Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 15 Who Went Into the Closet

When Qwilleran and Polly arrived in the lobby, they were greeted by two young members of the Theatre Club, who smiled guardedly and handed them programs. He said to Polly, "According to Junior, Euphonia planned this service down to the last detail, and I suspect the ushers were instructed to smile with sweetness and respect and not too much sadness."

After a glance at the program Polly said, "This is not memorial service! It's a concert!"

In Memoriam

EUPHONIA ROFF GAGE

Piano prelude: Six Gnossiennes -- Satie

1. Adagio-- Albinoni

2. Sonnet XXX - Shakespeare

3. Pavane pour une Infante D‚funte - Ravel

4. Renouncement - Meynell

5. En Sourdine (Verlaine) -- Faur‚

6. Pas de Deux - anonymous

7. Duet for Flutes - Telemann

8. Non sum qualis eram bonae

sub regno Cynarae - Dowson

9. Adagio from Symphonie Concertante - Spohr

10. Maestoso from Symphony No.3 -- Saint-Sa‰ns

Polly said in a voice unusually sharp, "Don't you think it's a trifle too precious? Number Five is a French art song. Number Eight... only Euphonia would use the Latin title for 'Cynara.' It's her last gasp of cultural snobbery. And what do you think of Number Three?"

"Try saying it fast three times," he said with a lack of reverence.

Polly threw him a disapproving glance. "You're being flip. I'm wondering if the reference to a dead princess means that she considered herself royalty."

Carol Lanspeak, a trustee of the theatre, hurried up to them. "I think you're in for some surprises tonight. Junior asked me to handle the staging because their baby is due momentarily. Larry's doing the readings, and we rehearsed the entire program to get the timing right. Euphonia left instructions for the stage set, lighting, programs, everything! Such a perfectionist!"

Qwilleran reached into his pocket for an envelope of snapshots. "One of her Florida neighbors sent these. You might like to see how she looked toward the end."

"Why, she looks wonderful!" Carol exclaimed after examining them. "Wouldn't you know she'd choose to go out while she was looking wonderful?"

"Do you recognize anyone else in the pictures?"

"No, I don't... Should I?"

"I thought some of them might be from Moose County. Snowbirds tend to flock together."

Carol and Polly conferred and agreed that they were all strangers. "But here comes Homer. Ask him," Carol suggested.

The aged Homer Tibbitt was entering with his brisk but awkward gait, accompanied by his attentive new wife. During his career as a teacher and principal he had shepherded several generations through the school system and claimed to know everyone in two counties.

He changed glasses to study the snapshots. "Sorry. I can't identify a soul except Euphonia."

"Let me see them," said Mrs. Tibbitt.

"You don't know anyone here," he said with impatience. "You never even met Euphonia... Rhoda's from Lockmaster," he explained to the others, as if she were from the Third World.

"Homer likes to put on his irascible-old-man act," his wife said sweetly.

"I believe it's time to go upstairs," Carol suggested. "Take the elevator, Homer."

Two matching stairways led to the auditorium entrance on the upper level, from which the amphitheatre seating sloped down to a dark stage. A pianist in the orchestra pit was playing the moody, mysterious prelude specified by the deceased.

"Who's that at the piano?" Qwilleran asked Polly.

"The new music director for the schools. I believe she taught in Lockmaster."

He admired anyone who could play the piano and found the pianist strikingly attractive. When the prelude ended, she moved to a seat in front of them, and her perfume made a strong statement. Polly wafted it away with her program.

A hush fell on the audience as the house lights slowly dimmed. There were a few dramatic seconds of total darkness before two glimmers of light appeared. One spotlighted a bouquet of purple and white flowers on a pedestal, stage right. The other, stage center, illuminated a thronelike chair on the seat of which was a wide-brimmed straw hat with a band of purple velvet. Flung across the high chairback was a filmy scarf in shades of lavender.

Qwilleran and Polly exchanged glances. He could read her mind: The pedestal! The throne! The royal purple!

The theatre had an excellent sound system, and from hidden speakers came the haunting music of Albinoni, the wistful yearning of the solo violin underscored by the heartbeat of the cello. The audience listened and stared, as if Euphonia herself might glide onto the stage. Other instruments joined in, and the volume swelled, then faded, leaving only the last searching notes of the violin.

The spotlights disappeared, and a beam of light focused on a lectern at stage left, where Larry Lanspeak stood waiting. His rich voice gripped the audience:

"When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past..."