Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 15 Who Went Into the Closet

"Sure. But if he paid her, what the devil happened to the dough! She couldn't have lost it all at the race track! Or could she?"

"When she decided to bequeath a health spa to the park, Junior, didn't she know her fortune was dwindling? Or did that happen after she wrote her new will?"

"Well, I don't know, but Wilmot hasn't given up yet. He has more possibilities to explore, but it takes time." Qwilleran smoothed his moustache. "More and more I think the operation Down Below is shady - if not downright crepuscular. How about the lawyer who writes cheap wills? He could be in on it. How about the dealer who liquidated Euphonia's treasures? Does anyone know who he is or what he paid for the stuff?"

He could have robbed her blind!"

"Wow!" said Junior. "Maybe I should put a bug in Wilmot's ear."

"Not yet. Wait until I have more evidence." Qwilleran started to leave. "It just might be a well-organized crime ring!"

"Don't go, Qwill. This is getting good!"

"I have an appointment to try on my Santa Clause suit. We'll talk later."

En route to the theatre Qwilleran realized that his attitude toward the Christmas parade was mellowing. He could visualize himself riding in a sleigh behind a horse decked out in jingle bells. Sleighs were often seen on the unsalted streets of Pickax. The experience might make a good topic for his column.

At the K Theatre Carol Lanspeak and the seamstress were waiting for him, and Carol said, "We really appreciate your cooperation in the emergency, Qwill. Larry says he'll treat you to dinner at the Palomino Paddock, if he lives. Try on the pants first."

Qwilleran squeezed into the red breeches. "They're a good length for clam digging," he said.

Mrs. Toddwhistle, who worked on costumes for the Theatre Club, said, "I have some red fabric, and I can add about six inches to the length - also a stirrup to keep them down in your boots."

Carol looked critically at his yellow duck boots. "You should have black. What size do you wear? I'll bring a pair from the store."

The coat was roomy enough for two bed pillows under the belt, although snug through the shoulders and under the arms. The sleeves could be lengthened by adding more fake fur to the cuffs, the women assured him. They seemed to know what they were talking about... Everything would work out just fine!... No problem!... He would make a wonderful Santa!

With that matter settled he applied his attention to the situation in Florida and telephoned Celia Robinson without waiting for the discount rate. "Did you enjoy Thanksgiving, Celia?" he began.

"Oh, yes, it was very nice. About thirty of us went in the bus to a real nice restaurant. We had a reservation. It was buffet."

"Did Mr. Crocus go with you?"

"No, he didn't feel like it. He remembers last Thanksgiving when Mrs. Gage was with us and read a poem. She wrote it herself."

"I promised to send him a book of hers but got sidetracked because of the Big Snow. How does he spell his name?"

"I think it's C-r-o-c-u-s, like the flower."

"Are you sure? It could be K-r-o-k-u-s, you know. What's his first name?"

"Gerard. He has a shirt with GFC embroidered on the pocket. Mrs. Gage gave it to him, and he wears it all the time."

"Hmmm," Qwilleran murmured. Reluctantly he abandoned the long-lost-lover theory. Mr. Crocus was not WBK. "Did you ask him if he'd speak with me about Mrs. Gage?"

"Yes, I did, Mr. Qwilleran, but he said it wouldn't be in good taste to talk to the media about a dear departed friend. I don't feel that way. I'd like to see you write a beautiful article about her, and if there's anything more I can do - "

"You've been a great help, Celia, and - yes, there is more you can do. I believe I've uncovered something in the Park of Pink Sunsets that's a bigger story than Euphonia Gage."

"You don't mean it!" she said excitedly. "Is it something nice?"

Qwilleran cleared his throat and planned his approach before replying. "No, it isn't nice, as you say. I believe there's activity in your community that is highly unethical, if not illegal."

With sudden sharpness she said, "You reporters are always trying to dig up dirt and make trouble! This is a lovely place for retirees like me. Don't call me any more. I don't want to talk to you. You told me you were writing a nice article about Mrs. Gage! I don't want anything more to do with you!" And she slammed the receiver.

"Well! How do you like that?" Qwilleran asked the bookshelves.

"Yow!" said Koko from his reserved seat in the safe. "Did I strike a raw nerve? Celia may be part of the ring - a simple, fun-loving grandmother, mixing with the other residents and singling out the likely victims. Now that she knows we suspect their game, what will she do?"

He thought of phoning Junior. He thought of by-passing Junior and calling Wilmot. Then he decided to wait and see.

The day of the parade was sunny but crisp, and Qwilleran wore his long underwear for the ride in an open sleigh. He assumed it would be a sleigh and not a convertible with the top down.