Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 12 Who Knew A Cardinal

"Why was she on the elevator? Upstairs she could have pressed the emergency button. They might have saved her. She had no need to come downstairs."

Qwilleran knew the answer, but he kept her secret. He suspected she had already been downstairs, reliving her life, and was on her way up again. The memory of the telegram from the war department may have triggered the attack.

Bushy said, "You'll have to go to the club without us, Qwill. You can take the tickets and pick up Fiona."

"No... no!" Qwilleran protested. "Not under the circumstances. I'd better pack up and drive back to Pickax.

You'll be busy for the next few days."

"The funeral will probably be Tuesday."

Vicki said to her husband, "Would you call Fiona and break the news? I can't talk to anyone about it - yet. Ask her if she wants to use the tickets."

Qwilleran went upstairs and packed the dinner jacket he had never worn and the blue cushion the cats had not used. Then he said a somber farewell to his stunned and saddened hosts. "We'll talk about this another time," he said, "after the shock has worn off. She was a grand and glorious Grummy."

Bushy said forlornly, "Bring the cats again some weekend, Qwill. We'll give it another try."

Qwilleran drove away - up the avenue of giant gingerbread houses - thinking about the last twenty-four hours. The Siamese, knowing they were on the way home, snoozed peacefully in their carrier, leaving him free to think about many things. He had explored a new city, experienced his first steeplechase, met a fellow journalist, witnessed the swansong of a gallant old lady, and discovered the bearded man who had evidently captivated Polly. He stroked his moustache in wonderment as he drove. She had always disliked beards and avoided anyone from the sporting world. It also puzzled him how she had managed to buy that bright blue dress without his knowledge; she usually consulted him on the rare occasions when she went shopping for something to wear.

Yet, the most amazing discovery of the weekend was the diffident little woman who had been transformed into the regal Katharine on stage. VanBrook had endowed her with a completely new persona for the duration of the play. She moved like a queen; she projected her voice; she actually looked taller. Offstage she reverted to nervous mannerisms, anxious glances, and shy conversation, but for a few hours she had been VanBrook's creation. His failure to fashion Robin in his own image must have been a vexing disappointment.

There were other questions Qwilleran wanted to ask Fiona: Did VanBrook ever talk about his past Down Below or in Asia? Was his Lockmaster house furnished in the Japanese style? Did he cultivate an indoor garden, and if so, what did he grow? Why did he wear turtlenecks all the time? Was he hiding something? A scar perhaps. Did he ever unpack all his books? After four years in Pickax the majority were still in cartons. And there were other questions of a more personal nature that might be asked.

When Qwilleran reached the Moose County line, his watch said seven o'clock. The Living Barn Tour would be over. He hoped the interior would not look like a bus terminal on Sunday morning. Undoubtedly his answering machine would be jammed with messages, which he would ignore until Monday; there was no reason to explain his premature return to the world at large. His only call would be to Polly. He would tell her about the death in the family, and then he would say, "I stopped in the library and met your friend Shirley. She inquired about Bootsie and showed me the wedding pictures. There were a couple of candids of you in a blue dress that I've never seen." And then he would say, "I met some interesting individuals down there. One was a horse trainer - an amiable fellow with a red beard. His name was Steve something or other." After a moment's pause her reaction would be a nonchalant, "Oh, really?"

This entertaining scenario occupied his attention until he arrived at Trevelyan Trail. Mr. O'Dell had installed a new mailbox. The driveway was graded and graveled. In the orchard the debris left from the storm had been removed. Inside the barn there was no indication that half of Pickax had tramped through the place, but the Siamese knew that five hundred strangers had been there. With inquisitive noses they inspected every inch of the main floor.

Meanwhile, Qwilleran phoned Polly and received no answer. She might be having dinner with her widowed sister-in-law. He called back at nine o'clock and again at eleven. No answer. Most unusual! Polly never stayed out late when she was driving alone. Weary after his eventful visit to Lockmaster, he retired early but was slow in falling asleep. Polly's absence worried him.