Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 18 Who Said Cheese

"Don't bet on it," he said. "I'm just picking these up for a friend." It was one of the impromptu prevarications that he had developed into an art.

By that time the Tuesday edition of the paper was on the street, and he read his ad. Within a few hours the entire county would be talking about it:

$10,000 REWARD for information leading to the recovery of the late Iris Cobb's personal recipe book, missing since her death.

Confidentiality guaranteed. Write to P.O.

Box 1362, Pickax City.

When Qwilleran returned to the barn, the cleaning crew had gone and there was not a cat hair or mite of dust to be seen. He climbed the ramp to the top level and opened the door to the loft apartment. "Okay, you can come out and start shedding," he said.

In the kitchen he tested the progress of the thawing turkey, and before he could close the door, Koko executed a grand jet‚ over the bar and landed in the refrigerator with the bird.

"Out!" Qwilleran yelled, dragging him from the refrigerator and slamming it shut. The cat howled as if his tail had been caught in the door. "Don't overreact, you slyboots! Cats are supposed to be known for their patience."

Koko went slinking away, licking his wounded feline ego.

Qwilleran dressed for the cheese-tasting in dinner jacket and black tie, with a rare set of black studs in his shirt-front. They were from India, inlaid with silver and gold-a gift from Polly. Appraising himself in the full-length mirror, he had to admit that he looked good in evening clothes.

It was dark when the jitneys started delivering the well-dressed guests, and the exterior lights transformed the barn into an enchanted castle. Indoors, mysterious illumination from hidden sources dramatized the balconies and overhead beams, the white fireplace cube and its soaring white stacks, the contemporary tapestries, and the clean-cut modern furniture. Add to that the glamor of beaded dinner dresses, the courtliness of men in evening wear, and the bonhomie of such an occasion; it had all the ingredients of a magical evening, one never to be forgotten in Pickax, for more reasons than one.

John Bushland was on hand with a camcorder, the idea being to sell videos of the festivities and raise an extra thousand or two for a good cause. Although distinguished guests received ample coverage, the Siamese received more than their share of footage. They sat on the fireplace cube, watching in an attitude of wonder. Later they would sail to the floor like flying squirrels, Koko on the trail of cheese crumbs and Yum Yum on the lookout for shoelaces. As the proliferating number of feet endangered her tail, she fled to the first balcony and watched from the railing.

Among those present were the Rikers, Lanspeaks, and Wilmots; the mayor in his red paisley cummerbund; Don Exbridge with his new wife and his former wife; and the new banker with the flashy Danielle. If one wanted to count, there were three attorneys, four doctors, two accountants, one judge, and five public officials coming up for re-election. One of them was the cranky but popular Amanda Goodwinter, running again for city council and wearing a dinner dress she had worn for thirty years.

The focus of attention was the dinner table, with its silver punch bowls and lighted candles. Flanking it were the two white-skirted buffets, each with eight cheese platters and a large wheel of Cheddar. Jerry Sip and Jack Nibble presided at the buffets, assisted by college students looking professional in white duck coats.

Jack Nibble was heard to say, "We have three blues on the cheese table. Try all three and compare; it's the only way to learn. The one from France is crumbly; the Italian is spreadable; the one from England slices well."

And Dr. Prelligate replied, "Do I detect nuances in your observation?"

"Anyway you eat it," said Amanda Goodwinter, "it's still moldy cheese."

Then Jerry Sip said, "If you like a rich, creamy cheese with superb flavor, try the double-cream Brie."

"Yow!" came an endorsement from the floor.

Amanda said, "That cat and yours truly are the only ones here who tell it like it is!"

Pender Wilmot, who had cats of his own, said, "They all know the word 'cream' when they hear it."

"I have it on good authority," said Big Mac, "that Qwill feeds his on caviar and escargots. Too bad he can't take them as dependents."

"They're so elegant!" Dr. Diane enthused. "We have to dress up for special occasions, but Siamese always look formally attired." She gazed up at Yum Yum on the balcony railing, and the little female turned her head this way and that to show off her left and right profiles. "They're also vain!"

Not all the conversation was about cats and cheese. There were speculations about the bombing, the murder, and the $10,000 reward. Riker pulled Qwilleran aside and demanded, "Did you run that ad? You're crazy! Who's going to payoff?"