Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 15 Who Went Into the Closet

"I talked to Betty and Claude and wrote it all down," Celia said. "There's something called 'bearer bonds' that would be good for me, because my heirs could cash them easily if anything happened to me. Also there are some private boxes in the office safe, and I can have one for the bonds and any cash I don't want to put in the bank. If I win at the dog races, you see, there's a way of collecting without having to report it. They have an agent at the track."

"Beautiful!" Qwilleran murmured. "

"Clayton flies in tomorrow, and I'll explain Operation Greenback in the car, driving in from the airport, I can hardly wait to see Wrigley!"

"Be sure to stress the need for secrecy," Qwilleran reminded her. "Tell Clayton we're investigating financial fraud, and the victim may have had fears or suspicions that she confided to Mr. Crocus."

"Don't worry. Clayton is a regular bloodhound. If we find out anything, is it okay to call you during the holidays?"

"Of course. Have a merry Christmas, Celia."

"Same to you, chief."

As soon as Qwilleran hung up, Koko walked across the desk and faced him eyeball to eyeball, delivering a trumpetlike "Yow-w-w!" that pained the aural and olfactory senses.

"What's your problem?" Qwilleran asked. In answer, the cat knocked a pen to the floor and bit the shade of the desklamp, then raced around the room - over the furniture, up on the bookshelves, into the closet and out again, all the while uttering a rumbling growl.

When Koko staged a catfit, it was a sure sign that Qwilleran was in the doghouse. "Oh-oh! I goofed!" he said, slapping his forehead. He had told Celia she could phone during the holidays; she would drive across town through dense traffic - just to call him - and he would be in Purple Point. He had been unforgivably thoughtless.

Koko had calmed down and was grooming the fur on his underside, and Qwilleran was faced with the problem of calling her on a phone that she insisted was bugged. He gave her an hour to drive back to the park before calling her mobile home. She was surprised to hear his voice.

In a tone of exaggerated jollity he said, "Just wanted to wish you a merry Christmas before I leave town for the weekend. I'll be gone for three days."

"Oh," she said, unsure how to respond. "Where are you going, Mr. Qwilleran?"

"To a Christmas Eve wedding out of town. I won't be back home until Monday evening."

"Oh... Who's getting married?"

"My boss."

"That's nice. Give him my congratulations."

"I'll do that."

"Will it be a big wedding?"

"No, just a small one. It's a second marriage for both of them. So... you and Clayton have a happy holiday,

Celia."

"Same to you... uh... Mr. Qwilleran."

Hanging up the phone, he was sure she had got the message, and he complimented himself on handling well. He turned to say to Koko, "Thank you, old boy, for drawing it to my attention." But Koko wasn't there. He was in the closet sitting in the safe.

On the morning of December 24 Qwilleran packed his rented formal wear for the wedding in Purple Point, all the while pondering the Euphonia Gage swindle. It was now clear to him what had happened to her money. Whether or not Clayton could coax anything out of Mr. Crocus, Qwilleran believed he had a good case to present to Pender Wilmot.

He called the attorney's office, and a machine informed him they would be closed until Monday. The Wilmots were now living in the fashionable suburb West Middle Hummock, and he tried their residence. A childish voice answered, and he said, "May I speak to your father?"

"He isn't here. He went to a meeting. They have some lunch and sing a song and tell jokes. What do you want him for?"

"It's a business matter, Timmie."

"D'you want a divorce? Do you want to sue somebody?" the boy asked helpfully.

"Nothing like that," said Qwilleran, fascinated by the initiative of the embryo lawyer. "What else does he do besides divorces and lawsuits?"

"He writes wills. He wrote my will, and I signed it. I'm leaving my trains to my sister and all my wheels to my cousins and all my videos to the school."

"Well, have your father call me, Timmie, if he gets home before three o'clock. My name is Qwilleran."

"Wait till I get a pencil." There was a long wait before he returned to the line. "What's your name?"

"Qwilleran. I'll spell it for you. Q-w-i-I-I-e-r-a-n."

"Q?"

"That's right. Do you know how to make a Q?... Then

W..."

"W?" asked Timmie.

"That's right. Q... W... I... Have you got that? Then double-L..."

"Another W?" Timmie asked.

A woman's voice interrupted. "Timmie, your lunch is ready... Hello? This is Mrs. Wilmot. May I help you?"

"This is Jim Qwilleran, and I'd like Pender to call me if he gets home before three. I was in the process of leaving a message with his law clerk."

"Pender is having lunch with the Boosters, and then they're delivering Christmas baskets, but we'll see you at the wedding tonight."

"Perfect! I'll speak with him there."

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