Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 15 Who Went Into the Closet

"Donnez-moi. I'm good at remembering faces." Hixie studied the photos carefully. "I think I've seen a couple of these people before. Is it important?"

"It may be. I don't know," he admitted. "Okay, leave them with me, and if I get a noodle, I'll call you."

From the hospital Qwilleran went to the Senior Care Facility to arrange the staging for the Sunday afternoon show. Lisa Compton, in charge of patient activities, showed him the all-purpose room with its rows of long tables.

"They take their meals here," she said, "but we remove the tables for a program like yours. We put the hearing-impaired in the front row and the mumblers in the back."

"What's behind that door?"

"The kitchen."

"Good! I can have a piece of pie between the acts." Everything, in fact, checked out: platform, electric; outlets, two tables, two chairs.

"Cup of coffee?" Lisa asked.

"Thanks, but I've got to go home and rehearse a new partner for the show. Hixie has broken her foot."

"Oh, the poor dear! That can be so painful"

"She doesn't seem to have any discomfort," he said.

"But this is only the beginning. When the shock wears off, the nerve ends start to ache. Ask me! I've been there!"

"Let's not tell Hixie," he said. "I'll see you Sunday afternoon, Lisa."

When he arrived on Goodwinter Boulevard, Nancy's pickup - with its box top and eight barred windows - was already parked in the side drive. He ushered her directly downstairs to the ballroom, where the stage was set for rehearsal.

"I remember this room when I was a little girl," she said. "Mrs. Gage had dozens of little gold chairs around the walls. I loved those little chairs and always wished she'd give me one for Christmas instead of a book. I wonder what happened to them."

"Who knows?" he remarked, in a hurry to get down to business. He explained the code on the cuecard and the operation of the equipment. Then they rehearsed the timing and ended with a complete run-through.

"Perfect," Qwilleran said.

He packed the gear in preparation for the forthcoming performance and thanked his new engineer for coming to rehearse, but she showed no signs of leaving. "All of this is so exciting for me," she said. "And it's funny, Mr. Qwilleran - when I first met you I was tongue-tied because you were so important and so rich and everything, and I thought your moustache was - well - frightening, but now I feel very comfort- able with you."

"Good," he said with an offhand inflection.

"It's because you listen. Most men don't listen to women when they talk - not really."

"I'm a journalist. Listening is what we do." His defenses were up. As a millionaire bachelor he had learned to dodge. Briskly he said, "Shall we wind up this session with a quick glass of cider in the library?"

She dropped with familiar ease into the scooped-out library sofa, displacing the Siamese, who walked stiffly from the room, and Qwilleran feared she was feeling too comfortable. Now that she had his therapeutic ear to talk into, she talked - and talked - about living in Alaska, potato farming, breeding dogs, working for a vet. Dinnertime approached, and he had had no real food since breakfast. Under other circumstances he might have invited such a guest out to dinner, but if the Klingenschoen heir were seen dining with a young woman half his age - the daughter of a murdered man whose body had been found on Klingenschoen property - the Pickax gossips would put two and two together and get the national debt.

The Siamese were still absent and unnaturally quiet, even though it was past their feeding time. Suddenly eight thundering paws galloped past the library door toward the entrance.

"What was that?" she asked.

"The cats are trying to remind me it's their dinner- time," he replied, looking at his watch.

"You should hear my dogs at feeding time! Go ahead and feed them if you want to." Nancy was obviously too comfortable to move.

The pelting paws rushed past again, like a herd of wild horses as they charged toward the kitchen. Next there was a frenzy of scuffling, thwacking, and snarling that brought Qwilleran and his guest to the scene in time for a shattering of glass.

"The coffee jar!" he shouted. Coffee beans and broken glass were everywhere, and the Siamese were on top of the refrigerator, looking down on the devastation with bemused detachment.

"I'll help you clean up," Nancy offered. "Don't cut yourself."

"No! No! Thanks, but... let me cope with this. I'll see you Saturday afternoon. You'll have to excuse me now."

As she drove away he swept up the mess, wondering whether they simply wanted their dinner or were trying to get rid of the dog-handler. They always knew how to get what they wanted, and sometimes they merely wanted to be helpful.

While he was scrambling around the kitchen floor on his hands and knees, Hixie phoned and said excitedly, "I'm checking out of the hospital and moving in with Dr. Herbert's mother! He says she was born in Paris. I can brush up on my French!"

"Glad you're getting out before the Big Snow," he said.