THE CAT WHO SAW STARS_

Oak Street was in turmoil. Frightened customers and workers streamed from the various stores and offices and huddled in the middle of the street, not knowing what had happened or where to run. On Main Street, half a block away, sirens were wailing and emergency vehicles with flashing blue lights were speeding eastward. From somewhere came an amplified voice of authority: “Evacuate all buildings! Police order! Evacuate all buildings!” The honking of medical and fire fighting equipment added to the anxiety on Oak Street.

Then there were shouts of “Look! Look!” among the evacuees, and fingers pointed to the east where a cloud of dust or smoke billowed upward.

Qwilleran made a dash for Main Street with a double purpose: to identify the nature of the disaster and to phone the newspaper. He found official vehicles turning into Sandpit Road, while scores of individuals fled away from the Great Dune Motel and surrounding establishments. Yellow tape defining danger zones was stretched in all directions. He showed his press card to a deputy guarding the entry.

“Sorry, Mr. Q,” she said. “Security orders.”

“Is it an earthquake?”

“Sinkhole … Step aside, please.” A sheriff’s car with a dog cage in the backseat drove through.

Among the many flustered persons swarming up to Main Street was the antique dealer, and Qwilleran shouted, “Arnold! Where is it? Where’s sinkhole?”

“Back of the restaurant! Huge cave-in! Cars swallowed up!

At the same time the earth rumbled like thunder, and the east end of the Great Dune crumbled, engulfing the rear of Owen’s Place. Giant trees in full leaf, with enormous trunks and root systems, came tumbling end-over-end.

Qwilleran ran to his van and called the newspaper. Thank God, he thought, that the restaurant was closed! Then the question struck him: Where was Ernie?

In the milling crowd he spotted Derek, head and shoulders above the rest. He yelled, “Derek! Was she in the RV?”

“I’m positive! I told the police! They took an S-and-R dog in!” He pushed his way through the crowd to Qwilleran’s side.

“Was anyone working in the kitchen when you left?”

“The prep cook and the dishwasher. But I’m sure they’d get out when the pavement caved in, or the building began to shake… Ernie, though, went to the RV to plot the dinner procedure.” Derek’s face was pale and drawn. “The dog will find her, dead or alive. I wish I could be optimistic, but I’ve got this gut feeling that she’s gone.”

Qwilleran stroked his moustache with a heavy hand. “Let’s go into the hotel for a cup of coffee.”

In the coffee shop they sat in a dark booth instead of a sunny window overlooking the harbor; it seemed more appropriate. They sat weighted with silence for a while. Qwilleran was thinking about Mildred’s rune stones and her prediction of disaster. Then he thought about Derek’s loss. The young man admired Ernie tremendously, and they had developed a rapport. He had also lost a good position that would launch him on a serious career.

Finally Derek said, “I wish I’d taken a picture of Ernie in her chef’s toque and that tunic with buttons on the side. It was neat! … She was so professional … I’m the only one in town who got to know her. I thought she was swell. So did the kitchen staff.”

“Did she talk about her training?”

“Yeah. I asked her. She had two years at a good culinary institute. What a curriculum! Besides basic cooking she got to study baking and pastry arts, international cuisine, and nutrition. There were courses like knife skills, menu-planning, wine, purchasing, and I don’t know what else. She wasn’t stingy with her know-how either. She liked to teach. Do you know the two most important things in the chef business? Learning to taste, and learning to make a good sauce. That’s what she said, anyway.”

“Were you tempted to get into cooking?” Qwilleran asked.

“Nah. I like being out front, meeting people, and managing the service… Qwill, I can’t believe she’s gone!”

“Let’s not give up hope, Miracles can happen.”

The radio that provided country music and local commercials as background noise for the coffee shop was interrupted by a news bulletin.

“Turn it up!” Qwilleran yelled to the cashier.

“What was thought to be an earthquake in Mooseville this afternoon was the sudden opening of a deep sinkhole behind a restaurant on Sandpit Road, destroying two parked vehicles and causing a major sandslide at the east end of the Great Dune. When it occurred, the restaurant was closed to customers, but it’s not known at this time whether the kitchen staff escaped. Police, fire, and rescue squads are at the scene.”

Qwilleran, summing up what he had heard about the Bowens, was led to ask, “Do you think she really grieved about losing her husband?”

“Well… she went through the motions, but… I don’t know.”

“People grieve in different ways-some only in private, keeping up a brave front in public.”

“Yeah, well, to tell the truth, I didn’t get any good vibes between those two.” Derek jumped up.