Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 18 Who Said Cheese

His colleagues in the Green Room were applauding; the crowd in the auditorium was going wild! Derek and Bushy pulled him to his feet and pushed him toward the stage.

Foxy Fred shouted, "Come on out, Mr. Q. Don't be bashful!"

Theatrically, Qwilleran' s timing was perfect; suspense was building. The auctioneer was bawling, "Here's the lucky lady! Come right up, sister. Feeling a little weak in the knees?" Qwilleran tidied his moustache, took a deep breath, and squared his shoulder. Walking onstage, he bowed modestly toward the bright lights and the hundreds of upturned faces, and the sight of the famous moustache increased the uproar. He looked across the stage to see a red-jacketed spotter assisting a little gray-haired woman up the steps.

"Sarah!" he shouted in astonishment.

13

At the newspaper everyone called her Sarah. Now she was giving her name as Sarah Plensdorf. Qwilleran walked across the stage toward the nervous little woman, extending two reassuring hands. Tears of excitement or triumph were streaming down her face. His own reaction was: How could she - or why would she - spend that kind of money on a dinner date with anyone? It must be a practical joke, he decided, financed by the unholy three: Riker, Hixie, and Junior. It was the kind of trick they would play - an expensive joke, but tax-deductible... Well! He would spoil their fun; he would put on a good show! He grasped Ms. Plensdorf's two trembling hands, bowing over them courteously, and mumbling his pleasure that she had won. Then he brought down the house by giving her a bear hug.

The red-jacketed attendant ushered the two of them to a table in the wings, where Pender Wilmot invited them to set a date for their dinner.

"Would Monday evening be too soon?" Ms. Plensdorf asked shyly. "I'm so thrilled, I can hardly wait."

"Monday will be perfect," Qwilleran said. "I'll reserve the best table at the Mill and pick you up at seven o'clock." She lived, he now learned, in Indian Village, a good address, where many singles had upscale apartments.

Returning to the Green Room he reasoned that he could have done worse. At the office Sarah always dressed tastefully and spoke in a cultivated voice. Furthermore, she regularly commented intelligently on his current column and never mentioned his moustache. With the complete makeup and hair styling included in the package, she would be a presentable dinner date. Besides, it was all for a charitable cause. He was, in fact, glad that Sarah Plensdorf had edged Danielle Carmichael out of the running.

Back at the barn he wasted no time in phoning Polly to report the news.

"Sarah Plensdorf! What a surprise!" she exclaimed. "Well, I'm glad she won you, Qwill. She's a very sweet person."

"I know her only as office manager at the paper, and she seems to bring efficiency and a pleasant manner to the job. What I wonder is: Can she afford fifteen hundred dollars?

"I'm sure she can. She donates generously to the library. The Plensdorfs made their fortune in lumbering in the early days, and I imagine she inherited a handsome amount."

"I see," Qwilleran said. "Do you know anything about her personal interests?"

"Only that she collects buttons."

"Buttons!" he repeated in disbelief. "Did I hear right?"

"Well, yes. Didn't you see her collection in the library display case last year? It was featured in your paper, too."

"I didn't see the display, and I didn't read the feature!" he declared defiantly.

"When are you taking her to dinner?"

"Monday night."

"If you want to bone up on buttons before then, you'll find one or two books on the subject at the library."

"Thank you for the suggestion, but... no thanks. I'll wing it."

Early rising was not a Qwilleran habit, but on Sunday morning he left the barn at seven-thirty and drove toward Kennebeck. The wooded hill south of the town was lined with cars, vans, and pickups on both shoulders. Those who had arrived early for a good vantage point were having tailgate breakfasts. By eight-thirty their cameras were at the ready.

First, a sheriff's car came slowly over the crest of the hill and started down the long gentle slope, followed by more than a hundred elegantly lightweight cycles with helmeted riders crouched over the handlebars. Qwilleran hoped he would not see Lenny's green jersey with number 19 on the back. There was a burst of applause for the gold and bronze medalists when they passed, but the silver medalist was nowhere in sight. The PPD had successfully grounded him; he might even be on his way to Duluth.

The ride was a joyful sight-until a rifle shot rang out. The crowd became suddenly silent. A second shot; was heard, and parents pushed their children into their vehicles. "Just a rabbit hunter," someone yelled. Still, the motorcycle escort talked into a cellular phone, and the sheriff's car returned.

Qwilleran thought, Everyone's edgy. All their lives they've been used to hearing hunters' rifle shots. What a difference a homicide makes!