Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 18 Who Said Cheese

"Gary, can you honestly see that old geezer in Black Creek plotting a sophisticated insurance scam?"

"Not him. They suspect the property management sharpies in Lockmaster. They run the hotel for him. I have a theory myself. It's common knowledge at the Chamber of Commerce that Lockmaster has been trying to get him to sell. He won't. You know how the Germans are about property. Well! Now that the building is damaged, he'll be willing to sell - at their price."

Qwilleran huffed into his moustache as he reflected that everyone in Moose County considered everyone in Lockmaster to be a crook. Likewise, Lockmaster denizens thought Moose County was populated with hayseeds. Race, color, and creed had nothing to do with this absurd bigotry; it was purely a matter of geography. He said to Gary, "This man wearing a suit and tie - was he swarthy like her?"

"No, he had light skin, reddish hair. They were together the next day, too, and then I think she drove him to catch the Sunday-night shuttle. He checked out around four-thirty-paid his bill with cash. Makes you wonder what he had in his briefcase."

The bearburger arrived with all the trimmings, and Gary changed the subject to the Labor Day Bike Race. "I didn't finish - didn't expect to - but it was fun. Have you heard what's next? The Pedal Club's sponsoring a bike-a-thon called Wheels for Meals. It'll benefit the hot-meal program for shut-ins - our contribution to Explo. Sponsors can pledge anywhere from a dime to a dollar per mile. I figure I'm good for thirty miles. After that, they'll have to cart me away in the sag wagon."

"What's the sag wagon?" Qwilleran asked.

"Just kidding. It's not an ambulance. It's a support vehicle with water, energy drinks, first aid, and racks for disabled bikes. No food. No hitchhiking."

"Okay, I'll sponsor you." Qwilleran signed a green pledge card for a dollar a mile. Then he said, "Do you happen to know Aubrey Scotten?"

"Sure. I knew him in high school. I know all the Scotten brothers. They belong to the Outdoor Club. Aubrey comes in for a burger once in a while. Have you met him?"

"Briefly. I'm supposed to interview him about bee-keeping this afternoon. Do you think he'll make a good subject?"

"Oh, he'll spout off, all right. Most of the time he's laid back, but if he likes you, he won't stop yakking. I don't know how much of it you'll be able to use."

"Can you fill me in on a few things?"

"Such as... ?"

"Is he a reliable authority on beekeeping? Is his honey considered good? Was his hair always snow-white?"

Gary looked uncertain and then decided it was all right to talk to this particular newsman. "Well... about the hair: It happened while he was in the Navy. He had an accident, and his hair turned white overnight."

"What kind of accident?"

"Some kind of foul-up aboard ship, never really explained. Aubrey got clunked on the head and dumped in the ocean and nearly drowned. In fact, he was a goner when they hauled him out, but he came back to life.

Those Scottens are a tough breed. It changed his personality, though."

"In what way?"

"For one thing, he'd been a bully in high school, and now he's a kind-hearted guy who won't swat a fly! For another thing, he used to work in the Scotten fishing fleet; now he's terrified of boats, and the sight of a large body of water gives him the screaming-meemies. The Navy gave him an honorable medical discharge and sent him home... Don't let anyone know I told you all this stuff." Gary poured another cup of coffee for Qwilleran. "But there was a plus! Aubrey turned into some kind of genius. He can repair anything - anything! He was never that way before. He fixed the big refrigerator here and my stereo at home."

Qwilleran's blood pressure was rising; a near-death experience would be more newsworthy than the honey-bee business.

Then Gary said, "Aubrey won't talk about his accident, and neither will his family - especially not to the media. Some scientists wanted to come up here and study his brain, but his brothers put the kibosh on that scheme in a hurry."

For the second time in two days, Qwilleran had seen a good lead turn out to be no-story, so... back to the honeybees!

Surrounded by the devastation of Black Creek, the Limburger mansion loomed like a haunted house. Still, Qwilleran thought as he parked at the curb, it could be renovated to make a striking country inn, given a little imagination and a few million dollars. The exterior brickwork - horizontal, vertical, diagonal and herringbone - was unique. The tall, stately windows, with the exception of the Halloween casualty, had stained-glass transoms or inserts of etched and beveled glass.

On the railing of the veranda the row of stones waited for the patient's return, and the reddish-brown mongrel that had provoked the old man's accident was still hanging around.