Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 15 Who Went Into the Closet

"No," said a parched and reedy voice, "it's like the fire was playin' leapfrog, jumpin' right over one farm and burnin' the next one down to the ground. I don't know what the Lord is tryin' to tell us! We picked up one ol' feller wanderin' around, blind as a bat. Didn't even know where he was! His clothes, they was all burned off. He was stark naked and black as a piece o' coal. We sure had a wagonload when we come into town. We was lucky. They was all alive. Some wagons came into town full o' corpses."

There were gasps and whimpers in the audience as flames were reported to be sweeping across the countryside and consuming whole villages. Suddenly red

light filled the stage, and the announcer jumped to his feet.

"Pickax is in flames!" he yelled. Knocking over his chair, he ran gasping and choking from the stage. In his panic he bounced the plywood floor, and both speakers fell over, facedown, while one leg of the folding table collapsed, sliding the telephone and mike to the floor.

"Oh, God!" Qwilleran muttered as he dashed into the tackroom and slammed the door. How would Hixie set up the stage again? Would the audience consider it slapstick comedy? There was an excited uproar in the bleachers, rising above the crashing Tchaikovsky fire music. By opening the door an inch, Qwilleran thought, he could get an idea how Hixie was coping, but the door refused to open. He was locked in!

"Oh, no!" He pounded on the panels with both fists, but the crescendo of the music and the student pandemonium drowned out his appeal for help: His face was already flushed by the emotion of the scene, and now he could hardly breathe in the airless, sweaty closet. He found a dumbbell and hammered on the door; no one heard. Soon the music would signal him to make his entrance, and if he failed to respond on cue, the tape would run out of music, and the disembodied voice of the Irish innkeeper would come from nowhere, answering questions that were not being asked - unless Hixie had the sense to stop the tape. But how would she know he was locked in?

The music ended, and Hixie realized something was wrong; she pressed the button. The hubbub in the audience subsided. In the momentary silence, Qwilleran pounded on the door frantically with the dumbbell, bringing Mr. Broadnax with the key. It was an overheated but poised radio announcer who mounted the flimsy steps - to deafening applause.

As the voice of the Irish innkeeper came from the speakers, the students were shocked to hear him say, "There's plenty o' sad tales they're tellin'. One poor man tried to rescue his two children - both of them half suffocated - but he couldn't carry both of the little ones because his right arm was burned off. Burned clean off, mind you! He had to choose between them, poor man!"

When it was over, the performers took cautious bows to vociferous applause. Then the audience piled out of the gym, and Hixie said, "They loved it when everything fell over. They thought it was part of the show."

"Best program we've ever had!" the principal told them as they packed their gear. "Even the troublemakers liked it, especially the part where the man's arm was burned off... Now, what can we do for you? Mervyn will carry your suitcases. Would you like a cold drink in our cafeteria?"

Qwilleran and Hixie were both glad to get out of the building. "Okay, chum, what happened to you?" he asked peevishly.

"You'll never believe this," she said. "I had lunch at Linguini's, and the parking lot was full, so I parked in the weeds behind the restaurant. When I came out, it was getting chilly, so I put on the coat that was on the backseat. As soon as I pulled onto the open highway, I felt something crawling inside my sleeve. I screamed, ran the car off the road, and jumped out. At the same time a mouse ran out of my coat."

"But that doesn't explain why you were so late," he objected with a lack of sympathy.

"I had to wait for a farmer to come with a tractor and pull me out of the ditch."

"Well... if you say so," Qwilleran said dubiously. "But I'll tell you one thing: I'll never set foot on another platform unless I've personally tested it."

"And I'll never park in the weeds behind Linguini's again! Je le jure!"

Upon returning home from Mooseland High School, Qwilleran's first move was to phone Gary Pratt at the Black Bear Caf‚. "Gary," he said, "I'd like to run up there tomorrow afternoon and see where we're going to present our show for the Outdoor Club. I don't want any surprises Monday night."

"Sure thing. What time tomorrow?"

"How about two o'clock?"

"I'll be here," said the barkeeper. "There's somebody I want you to meet, too - a nice little girl who comes in quite often."

"How little?"

"Well, I mean, she's in her twenties, but a heck of a lot smaller than your other farm girls around here. She has a problem you might be able to help her with."