THE CAT WHO SAW STARS_

She was right. They came out of the woods in a black cloud. Qwilleran got out of their way and back to the lake porch to wait for the omelettes. The sky was Alice blue (one of Polly’s favorite colors) and the lake was dazzlingly bright. Surely there was no imminent storm. From the kitchen came aromas of melting butter, brewing coffee, sautéeing mushrooms, and toasting muffins. With great feelings of satisfaction, he refigured his reunion with Polly.

She would be pleased with her new vest and would undoubtedly bring him something from Canada: a piece of Inuit sculpture or a CD of French-Canadian jazz. At Owen’s Place she would be delighted to see Derek in a position of responsibility; she had long been convinced of his potential. Arch’s reluctant membership in the knitting club would amuse her, and she would want to know all about the parade, Bushy’s new boat, and the embroidered sampler from Safe Harbor. She would be dismayed by Owen’s unpopularity and shocked by his lacustrine disappearance. (Good word; Polly would like it.)

He would avoid mention of the Suncatcher and Fast Mama; it alarmed her when he took on self-assigned investigations.

When breakfast was served, Qwilleran paraphrased Dickens. “There never was such an omelette!”

“Thank you,” Tess said. “In all modesty, I admit that I make the world’s best, although it’s said that a cook who makes a perfect omelette can’t make anything else. What do you think of the duck eggs? They’re rich, because ducks are amphibious and high in fat content.”

“Why do they figure so prominently in American slang?” he asked. “We have lame ducks, dead ducks, and sitting ducks.”

“Slang is full of edibles,” she said. “We call someone a meatball; the boss is the big cheese; something easy is a piece of cake - “

“Or duck soup.”

After breakfast, when Tess was assembling the promised casserole, Qwilleran went into town for the New York Times and sat on the hotel veranda for a while - to read a little, eavesdrop, and watch the harbor activity. He had a view of the marina office and was somewhat surprised to see a sheriff’s deputy and a state trooper looking at the Suncatcher. If Einstein’s owner had tipped off the authorities about the dog’s behavior, that was good! The police had been dragging their feet, in Qwilleran’s opinion. If an investigation would implicate Ernie in wrongdoing, that was bad! He saw her through Derek’s worshipful eyes; he himself admired her cuisine, and he was inclined to empathize with anyone who was not “one of us.”

Qwilleran returned to the cabin and found Tess on the porch, reading about ravens. He asked, “Do they really say ‘nevermore’ or was that Poe-etic license?”

“For a pun as bad as that,” she retorted, “you have to pay a forfeit.”

“Will you settle for a glass of sangria?”

“I’d love it! And while you’re in the kitchen, would you turn on the oven to preheat? Set it at three-fifty.”

Eventually the casserole went into the oven to bake for forty minutes, and what happened in that brief time was a farce worthy of Feydeau-fast-moving, comic, improbable - and best described by Qwilleran’s own notes in his personal journal:

Sunday, June 14 Beautiful day, although storm predicted. Cats apprehensive. At 1:15 Tess and I are on the lake porch drinking sangria and cranberry juice, respectively. The cats are huddled in a comer. Suddenly they’re alerted. Someone’s approaching on the beach. A young woman in shorts and sunglasses is carrying a large flat package. She starts up our sandladder. I go out to investigate. In a lazy drawl with breathy pauses she says, “Hi, Mr. Q. I brought… your sampler. My uncle… framed it. I’m Janelle from Safe Harbor!” At 1 :25 she’s on the porch, being introduced to Tess. I go to get her a glass of sangria. While in the kitchen I see a red pickup pulling in, and out steps Barb Ogilvie in shorts and sunglasses, carrying another flat package. “I brought your vest,” she says moodily. “Elizabeth said you had to have it today.” I offer her a glass of sangria and take her around to the porch to meet the others. At 1:30 I mix another batch of sangria, while Tess tells them about an old doctor who treated all ailments alike - with a horseradish diet, horseradish poultices, and horseradish inhalants. His patients never died; they just evaporated.

At 1:35 I hear a tooting behind the cabin. It’s an airport rental car, and out steps Polly! In shock, I say, “Your plane isn’t due till tomorrow!” She says sweetly, “I couldn’t wait to get home. I flew in on my broomstick.” I take her around to the porch and introduce her to the three young women. She’s somewhat surprised.

At 1:40 Tess takes the casserole out of the oven. I’m wondering if there’s enough to serve five.

At 1:45 the sun disappears behind cloud cover, and all the dark glasses come off. Barb looks terrible without them; she’s been crying.