Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 15 Who Went Into the Closet

After the final words the audience clapped and cheered and stamped their feet. He suspected they were only trying to warm their extremities, but he bowed graciously and held out his hand to Hixie, who joined him on the stage. As they took their bows, Qwilleran could think only of a warm jacket and hot coffee, wishing fervently that the audience would sit on their hands. And then - during the fourth round of applause - the lights went out! Without warning the basement was plunged into the blackest darkness.

"Power's off!" the pastor's voice called out. "Everybody, stay right where you are. Don't try to move around until we can light some candles."

A man's voice said, "I've got a flashlight!" Its beams danced crazily around the walls and ceiling, and at that moment there was a cry, followed by the thud of a falling body and groans of pain. A dozen voices shrieked in alarm.

The flashlight beamed on the platform, where Qwilleran stood in a frozen state of puzzlement; Hixie was no longer beside him. She was writhing on the floor.

"Dr. Herbert! Dr. Herbert!" someone shouted. "Here I am. Hand me that flashlight," said a man's gruff voice. Two battery-operated lanterns and some candles made small puddles of light as he kneeled at Hixie's side.

The audience babbled in shock. "What happened?... Did she fall off the stage?... It's lucky that Doc's here."

Qwilleran leaned over the doctor's shoulder. "How is she?"

"She can be moved. I'll drive her to the hospital." He jangled his keys. "Will someone bring my car around?"

While the others milled about anxiously, two men linked arms to form a chair lift and carry Hixie up the stairs.

"Hang in there," Qwilleran told her, squeezing her hand.

"C'est la rotten vie," the new vice president said weakly.

He found his way to the furnace room for his flannel shirt and sweater and was packing the suitcases when Nancy Fincher walked up to the platform. "I'm very sorry about the accident," she said solemnly, "but Dr. Herbert will take good care of her. I feel bad about you, too. Your face looked frostbitten while you were talking, and at the end your lips were almost blue."

"I think I'll live," he said, "but I worry about my colleague. Let's go to the Black Bear for a hot drink. We can call the hospital from there."

They rode to the hotel in Qwilleran's car and found the cafe lighted by candles. Gary poured steaming cider heated on a small campstove and inquired, "What will Hixie's accident do to your show?"

Nancy spoke up, with more vigor than usual. "I could help out until she gets better. This is the second time I've seen the show, and I could learn the ropes if you'd tell me what to do."

"But what are your hours at the clinic? We have three shows scheduled back to back, and they're all matinees," Qwilleran pointed out.

"I could change my shift."

"The newspaper will reimburse you for your time, of course."

"They don't need to," she said. "I'd just like to do it. To tell the truth, Mr. Qwilleran, something like this would do me a lot of good. It'll take my mind off what's happened, you know."

He nodded sympathetically. "This is a painful time for you."

"Just having someone to talk to helps a lot. It was such a terrible thing!"

"Do you know if the police are getting anywhere with the investigation?"

"I don't know. They come to the house and ask questions but never tell me anything."

Qwilleran said gently, "You mentioned that your father had changed considerably after your mother died."

"Well, he was drinking more than before, and he stopped going to church on Sunday, although he still helped them when they needed repairs. And I told you about the way he was spending money on field equipment and drain tile. He said it was Mom's insurance, but she didn't have that kind of coverage. Another time he said he'd borrowed money from the bank, but everybody knows they aren't lending much to farmers these days."

"Did you tell the police about his spending spree?"

"No, I didn't," she said guiltily. "Do you think I should have?"

"They know it anyway. In a community like this it's no secret when someone starts making lavish expenditures." He looked at his watch. "We can call the hospital now." He used the bar telephone and reported to Nancy, "She's been transferred to the Pickax hospital. No information on her condition is available."

Qwilleran drove Nancy back to the church, where her truck was parked. "Our next booking is Saturday afternoon in downtown Pickax. We should have a rehearsal."

"Yes, I want to," she said eagerly. "I could stop by your house tomorrow when I drive to town for supplies."

Brrr was still blacked out when he drove away from the church, but Pickax had power. The old-fashioned street lamps on Goodwinter Boulevard glowed through a veil of gently falling snow. Hurrying into the house, he telephoned the Pickax hospital and learned that the patient had been admitted and was resting comfortably. No further information was available.