The Cat Who Had 60 Whiskers

So, on Saturday morning, he drove to the western part of the county, near the lakeshore, and visited Linguinis’ Party Store. There were quite a few cars in the parking lot. The party store was in a rustic building with a porch running the full width. Indoors, the goods were arranged casually, and the customers were not in a hurry. Some were wandering in and out of a back hall, smiling. It seemed, on investigation, that another homeless pregnant cat had wandered in from the highway and had been given a box and blanket—and had given birth to four minuscule kittens. The smiling customers were putting dollar bills in a pickle jar on the counter for their food, shots, and future expenses.

“Hi, Mr. Q,” said Fredo. “Want to cast your vote for the kittens’ names?…Nick is expecting you!…Marge, ring the vineyard and tell him Qwill is here.”

While waiting for the vintner to come up with his Jeep, Qwilleran accepted compliments from readers, answered questions about Cool Koko’s health and happiness, and generally made friends for theSomething.

As for discovering another two thousand words for the Qwill Pen, however…it was another Good Idea That Didn’t Work. But he heard some provocative comments from Nick that his sister-in-law, Daisy, had brought home from the Manse; they raised questions.

“Fredo and I think she should quit,” he said. “Too much monkey business! Know what I mean? There’s too much money floating around! Do you realize that a punch bowl sold for sixty thousand? What I’m wondering is, where is the sixty thousand?…That young girl who’s supposed to be handling Nathan’s personal accounts has been whispering suspicions to Daisy. See what I mean?”

Qwilleran agreed it was a sticky situation. “As I understand it, the entire property has been given to the county. Somebody should blow the whistle! But who? Let me think about it, Nick.”

“Think fast!”

Qwilleran left the vineyard in the firm belief that Koko’s curiosity about the large cardboard carton in the shed had some connection with Alma Lee; the cat had dropped from the rafters as if trying to frighten her. Then, when Qwilleran arrived at the barn, he found that the black-and-gold catalog had been torn to shreds!

No sane person would consider this evidence. It was coincidence, and yet…stranger things had happened in connection with Koko! What to do?

While he was downtown with his car, Qwilleran stopped at Grandma’s Sweet Shop to pick up ice cream—a gallon of particularly good butter pecan for himself and a quart of vanilla for the Siamese. A real grandmother presided over the cash register in the front, and her grandchildren waited on customers in the rear. Before he could place his order, he saw a waving hand from the seating area (old-fashioned ice-cream tables and chairs of twisted wire). It was Hannah Hawley, wife of Uncle Louie McLeod—with their adopted son, now about nine.

She beckoned to Qwilleran, and as he approached, the young man jumped up and politely added another chair to the table. (This was the waif who had never brushed his teeth or said his prayers when adopted!)

“How’s Koko?” she asked. “I’ll never forget his performance at the KitKat Revue.”

“He really blew his cool, didn’t he? I think he was expressing an opinion of rhinestone collars.”

Qwilleran inquired, “How’s everything on Pleasant Street?” He signaled for a cup of coffee.

“Pleasant,” she said. “We’re casting forCats. Would you like to try out for Old Deuteronomy?”

“That’s about my speed, but if you need a genuine feline, I can supply one.”

“How well we know!” she said. “By the way, the rehearsal pianist we’ve had for years has left town, and we were really worried, but we were able to rent Frankie from Lockmaster.”

After two gulps of coffee, Qwilleran asked, “Would it be naïve to ask who Frankie is—and why he has to be rented?”

“He’s crazy,” said Danny.

“Dear, we don’t use that word,” he was reprimanded. “He’s an eccentric genius. He can sight-read a musical score he has never seen before! Perfectly! But he’d do it for nothing, and people would take advantage of him, so he’s under the management of his family. He’s remarkable.”

“What is the family name?” Qwilleran asked.

“His last name is James, but there are lots of Jameses in Lockmaster—like Goodwinters here. All kinds!” She stopped suddenly and looked at the boy. “Danny, take this money and pay our check at the front counter. Tell Grandma we enjoyed our lunch. And don’t forget to count your change.”

When Danny had left on his important mission, Hannah said in a low voice, “Louie says the Jameses include teachers and preachers, horse breeders, and train robbers. There’s an antique shop that we think is way overpriced. Frankie’s managers seem to be a decent sort. They’re looking out for his well-being, since he seems to lack a sense of money. He doesn’t drive—couldn’t get a license, they say….” Her voice trailed off as Danny returned to the table with the change. “We like Frankie, don’t we, Danny? He has a friendly, outgoing personality—”