Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 15 Who Went Into the Closet

"Well, you see, she was quite friendly with Betty and Claude, and she got special treatment, sort of. They took her to the dog races a lot. She enjoyed their company. She liked younger people."

"Including Dr. Clayton Robinson?" His grandmother responded to the mild quip with peals of laughter. "Clayton would love to meet you, Mr.... "

"Qwilleran. Did he get away with the beard trick?"

"Oh, we didn't hang around the park too much. We went to the beach and movies and video arcades and antique shops. Clayton collects old photos of funny-looking people and calls them his ancestors. Like, one is an old lady in bonnet and shawl; he says it's his great-grandfather in drag. Isn't that a hoot?"

"Your grandson has a great future, Mrs. Robinson."

"Call me Celia. Everybody does."

"Talking with you has been a pleasure, Celia. You've given me a graphic picture of Mrs. Gage's last home. Just one serious question: Does anyone have an idea why she took her life?"

"Well... we're not supposed to talk about it."

"Why not?"

"Well, this isn't the first suicide we've had, and Claude is afraid it'll reflect on the park. But Mr. Crocus and I have whispered about it, and we can't figure it out."

"Who is Mr. Crocus?" Qwilleran asked with renewed interest.

"He's a nice old gentleman. He plays the violin. He had a crush on Mrs. Gage and followed her around like a puppy. He misses her a lot. I hope he doesn't pine away and die. There's a big turnover here, you know, but there's always someone waiting to move in. They've already sold Mrs. Gage's house to a widower from Iowa."

"Considering all the restrictions, why is the park so desirable?"

"Mostly it's the security. You can call the office twenty-four hours a day, if you have an emergency. There's limousine service to medical clinics, although you pay for it. They recommend doctors and lawyers and tax experts, which is nice because we're all from other states. I'm from Illinois. Also, there are things going on at the clubhouse, and there's the activity bus. Would you like to see some snapshots of Mrs. Gage on one of our sightseeing trips? Maybe you could use them with your article."

Qwilleran said it was an excellent suggestion and, asked her to mail them to him at the newspaper office.

."What was the name of it, did you say?"

"The Moose County Something. "

"I love that! It's really funny!" she said with a chuckle. "I'll write it down."

"And do you mind if I call you again, Celia?"

"Gosh, no! It's fun being interviewed."

"Perhaps you'd like to see the obituary that ran in Wednesday's paper. I'll send two copies - one for Mr. Crusoe."

"Crocus," she corrected him. "Yes, he'd appreciate that a lot, Mr. Qwilleran."

"For your information, I'm usually called Qwill"

"Oh! Like in quill pen!"

"Except it's spelled with a Qw."

"Yow!" said Koko.

"I'd better say goodnight and hang up, Celia. Koko wants to use the phone."

The last sound he heard from the receiver was a torrent of laughter. He turned to Koko. "That was Mrs. Robinson at the Park of Pink Sunsets."

The cat was fascinated by telephones. The ringing of the bell, the sound of a human voice coming from the instrument, and the mere fact that Qwilleran was conversing with an inanimate object seemed to stimulate his feline sensibilities. And he showed particular interest in the Florida grandmother with lively risibility. Qwilleran wondered why. He thought, Does he know something I don't? Koko's blue eyes were wearing their expression of profound wisdom.

"Treat!" Qwilleran announced, and there was the thud of galloping paws en route to the kitchen.

-8-

ON MONDAY MORNING Qwilleran was weighing the advantages of staying in bed versus the disadvantages of listening to a feline reveille outside his door. The decision was made for him when the telephone rang in the library. He hoisted himself out of bed, put his slippers on the wrong feet, and padded down the hall.

"Hey, Qwill!" came the familiar voice of Junior Goodwinter. "I need help! Tomorrow's election day, and we're gonna do a run-down on the candidates in today's paper. Would you handle one for us? It's an emergency. Everyone's pitching in, even the maintenance guy." "Now's a helluva time to think of it," said Qwilleran in the grumpy mood that preceded his first cup of coffee. He looked at his watch and computed the length of time before the noon deadline.

"Don't blame me! Arch came barging in half an hour ago with the idea, and he's the boss."

:What's he been doing for the last two weeks, besides courting Mildred?"

"Listen, Qwill, all you have to do is question your candidate on the list of issues, but not on the phone. Personal contact."

Qwilleran growled something inaudible. There were three candidates for the mayoralty, seven for two vacancies on the city council, and six for one post on the county board. "Okay," he said, "of the sixteen incumbents, outsiders, nobodies, and perennial losers, which one is assigned to me?"

"George Breze."

"I might have known you'd give me an airhead."