Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 18 Who Said Cheese

Suddenly, in one impulsive move, he swung his feet off the ottoman and went to the telephone desk. He called Hixie Rice at her apartment. There was no answer. He left a message on the machine.

Two minutes later she called back. "Sorry, Qwill. I've been avoiding someone. What's on your mind? How was your dinner date? What did you two talk about?"

"We talked about cats, dogs, baseball, buttons, pasties, and Iris Cobb, and that's why I'm calling you. I need to enlist your cooperation in a small, private, legal, innocuous intrigue."

"That's my specialty," she said. "I want to run an ad in tomorrow's paper, if it isn't too late, but I must not be identified with it in any way. Can you handle that?"

"How big an ad?"

"Whatever it takes to be seen across the room: bold headline, sparse copy, plenty of white space."

"What's the message? Can you give it to me on the phone? I don't think I'm bugged."

He dictated about twenty words.

"Hmmm... interesting!" she said. "Do you expect results?"

"I don't need results," he told her. "This is a bluff. Stay tuned."

16

The cheese-tasting was scheduled for Tuesday evening, and Qwilleran spent much of the day hanging out downtown. The reason was simple. The redoubtable Mrs. Fulgrove was coming to clean the main floor. The amiable Mr. O'Dell would do the floors and vacuum the furniture, but she would dust, scrub, polish, and complain - about public morals, politicians, the younger generation, popular music, and the cat hair, which she considered a Siamese conspiracy to make her work harder. The white-haired Pat O'Dell, on the other hand, usually had something constructive to say in his pleasing Irish brogue.

"Faith, an' it's a foine woman livin' upstairs o'er the garage," he said on this occasion.

"Yes, Mrs. Robinson is a cheerful and energetic soul," Qwilleran agreed.

"Her windows are in need of washin', I'm thinkin', what with so many cars in the parkin' lot and the exhaust leavin' a scum on the glass."

"Make arrangements with her to clean them, Mr. O'Dell, and send the bill to me." Celia had already remarked about the considerate and good-natured maintenance man; she thought she might invite him to dinner some evening and give him a good Irish stew.

So Qwilleran locked the Siamese in their loft apartment and made his getaway before Mrs. Fulgrove loomed on the scene. First, he stopped at the library to see if they had any books on button collecting, in case he should want to write a column on the hobby at some future date. They did. He leafed through one of them and was pleased to find his cat-button pictured and described as a valuable collectible.

Then he went to breakfast at the Scottish Bakery: scones, clotted cream, and currant jam served by a bonnie lassie wearing a plaid apron. The coffee was not bad, either.

Next he visited the health food store, whose bearded proprietor was the husband of the Something's new feature editor. "Welcome to Pickax!" Qwilleran said. "We're always glad to give asylum to defectors from Lockmaster."

"Thank you. We like it here, although the bombing and the murder shook us up, I don't mind telling you."

"It's not a local crime wave, I assure you. It's a spillover from Down Below." Qwilleran patted his moustache with confidence. "Okay if I just browse around?"

He wandered among the vitamin bottles with strange names, trays of muffins with unusual ingredients, meatless sandwiches, and fruit and vegetables without the waxed finish that made them look so good at Toodle's Market. Then there were the snacks. What looked like a chocolate chip cookie had no butter, no sugar, and no chocolate. What looked like a potato chip was made without fat, salt, or potato.

Qwilleran said, "I have a friend who'll be a good customer of yours. Tell me honestly, do your kids eat this stuff?"

"Oh, sure! Our family goes in for alternatives. Our kids were brought up that way, and they think junk food is weird."

From there Qwilleran walked to the police station to inquire about Lenny Inchpot. The witness to the bombing had been found and put on a plane to Duluth, where he would stay with his aunt for a while.

At the Chamber of Commerce across the street, he found them making plans for a Lois Inchpot Day in Pickax, in an effort to lure her back to town and reopen her lunchroom. The mayor would issue a proclamation to that effect, and loyal customers were painting the walls and ceiling, water-stained from the last roof leak.

Then it was time for a bowl of soup at the Spoonery. The day's specials were bouillabaisse, roasted peanut with garlic, sausage and white bean, and chicken with rice and dill. Qwilleran played safe with the bean soup.

After that he visited the Kitchen Boutique to buy a thermometer, basting syringe, and roaster with rack. He was going to roast that blasted bird if it was the last thing he ever did in his life.

Triumphantly, Sharon said, "Mother and I knew you'd break down and start cooking - someday."