Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 12 Who Knew A Cardinal

Carol asked, "How did Polly like the play?"

"She gave it raves, and we both thought the crowd scenes were tremendously effective. How did you manage all those kids?"

"It wasn't easy-getting them into costume, keeping them quiet backstage, pushing them out on cue. They dressed at the school, you know, and we transported them on school buses. Trauma time! Fortunately, Hilary had directed the play before and knew all the tricks. As his assistant I learned a lot; I won't deny that." She turned her back to the other guests and lowered her voice. "But as president of the club and wife of the president of the school board, I wish to go on record as saying I can't stand the man!"

A large percentage of the Pickax population entertained a loathing for Hilary VanBrook, principal of the high school. At fault was his abrasive personality and unbearable conceit. The public even resented the turtlenecks he wore to school. In Moose County there was something subversive about an administrator who wore black turtlenecks instead of the expected white shirt and quiet tie. But chiefly annoying was his habit of being eminently successful at everything he proposed, no matter how preposterous it appeared to parents, teachers, the superintendent of schools, and the school board.

Principal-bashing, therefore, was a favorite pastime. He was an unattractive man, and behind his back he was called Horseface. Yet, everyone remained in awe of his capabilities and self-assurance. It was because of his brilliant record as a school administrator and his reputation as a brain that the Theatre Club had allowed him to mount a play that was considered too dull, on a stage that was too small, with a cast that was too large. And now Henry VIII was going into the books as another triumph for Horseface.

"Yes," Larry said grudgingly in a low voice, "that scurvy knave has done it again! Ticket sales were so good we actually made a profit. With all those kids in the cast, you know, the hall was filled with their relatives, friends, and classmates." He glanced to left and right to ascertain the director's whereabouts and continued in a stage whisper. "He made two political mistakes. He should certainly not have played Cardinal Wolsey himself, and he should definitely not have brought someone from the next county to play Queen Katharine. We have plenty of talent right here in Moose County."

Qwilleran scanned the scattered groups of guests. "What happened to the queen? I don't see her here tonight."

Carol said, "She left right after the curtain. Got out of makeup in a hurry and didn't even say goodbye to the cast."

"Well, we weren't very cordial to her, I'm afraid," Larry confessed, "although we told her about the party and how to get here, and she wrote it down. I thought she'd show up. Of course, she lives in Lockmaster, and that's a sixty- mile drive, so I guess she can be excused."

Carol squeezed her husband's arm. "How do you like the barn, honey?"

"Fantastic! What condition was it in, Qwill, before you started?"

"Structurally solid, but filthy! For years it had been a motel for birds, cats, bats, and even skunks. Fran hung those German prints as an apology to the dispossessed bats." He pointed to a group of four framed zoological prints of flying mammals, dated 1824.

"You should have the barn photographed, Qwill, for a magazine."

"Yes, I'd like to see it published - for Dennis's sake. And: Fran did a great job with the furnishings, considering I'm not the easiest client to get along with. John Bushland is coming up from Lockmaster to shoot some pictures for insurance purposes. I'm curious to know how everything looks on film."

"Don't we have a good photographer here?" Larry asked sharply. There had been jealous rivalry between Pickax and Lockmaster for a century or more.

"No one with Bushy's talent and experience and equipment."

"You're right. He's good," Larry acknowledged.

Someone shouted "Last call for pizza!" and the crowd swarmed to the kitchen snack bar - all except Hilary VanBrook. While the others had mingled in shifting clusters, the director had stayed on the periphery. In his bottle-green corduroy sports coat and red turtleneck he was clearly the best-dressed individual in the largely raggle-taggle assemblage. With shoulders hunched, hands in pockets, and a saturnine expression on his gaunt and homely face, he appeared to be studying - with a critical eye - the handhewn and woodpegged framewotk of the building, the design of the fireplace, the zoological prints, and the printer's typecase half filled with engraved metal plates mounted on wooden blocks.

He was standing in front of a pine wardrobe, seven feet high, when Qwilleran approached and said, "That's a Pennsylvania German schrank dating 1850 or earlier."

"More likely Austrian," the director corrected him. "You can see the piece had painted decoration originally. It's been stripped and refinished, which lessens its value, as you probably know."