her, but they had only minutes to act. It was questionable that all three could escape.

Isabelle... She lived on one of the upper floors. Was she sober enough to recognize the danger? If not, her troubles were over.

Winnie Wingfoot... She also lived on Ten, but she had probably stayed out all night.

Keestra Hedrog... No cause for concern. She would fly to safety on her broomstick.

Amberina Kowbel... Poor, disorganized Amber! At least she would never have to unpack the eighty-four shopping bags and the mountain of cartons.

Courtney... He would get out all right, lugging his Hudson River painting.

But what about the nameless old ladies in quilted robes? And all the others with canes and crutches?

He said, "It would have been wrong, Arch, to evict all those people and revert the Casablanca to a ritzy enclave for the superrich." "They're evicted now, that's for sure," said Riker.

The driver tuned in the round-the-clock news station on his radio. After a few words about a woman arrested for selling her children, and about the discovery of three bodies buried in Penniman Park, the announcer said: "Bulletin! An explosion rocked the near West Side at 3:18 this morning, destroying the top floors of the Casablanca apartment house.

The cause has not been determined. Firefighters and rescue crew are on the scene, and survivors are being evacuated.

The blast broke windows in Junktown, and debris fell on an area of several blocks. There is no report on the number of casualties at this time. Stay tuned." The cause has not been determined, Qwilleran thought. He remembered Amber saying, "The city would love it if something terrible happened to the Casablanca." He remembered that Raymond Dunwoody worked for the city and had lost an ear in a dynamite explosion. Had he planted dynamite in the crawl space between Twelve and Fourteen? If so, at whose behest? Qwilleran felt a tingling sensation in the roots of his moustache - the old familiar feeling that meant he was on the right trail. It was the man with an ear patch, he recalled, who had been the dinner guest of an affluent businessman at the Japanese restaurant; the generous host, Qwilleran now knew, was Fleudd. He had joined Penniman & Greystone in the spring, and Dunwoody had been living with Charlotte Roop for the last four months, no doubt relaying information about SOCK when she innocently discussed conversations she had overheard at Roberto's. Furthermore, it was Memorial Day weekend when Jupiter moved into the Casablanca. They were both undercover agents for Fleudd!