The Cat Who Smelled a Rat_txt

Qwilleran showed them two campaign ads: a photo of a handsome man with the slogan Reelect Mayor Blythe!, and a caricature of a witch with the slogan We’d Rather Have Amanda!

Misty clapped her hands, and Theo said, “I hope it’s not too late to register to vote.”

The doorbell rang. Chef Wingo was sending over a paella-a dish of chicken, rice, shrimp, and the Spanish sausage called chorizo. During dinner, conversation touched on many topics.

Barry said that the country club was giving a reception for the two doctors and their wives. Theo’s partner was an avid golfer.

Theo said that he and Misty preferred curling as a sport. “I discovered it while in med school in Michigan. We want to join the curling club.”

Misty remarked about the spectacular murals in the Pickax post office, and Qwilleran explained, “They were painted during the Great Depression, as part of the federal works project, depicting Moose County’s history: mining, lumbering, quarrying, shipbuilding, and farming.”

Barry was amazed at the huge number of volunteers signing up for the Citizens’ Fire Watch. An editorial in the Something had said, “The blood of pioneers still flows in the veins of their descendants, giving them a sense of community responsibility.”

Misty said that the art center had invited her to give a demonstration lecture on batik painting.

“I have one of your wall hangings,” Qwilleran told her. “Fran Brodie sent it over to give the living room a splash of color.”

“Are they robins? I did two hangings on that theme, titled Two Robins with Worm’ and Two Robins without Worm.’ Which do you have?”

“With,” he said.

“That’s my favorite. It’s more dynamic.”

After one of Chef Wingo’s simple desserts-melon cubes with lime sorbet and mango sauce-the party broke up in a flurry of handshakes and pleasant words, and Qwilleran hurried home for a dish of ice cream with chocolate sauce and redskin peanuts.

As he unlocked the front door he could hear the urgent baritone yowling in the foyer. Koko was telling him that there was a message on the answering machine.

It was from Rhoda Tibbitt. “Homer and I were shocked to hear about the bookstore, Qwill. Eddington had told us he was leaving it to you. Do you have time to drop in for tea tomorrow afternoon? We have some information that Homer thinks you ought to know.”

It was too late to return the call. The Tibbitts retired at eight o’clock.

There was another message, too. Polly’s voice said, “Are you free tomorrow evening? Maggie wants us to have dinner with her. Dr. Zoller will be there. She apologizes for the short notice. Her housekeeper, by the way, is an excellent cook.” Qwilleran was available. He had always wanted to meet Dr. Zoller… and he was always interested in a free dinner.

seven

How did Winston escape from the doomed building? Unanswered questions always irked Qwilleran, and he spent a restless night. At nine A.M., when Roger MacGillivray would be reporting for work, he phoned the photo lab at the Something.

“Roger, compliments on your morning-after photo in yesterday’s paper. It was not only graphic but heartbreaking!”

“Gee, thanks, Qwill. How’d you like Winston’s portrait? Ironically I got that shot the day before the explosion, for the new adopt-a-pet feature.”

“That’s one reason I’m calling. When you went to the back door, did Winston make any attempt to get out of the store?”

“If he had, I would’ve run a mile. You know how I am about cats. No, in fact he didn’t make an appearance for a while. It turned out he was in his sandbox.”

“Well, your broadside shot of him was perfect-from his bold whiskers to his flamboyant tail.”

“Yeah, I was glad to see they ran it three columns.”

Qwilleran said, “He’s already been adopted by a couple living on Pleasant Street.”

“Who?”

“The Bethunes.”

“Sure. I know their son. Swell people … Thanks for calling. I’ve gotta run. There’s a nine-thirty on the board.”

Qwilleran’s next call went to the law office, where he talked to Cynthia. “Have you heard that Winston has a new home?”

“I’m so glad,” she said. “He’s a gorgeous cat! If I had a place of my own, I would’ve adopted him in a minute.”

“I take it that you two got along.”

“I only knew he was glad to see me at mealtime,” she said. “Who’s taking him, Mr. Q?”

“The Bethunes on Pleasant Street.”

“Really? She’s my boyfriend’s aunt! Very nice woman. Hope she doesn’t spoil him.”

“One question, Cynthia. When you went to feed him, did he ever try to run out the back door?”

“Never! I always opened the door cautiously, though-just in case-but he was a very cool cat.”