Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 18 Who Said Cheese

"Hello, Mr. Q," said a young clerk with long silky hair and large blue eyes. "Daisies again? Or would you like mums for a change?"

"Mrs. Duncan has an overriding passion for daisies and unmitigated scorn for mums," he said sternly. "Why are you pushing mums? Did your boss buy too many? Or does he get a bigger markup on mums?"

She giggled. "Oh, Mr. Q, you're so funny. Most people like mums because they last longer, and we have a new color." She showed him a bouquet of dark red. "It's called vintage burgundy."

"It looks like dried blood," he said. "Just give me a bunch of yellow daisies without that wispy stuff that sheds all over the floor."

"You don't want any statice?" she asked in disbelief. "No statice, no ribbon bows, no balloons." Then, having asserted himself successfully, he relented and said in a genial tone, "You had some excitement across the street yesterday."

She rolled her expressive blue eyes. "I was paralyzed with fright! I thought it was an earthquake. My boss was in the back room working on a funeral, and he was as scared as I was." She added in a whisper, although there was no one else in the shop, "The police have been here, asking questions. The man that planted the bomb bought some flowers from us."

"Did you see him?"

"No. I was in the back room working on a wedding. Mr. Pickett waited on him. He bought mums in that new color."

"Well, tell your boss to stock up on vintage burgundy. There'll be a run on it when the public discovers it was the bomber's choice. Don't ask me why. It's some kind of wacky mass hysteria."

Somewhat behind schedule - because of the spilled honey and the unplanned meetings on Main Street and the purchase of the antiques - Qwilleran hastily chopped corned beef for the Siamese. The salty meat seemed to give them a special thrill. Then they inspected the cheese basket on the coffee table, its open weave making a crisp lineal pattern on the white surface.

"We will not chew this basket!" Qwilleran warned them. "It belonged to Mrs. Cobb. You remember Mrs. Cobb. She used to make meatloaf for you. Her basket deserves your respect."

Koko sniffed it and walked away with the bored attitude of a cat who has sniffed better baskets in his time. Yum Yum tried it on for size, however, and found it a perfect fit. She curled into it with her chin resting on the rim, a picture of contentment.

Qwilleran drove to Gingerbread Alley and found Polly dressed for her first walk but apprehensive. "I know it's silly to feel this way, but I do," she said apologetically.

"One turn around the block, and you'll be ready for another," he predicted. He gave her the flowers.

"Daisies!" she cried. "They're the smiley faces of nature! Looking at them always makes me happy. Thank you, dear." She deposited them casually into a square, squat vase of thick green glass that showed off the crisscrossed stems. "Daisies arrange themselves. One should never fuss with them."

Qwilleran noted a large pot of mums in the entrance hall. "Unusual color," he remarked.

"It's called vintage burgundy. Dr. Prelligate sent them. Wasn't that a thoughtful gesture?"

He huffed into his moustache. Previously, Polly had thought the man good-looking, charming, and intellectual; now he was thoughtful as well. Obviously he was trying to keep Polly from moving out of her on-campus apartment-all the more reason why she should relocate in Indian Village.

They walked down the street slowly, hand-in-hand. She said, "You know the neighbors will be watching and circulating rumors. In Pickax hand-holding in public is tantamount to announcing one's engagement."

"Good!" Qwilleran said. "That'll give them something else to think about besides the hotel bombing." He did most of the talking as she concentrated on her breathing and posture. He described his interview with Aubrey and the mysteries of honey production. "The poet hit the nail on the head when he wrote about the murmuring of innumerable bees."

"That was Tennyson," Polly said. "Perfect example of onomatopoeia."

"I won a fourth-grade spelling bee with that word once," he said. "They gave me a dictionary as a prize. I would have preferred a book about baseball."

"How are Koko and Yum Yum?"

"They're fine. I'm reading Greek drama to them - Aristophanes right now. They like The Birds... For sport Koko and I play Blink. We stare at each other, and the first one to blink pays a forfeit. He always wins, and I give him a toothful of cheese."

"Bootsie won't look me in the eye," Polly said. "He's very loving, but eye contact disturbs him."

The excursion was more therapeutic than social, and Polly was glad to return to her chair in the Victorian parlor. Lynette was busy in the kitchen, preparing a spaghetti dinner for the new assistant pastor of their church. Qwilleran was invited to make a fourth, but he was meeting Dwight Somers at Tipsy's Tavern.