Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 15 Who Went Into the Closet

"He's quite a successful farmer, you know. I never met the guy, but his daughter was married to a deputy sheriff I know, Dan Fincher. It didn't last long; her father broke it up."

"Why? Do you know?"

Nick shrugged. "Dan isn't very big on particulars. I know that Gil Inchpot is well liked at the Crossroads Tavern and at the farm co-op, but Dan says he's a bully at home."

Qwilleran reached for Nick's cider mug. "Fill 'er up?"

"No, thanks. I've got errands to do - prison business."

"Do you like apples at your house? I've got some you can take home to the kids."

Nick left, carrying a brown paper bag, and after Qwilleran had signed his letters and checks, he took another sackful to the newspaper office.

"I'll trade these for a cup of coffee," he told Junior.

"How's everything going?"

"Jack and Pug have arrived. They're staying at the New Pickax Hotel. Jody doesn't feel like having

company."

"That's wise. Will she come to dinner tomorrow night? Polly is joining us."

"Why don't you make the reservation for six?" said the expectant father, "and we'll see how she feels."

"When is the will being read?"

"Ten-thirty tomorrow morning. Keep your fingers crossed."

While the will was being read in Pender Wilmot's office, Qwilleran was at home, eating an apple and estimating the extent of Euphonia Gage's estate. No doubt she had cashed in heavily when she liquidated her jewels, real estate, fine paintings, and family heirlooms. No doubt her late husband, being financially savvy and not entirely honest, had left her some blue-chip securities. Her recent economies, such as living in a mobile home and wearing seashell jewelry, were no more peculiar than his own preference for driving a used car and pumping his own gas. And, nearing the end of her life, she may have been moved by a nobly generous impulse to provide handsomely for her six great-grandchildren and the one yet unborn.

That evening, his guests were late in arriving at the Old Stone Mill. He and Polly sat waiting and talking about the election results. As everyone expected, Gregory Blythe had been re-elected. He was an investment counselor, a good administrator, and a former high school principal with Goodwinter blood on his mother's side. The public had forgotten the scandal that ousted him from the education system in Pickax, and he was always sober when he conducted city council meetings.

After half an hour Polly asked, "What do you suppose has happened to them? Junior is always so punctual. Perhaps he's taken Jody to the hospital."

"I'll phone their house," Qwilleran said.

To his surprise, Jody answered. "He left about half an hour ago to pick up Pug and Jack," she said. "I decided not to go. I hope you don't mind." She sounded depressed.

"Do you feel all right, Jody?"

"Oh, yes, I'm all right, considering..."

When the hostess conducted the tardy guests to the table, Qwilleran rose to greet three unhappy faces: Pug as distraught as a Montana rancher who has had to shoot her favorite horse; Jack as glum as a California advertising executive who has lost his major client; Junior as indignant as an editor who is being sued for libel.

Introductions were made, chairs were pulled out, napkins were unfolded, and Polly tried to make polite conversation: "Are you comfortable at the hotel?... How do you like Montana?... Have you adjusted to sunny California?" Her efforts failed to elevate the mood.

"What would you like to drink?" Qwilleran asked. "Champagne? A cocktail? Pug, what is your choice?"

"Bourbon and water," she said, pouting.

"Scotch margarita," said Jack grimly.

"Rye on the rocks," said Junior, fidgeting in his chair.

While they were waiting to be served, Qwilleran talked about the weather for five minutes: the weather last month, the outlook for the rest of this month, the prediction for next month... all of this to fill the void until

the drinks arrived. Then he raised his glass. "Would anyone like to propose a toast?"

"To bad news!" Junior blurted.

"To a royal rip-off" said Jack.

"Oh, dear," Polly murmured.

"Sorry to hear that," Qwilleran said.

Scowling, Jack said, "Pug and I flew thousands of miles just to be told that she left us a hundred dollars apiece! I'm damned mad! She was a spiteful old woman!"

"Surprising!" Qwilleran turned to Junior for corroboration.

"Same here," said the younger brother, "only I didn't have to cross the continent to get the shaft."

"I had the impression," Qwilleran remarked, "that your grandmother was a generous person."

"Sure," said Pug. "She put us all through college, but there were strings attached. We didn't know it gave her the privilege to direct our lives, dictate our careers, choose our hobbies, approve our marriages! She was furious when Jack went to the coast and I married a rancher. For a wedding present she sent us a wooden nutcracker."

Polly asked, "Can anyone explain the reason for her attitude?"