Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 12 Who Knew A Cardinal

Shawn shook his head and said, "Crazy!"

The design was a stylized tree dotted with a dozen bright red apples the size of basketballs. Tufting gave them dimension.

"They look real enough for plucking," Qwilleran observed.

"Don't you think," Fran remarked, "that the artist actually captured their juiciness?"

"You guys must be nuts," said the installer. "All I know - it weighs a ton."

The Siamese, watching from the top of the fireplace had, had no comment.

"Now, this tapestry," the designer explained, "will hang from the railing of the highest catwalk, Qwill, making an exciting focal point that draws the eye upward into that delicious galaxy of radiating beams and triangular windows. Also, it will add warmth and color to an interior with lots of wood and lots of open space. Don't you agree?"

"Yow!" said Koko.

"Okay, Shawn," she said, "roll it up again and carry it to the top level."

"No elevator?"

"You don't need an elevator." The tack-strips were installed on the top surface of the catwalk railing; the top edge of the tapestry was pressed down securely on the tacks; and then it was slowly unrolled as the ropes were played out.

"Hope it doesn't drop and kill a cat," said the installer with a grin.

"If it does," Qwilleran said, "I'll be after you with a shotgun."

"The other tapestry will be easy," Fran assured Shawn. "We'll hang it on the blank wall of the fireplace cube, facing the foyer, and it's a little smaller."

"Why'n't ya put the heavy one down here?" he asked. Again the wrappings were removed, and the tapestry was unrolled on the floor - a galaxy of birds and green foliage.

"Yow!" came a comment from the fireplace cube, and Koko jumped to the floor. Birds native to Moose County were flitting among weeds, grazing on the ground, sipping nectar from flowers, warbling from tree branches, and swaying on tall grasses. He walked purposefully across the tapestry and sniffed the red bird with black face patch and red crest.

"Amazing!" Qwilleran said.

The bird extravaganza was hung and admired, and then Fran glanced at her watch. "I can't hang around," she said. "This is my mother's birthday, and Dad and I are taking her out to dinner. When are you leaving for Lockmaster, Qwill?"

"After the funeral."

"Have a good time at the races. Don't lose all your money."

Qwilleran was glad to avoid socializing. He wanted to stay home and plan his trip and learn how to pack his new luggage. It was the last word in nylon with leather bindings and straps and more pockets and compartments than he needed. It replaced his two old suitcases lost in a disaster Down Below. Imitation leather, scuffed and battered, they had traveled with him from city to city during his lean years. Polly said they were a disgrace. He said they were easy to pack. "Just throw everything in."

After dinner, when he opened his new luggage on the bed to consider its complexities, Koko moved into the two- suiter and Yum Yum took possession of the carry-on. He left them sleeping there and settled down with the Thursday edition of the Lockmaster Logger.

The race course, he learned, was a little over two miles - in a natural setting surrounded by gentle hills from which viewing was convenient. For first- time race goers there were instructions for reading the race chart: the name of the horse and the weight he was carrying; the names of owner, trainer, and rider; the color of the racing silks; the horse's color, sex, and age; the names of sire and dam. Such details were more than Qwilleran cared to know.

There was only one entry that aroused his interest: Robin Stucker would be riding in a race that permitted amateurs. He asked himself: Wasn't Stucker the name of the woman who played Queen Katharine? Didn't her note to VanBrook mention that she had to buy boots for Robbie? The horse, according to the chart, was owned by W. Chase Amberton. The trainer was S. W. O'Hare. The name of the horse - and this was what caused Qwilleran to smooth his moustache in speculation - was Son of Cardinal.

-8-

The funeral on Friday morning was a doubly somber affair attended by a few members of the Theatre Club - doubly somber because many of the mourners thought they were saying farewell to a murderer as well as a suicide. No one mentioned it, but glances were exchanged as the pastor of Larry Lanspeak's church spoke his ambiguous platitudes. Only the Lanspeaks and Fran Brodie believed stubbornly that the rumor was false. Only Qwilleran, Hixie Rice, and Chief Brodie knew the truth. Brodie was there - not in uniform but in kilt and tam-o'-shanter- playing a dirge on the bagpipe at Qwilleran's suggestion.

"It will allay suspicions without formally denying them," he told the chief.

Hixie drew Qwilleran aside and said in a low but emotional voice, "It's frustrating, isn't it? Why don't the police come up with a suspect? Why don't you do something about it, Qwill?"

He said, "It happened only a week ago, Hixie. The police have information not available to me. What's more, they have computers."