Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 18 Who Said Cheese

"Elaine Fetter phoned a while ago and said she saw you at Toodle's, buying ingredients for meatballs, and you're going to contribute your meatball recipe to the community cookbook! Have you been keeping secrets from me, dear?" she concluded with a mischievously oblique glance.

"Mrs. Fetter is confused. You know and I know, Polly, that I'm a culinary illiterate. The day I take up cooking will be the day the sky falls."

"But you were buying ingredients for meatballs!" she continued with the persistence of a prosecuting attorney. She enjoyed putting him in the hot seat, knowing his ability to wiggle out of any uncomfortable situation.

Qwilleran had to think fast; he did that well, too. "I was picking up groceries for Mrs. Robinson. She makes a special meatball for her cat, and I asked her to make a batch for my two gourmands."

"What makes it so special?"

"I don't know. I had to buy lamb, rice, onion, and lemon."

"That sounds Middle Eastern," Polly said. "I'd love to have her recipe. Could you get it for me?"

The situation was becoming sticky. "I'm afraid she doesn't share recipes. She's... uh... going into catering and wants to have a repertory of exclusive dishes." He congratulated himself on that ingenious fabrication but found it advisable to cover his tracks. He left early. He said he had some writing to do. Within minutes he was phoning Celia Robinson, and there was urgency in his voice.

"What's up, Chief?" she asked eagerly.

"I have a favor to ask, Celia - nothing to do with a criminal investigation."

"Aw shucks!" she said with a merry laugh. "First, a question: Do you ever make meatballs with rice?"

"No, I use bread crumbs."

"If you were to make meatballs with rice, would Wrigley eat them?"

"Oh, sure, but he'd throw up. Rice is something he can't seem to digest."

"I see," Qwilleran said. "Well... if anyone asks you, would you be good enough to say that you make meat- balls with rice for Wrigley? And if anyone requests your.. recipe... Just say no!"

"Okay, Chief. It won't be the first fib I've told for you, and I haven't been struck by lightning yet!"

He hung up with a sense of relief. He was covered. He knew that Polly would mention the meatballs to her assistant, Mrs. Alstock, who would mention them to her dear friend, Celia Robinson. It was one of the complexities of living in a small town. In away, life Down Below was simpler, despite traffic jams, air pollution, and street crime. There was a comfortable anonymity in a city of millions.

His next call was to the police chief at home. "Anything good on the tube tonight, Andy?"

"Nab, I turned it off, and I'm reading your column on Nobodies in today's paper. The trouble is, all the Nobodies in Pickax think they're Somebodies and exempt from paying traffic fines... What's on your mind?"

"The explosion. Was it pretty bad?"

"Everything in a certain radius was blown to bits. That poor girl never knew what hit her."

Qwilleran asked, "Am I correct in thinking room 203 was registered to the mystery woman?"

"Right, and she hasn't been seen since."

Qwilleran paused dramatically before saying, "I spent the afternoon with her."

"What! How come? How did you meet her? What do you know?"

"Why don't you put on your shoes, Andy, and come over for a Scotch?"

In five minutes the police chief drove into the barnyard. He was a tall, husky, impressive figure, even out of uniform, and he was especially impressive when he wore a full Scottish kit and played the bagpipe at weddings and funerals. He walked into the barn with a piper's swagger.

Qwilleran had a tray ready with Scotch and cheese, and Squunk water for himself. As the two men settled into big chairs in the lounge area, the Siamese walked into view with a swagger of their own. Corning close to the coffee table, they sat down with noses on a level with the cheese platter. As the guest raised his glass in a Gaelic toast, the two noses edged closer.

"No!" Qwilleran thundered. Both cats backed off a quarter of an inch and continued to contemplate the forbidden food with half-shut eyes.

"Cocky little devils," Brodie said. "Bet you spoil them rotten."

"Try this cheese, Andy. It's a kind of Swiss from the new Sip 'n' Nibble shop in Stables Row. It's run by two guys from Down Below. They like to be called Jerry Sip and Jack Nibble. Jerry's the wine expert, and Jack knows everything about cheese."

"Gimme a slice. Then tell me how you met that woman."

"It was a weird coincidence. I'd never seen her, but they were talking about her at the paper yesterday and mentioned that she drove a dark blue rental car. So, this afternoon I drove to the cabin on a routine inspection, and there was a dark blue two-door in my parking lot! My car almost reared up on its hind wheels! The woman was sitting on my beach at the foot of the dune, reading a cookbook, so I figured she wasn't dangerous."