Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 18 Who Said Cheese

Milepost 22: First, shiitake; and now Iris's cookbook. What's going on in Madame Fetter's kitchen? Did she pilfer the book from the museum? Or is she a receiver of stolen goods? She must have known it was hot. The museum had appealed for its return, no questions asked.

Milepost 25: Everyone's talking about the reward and P.O. Box 1362. How will Madame Fetter react? Will she have any qualms about an expose? Will she take some sort of action? If she takes the book to the post office to be weighed for postage, those savvy postal clerks will notice that it's local - going to Box 1362 - with no return address. They'll recognize her. They know everyone who's ever bought a stamp.

Milepost 26: Even if she mails it from Lockmaster, it's risky. The Ledger picked up the story of the reward. So maybe she won't try to mail it at all. She could bum it - after copying a few of the recipes. She could plant it in someone else's kitchen and claim the reward herself. Just a thought; she can't be that low. Or someone who's seen the book in her kitchen could squeal, and I'd have to fork over money for information I already have.

Milepost 29: Too bad I didn't take the book myself when I was there. I was lawfully on the premises, and the book is lawfully mine. No crime! And she couldn't accuse me without incriminating herself. I could have Celia sneak it out of the kitchen, but that's burglary; it's not her own property. I can't involve Celia in anything that might blow her cover. She's too valuable to me.

At that point, Qwilleran reached the stone bridge, took a breather, and biked home, arriving just before dusk. After stabling his bike in the carriage house, he walked to the barn on bicycle legs - with bent knees and bouncing gait. In the sea chest he found two deliveries: a Lanspeak Department Store bag and a foil-wrapped brick, slightly warm. The Siamese knew what it was and gave him a clamoring welcome.

"Okay! Okay! Later!" he said, tossing the brick into the refrigerator for security reasons. Then he turned his attention to the Lanspeak bag. Before opening it, he said to himself, Hey, wait a minute; it's too heavy for a silk blouse! It was indeed heavy. It was a thick, black, scuffed, greasy notebook with loose pages.

"Ye gods!" he said aloud. "It's Iris's cookbook!" He rushed to the phone, followed by two demanding cats. "Later! Later!" he shouted at them.

After two rings he heard Celia's voice saying playfully, "Carriage House Inn-on-the-Park. May I help you?"

"I'd like to reserve a table for six for dinner," he said.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Chief. I thought it was - someone else. Did you find my meatloaf?"

"Yes, and we all thank you profusely, but that's not all I found!"

"Were you surprised?"

"That's putting it mildly. I didn't expect you to... help yourself to the evidence."

"I didn't!" she cried defensively. "It was given to me!"

"Well! That's a surprise. Did Mrs. Fetter explain its illegal presence on her bookshelf?"

"No! No! Donald gave it to me! He saw me reading it and said, `Why don't you take that something-something piece of something home and keep it? Mom's not supposed to have it anyway. But don't tell her I gave it to you.' Those aren't his exact words, but that's the idea."

"Well! What can I say? Was that on Monday?"

"Yes, when I went out there with the junior trainee. Sorry I didn't deliver it to you right away. I wanted to copy a few of the recipes. I hope you don't mind."

"Celia, not only do I not object; I'm promoting you to Senior Executive Assistant in charge of Sensitive Investigations."

Her laughter rang out as he said good night. For a while he stared at the phone. He was thinking, If Donald had waited another twenty-four hours, he could have turned in his own mother and collected the reward... although he might have had to split it with her.

He examined the cookbook, oblivious of the caterwauling around him. The black cover was gray with decades of spilled flour; Iris had always boasted of being a sloppy cook. It bulged with loose pages and yellowed newspaper clippings, liberally spotted and smeared. Qwilleran thought he could identify bacon grease, tomato juice, olive oil, chocolate, coffee, and blood. Splashes of liquid had blotted some of the handwriting, which was virtually indecipherable even at its best. He went to his studio and typed a release for the Moose County Something and Lockmaster Ledger:

A missing cookbook, originally owned by

Iris Cobb, has been anonymously returned to its rightful owners, the Klingenschoen

Foundation, which intends to publish it.

The announcement of a $10,000 reward for information leading to its recovery produced no tips or clues, according to a spokesperson for the K Fund. The return of the book was voluntary, and no inquiries will be made.