Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 15 Who Went Into the Closet

And no dentures, Qwilleran thought. "Is there anything we can do to help Nancy?"

"I don't know what it would be. She's a tough little lady, and I think she can take care of herself all right. When she talked to me on the phone, she didn't break down or anything like that - just said that her dogs, need her and she can't afford to crack up."

As soon as the conversation ended, Arch Riker called. "Qwill, have you heard what happened? They found a body on your property."

Then Polly called. Next it was Junior with the same information. Qwilleran stopped answering the phone and went to bed. Twice he heard a distant ringing, followed by a much appreciated silence. In the morning , he found the receiver off the phone. The cats, who slept on the library sofa, had been equally annoyed by the ringing phone and had taken matters into their own paws.

Qwilleran wrote Nancy a note of sympathy and mailed it at the same time he shipped a box of chocolate-covered cherries to Celia Robinson. Then, on Monday he attended Gil Inchpot's funeral at the Brrr Community Church, taking care to dress warmly. The furnace had been repaired, however, and the building was stiflingly hot. Gary Pratt was sitting alone in a rear pew, where an occasional blast of frigid air from the front door was a welcome relief. Qwilleran slipped in beside him.

Gary whispered, "Nancy's sitting down front with her ex. They'll be together again before long, I'm willing to bet."

Two days later, Qwilleran was back at the same church for the third time - to present "The Big Burning of 1869." It was snowing again, and he picked up Hixie Rice at the newspaper for the drive to Brrr.

Large, wet snowflakes landed on the windshield. "They're so beautiful, it's a shame to run the windshield wipers," she said.

"Beautiful, maybe, but this is the kind of snow that wrecks the power lines. I don't know what to expect at the church tonight. The first time I went there, the building was too cold; the second time, it was so hot we couldn't breathe."

Hixie was too happy to care about the temperature. She said, "Can you stand some good news? Arch is making me a vice president, in charge of advertising and promotion!"

"Congratulations! You deserve it."

"I have you to thank, Qwill, for steering me up to Pickax in the first place. You know, it's a funny thing. When I first met you Down Below, all I wanted was to find a husband. Now all I want is to be a vice president with a private office and a cute male secretary.

I'll be sharing Wilfred with Arch. Wilfred isn't my idea of cute, but he's conscientious and reliable and computer-literate."

"You can't have everything," he philosophized. "But tell

me something, Hixie: With your increased responsibilities, are you sure you want to go on pressing buttons and flipping switches for this show?"

"Are you kidding? I adore show biz!"

When they arrived at the church, he dropped her at the curb, telling her to check the stage while he unloaded the gear. By the time he opened the trunk, and set the suitcases on the sidewalk, Hixie came running out of the building.

"The furnace has conked out again! It's like a walk-in freezer! The audience is already there, and they're sitting in heavy jackets and wool hats and gloves. There's a little kerosene stove, but it doesn't do any good."

"The show must go on," he replied stoically. "If the audience can stand it, so can we. You keep your coat on, and I'll have the forest fire to keep me warm. It's surprising how much heat can be generated by concentrating on a role."

This was sheer bravado on Qwilleran's part. In portraying the studio announcer he was supposed to be working in 110-degree heat, and the act called for a short-sleeved summer shirt.

Hixie suggested, "Couldn't you cheat for once and wear a jacket?"

"And destroy the illusion? Better to contract pneumonia than to compromise one's art," he replied facetiously and a trifle grimly.

"Well, I'll visit you in the hospital," she said cheerfully.

There was a full house for the show, with everyone muffled to the eyebrows. Qwilleran stood in the furnace room, shivering as he waited for his entrance cue.

During the first act he steeled his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering as he said, "Railroad tracks are warped by the intense heat... Great blasts of hot air and cinders are smothering the city." The church basement was fogged by the frosty breath of the audience, while he went through the motions of mopping a sweating brow.

In the second act his frozen fingers fumbled with the script as he said, "The temperature is 110 degrees in the studio, and the window glass is still too hot to touch." It was not surprising that he completed the forty-five-minute script in forty minutes.