Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 18 Who Said Cheese

"In the house." He jerked his head toward the brick mansion.

"He evidently did something that frightened or upset the bees."

Aubrey shrugged shoulders that seemed weighted by a heavy burden.

"I wish I could think of something to say or do that would help you, Aubrey. You must keep up your spirit. Go to see the old man in the hospital; do your job at the turkey farm; take care of your bees. It takes time to recover from the shock of a tragedy like this. Keep busy. Face one day at a time." While he was babbling platitudes, he was thinking about a recent morning at Lois's when the bombing was mentioned, and the sensitive young man said, "Somebody was killed." Then he rushed from the restaurant without finishing his pancakes. Now a longtime friend had been killed - and by his own bees, compounding the anguish. If bees died after stinging, did it mean that Aubrey had lost much of his swarm? He was a lonely person who seemed to yearn for a friend. He liked Lois because she was friendly; Gary at the Black Bear was friendly; his bees were his friends. Taking that thought as a cue, Qwilleran said, "At a time like this, it helps to talk to a friend, Aubrey. I want you to think of me as a friend and call me if I can help... Here's my phone number." The sincerity of Qwilleran's attitude said as much as his words.

Aubrey took the card and nodded, while drawing his sleeve across his face again. Then he surprised Qwilleran by following him to his car. "The police were here," he said anxiously.

"That's standard procedure in the case of accidental death. The police and the ambulance crew and the medical examiner are required to respond. What did the police say?"

"They kept asking about the bees. Could they arrest me for what my bees did?"

"Of course not! Cops always ask a lot of questions. They may come back and ask some more. Just answer them truthfully without going into a long-winded explanation. If they give you a hard time, let me know."

On the way home, Qwilleran frequently tamped his moustache with his fist. Instinct, and a sensation on his upper lip, told him there was more to this story than appeared on the surface. Furthermore, Koko had been agitated all weekend, a sure sign that he was trying to communicate. For one thing, he kept knocking A Taste of Honey off the bookshelf.

From the desolation of blighted Black Creek, Qwilleran drove to West Middle Hummock, where fine estates nestled among rolling hills and winding roads. The Lanspeaks lived there. So did the Wilmots. Elaine Fetter had suggested Sunday afternoon for the mushroom interview because her weekdays were consumed by volunteer work. In preparation he had consulted the encyclopedia and had learned that the edible fungus is a sporophore consisting largely of water and having a curious reproductive system - what they called the sexuality of the mushroom.

Although he was no gardener, he knew that one could plant a radish and get a radish, but there was something murkily mysterious about the propagation of mushrooms.

Mrs. Fetter specialized in shiitake, which she pronounced shee-tock-ee. The Japanese word with a double-i would confuse the proofreaders at the Something. After several years they were still uncomfortable with the QW in his name.

The Fetter residence was an old farmhouse on which money had been lavished, with open decks and ramps, giving it a contemporary look. The woman who greeted him was the same statuesque, self-assured, well-groomed shopper who had suggested short-grain rice at Toodle's Market.

"Do come in and let us start with a cup of tea in the keeping room," she said. She led the way through spacious rooms furnished with antique pine and cherry - to a large kitchen with a six-burner range, a bank of ovens, and shelves filled with cookbooks. Separated from the cooking center by an iron railing was an area with a fireplace and Windsor chairs around a trestle table. The railing looked like the missing section of the Limburger fence. Qwilleran said, "This would make a spectacular feature for our new food page. John Bushland could take photos, if you'd permit it. Did you have a professional designer?"

"No, this is all my own idea, although Amanda's studio ordered a few things for me. I call this the nerve center of the house. I spend my mornings here, testing recipes and experimenting with new dishes. I'm writing a cookbook, you see, in addition to supervising the one for the Friends of the Library."

He set up his tape recorder, with her consent, and then asked, "Could you describe briefly the procedure in growing shiitake?"

"Of course! First you find a young healthy oak tree and cut it down after the leaves begin to fall and before it leafs out in spring. It should be four to six inches in diameter, with just the right thickness of bark."

"How thick is the right thickness? Already this sounds somewhat esoteric."