Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 15 Who Went Into the Closet

The snowy landscape was bright with winter sunshine, and the frozen bay was dotted with the small shanties of ice fishermen. All day the telephone jangled with holiday greetings from distant places, and the dogsled could be seen flying up and down the white canyon. After Christmas dinner - Cornish hen and plum pudding - Polly took a nap and Carol wrote thank-you notes, while Larry tinkered with his new model-building kit.

Later, they walked to an open house at the Exbridge cottage. Nancy Fincher was there, their guest for the weekend. "When are you going to run the article on dog-sledding?" she asked Qwilleran.

"As soon as the race dates are announced."

"Would you like to take a ride tomorrow?"

"I've had a ride!" he said testily.

"But the parade wasn't the real thing."

"It was real enough for me!" He remembered the discomfort of the costume and the horror of climbing the ladder while it ripped at the seams. He also remembered a conversation with Nancy. "What was the date of the parade?" he now asked her.

Her answer was prompt. "November 27."

"Are you sure?"

"I know, because it was my mother's birthday."

Qwilleran's impulse was to telephone Junior immediately, but other guests were demanding his attention. Conversation was animated until someone announced, "It's snowing, you guys! And the wind's rising! It looks like a blizzard's cooking!"

The guests said hasty farewells, and Larry guided his party home through the swirling flakes. Polly said, "I'm thankful we don't have to drive back to Pickax tonight. Crossing the Flats in a blizzard must be a horrendous experience!"

Back at the cottage Larry tuned in the weather forecast: "Snow ending by midnight. High winds continuing, gusting up to sixty miles an hour."

''If there's drifting on the Flats and the highway is buried, we'll be trapped," Carol said cheerfully, "but that's the excitement of weekending on the Point. You may have to stay longer than you intended... Dominoes, anyone?"

The wind howled around the cottage, making Polly nervous, and Carol sent her to bed with aspirin and earplugs. Soon she retired herself, leaving the two men sprawled in front of the fire.

Qwilleran said to Larry, "You manipulate that fireplace damper like a cellist playing Brahms."

"With this kind of wind, you have to know your stuff. Do you use the fireplaces where you're living?"

"With those old chimneys? Not a chance!" Larry said, "I heard about Euphonia's will. Cutting off her own flesh and blood was bad enough, but throwing her fortune away at the racetrack was a crime! To be eighty-eight and suddenly broke must be tough to take. Is that why she ended it all?"

"I don't know," Qwilleran said. "They've had other suicides in the Park of Pink Sunsets."

"The name alone would drive me over the edge," Larry said. "How about a hot drink before we turn in?"

The morning after the blizzard the snowscape was smoothly sculptured by the wind, but the day was bright, and the air was so clear it was possible to hear the churchbells on the mainland.

During breakfast Larry tuned in WPKX, and Wetherby Goode said, "Well, folks, December has been mild, but last night's blizzard made up for lost time. The ice fishermen have lost their shanties. The entire westside of Pickax is blacked out. And the Purple Point Road is blockaded by ten-foot snow drifts. The plows won't be out till Monday morning, because the crews get double-time for Sundays, so you holiday-makers on the Point will have to go on drinking eggnog for another twenty-four hours. Today's forecast: mild temperatures, clear skies, variable winds - " The announcement was interrupted by the telephone.

Carol answered and said, "It's for you, Polly."

"Me?" she said in surprise and apprehension. Conversation at the breakfast table stopped as she talked in the next room. Returning, she looked grave as she said, "Qwill, I think you should take this call. It's Lynette. She's calling from your house."

He jumped up, threw his napkin on the chairseat, and hurried to the phone. "Yes, Lynette. What's the trouble?"

"I'm at your house, Mr. Qwilleran. I stopped to feed the cats on my way to church, but I can't find them! They usually come running for their food. I've searched all the rooms, but the power is off, you know, and it's hard to see inside the closets, even with a flashlight..."

He listened in silence, his mind hurtling from one dire possibility to another.

"But there's something else I should tell you, Mr. Qwilleran, although I don't know if it means anything. When I came over here early last evening, I drove to the carriage house first to feed Bootsie. It was dark, but I had a glimpse of a van parked behind the big house. I didn't remember seeing it before, and when I came downstairs a half hour later, it was gone. I didn't think much about it. Koko and Yum Yum gobbled their food and talked to me - "

"What kind of van?"

"Sort of a delivery van, I think, although I didn't pay that much attention - "