The Cat Who Smelled a Rat_txt

“When I was very small, I used to visit my grandparents’ farm south of Trawnto. That was before Moose County had tractors. We were always thirty years behind the times. They had horse-drawn farm equipment and lots of hired hands who had to be fed an enormous dinner in the middle of the day. Once a week my grandmother would make bean soup in a big washtub. It was full of carrots, onions, potatoes, and celery, and it smelled so good when it was cooking. My grandmother said it was because she always put an old shoe in with the beans and stuff. She let me stand on a chair and see for myself as she stirred it with a long-handled wooden spoon. Sure enough! There it was! An old farm boot. I asked her if she had to have a different boot each week, and she said yes. All the farmers and farmhands in the community saved their old boots for Grandma’s soup!

“When I went home, I told my mother, and I suffered the first disenchantment of my life. She said it was a large ham bone. I insisted I could see the shoestrings. She said there was a lot of meat left on the bone. Some kids were disenchanted when they learned the truth about Santa Claus, but I was disenchanted when I learned the truth about the old shoe. And I still think of my grandmother every time I make bean soup.”

Qwilleran said, “I dare you to print the recipe on the food page.”

“Someone would fail to get the joke,” Mildred said, “and I’d be arrested by the Board of Health.”

On the way to the municipal parking lot, Qwilleran met MacWhannell. “How’d you like the rally, Mac?”

“Good show! They collected over two thousand for the Ruff Abbey Fund. What did you think of Jeffa Young?”

“Fine woman. You’re lucky to get her for your staff.”

“I hear you took her to dinner. Is she going to do your chart?”

“The subject never came up, Mac.”

“She’s doing Gordie’s and mine. You should have one, Qwill.”

“I’ll bear it in mind.” This was Qwilleran ‘s way of turning down a suggestion… . but the suggestion would not go away. At home Polly called him, speaking in an apologetic way.

“Qwill, I’ve been asked to get some information from you - by hook or by crook.”

“Asked by whom? It doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s perfectly respectable. It’s for a Christmas gift. All I need is the place and hour of your birth.”

“Oh-oh! It sounds like one of Mildred’s tricks. Tell her I don’t want a horoscope. I’d rather have a handpainted necktie with a boa constrictor on it.”

After hanging up, he huffed into his moustache.

The subterfuge had gone too far. Susan would be blackmailing him-in a genteel way. The only solution was to go to Jeffa Young and make a clean breast of it-but not right now. Koko was on the desk, sniffing at the day’s mail. He could tell which envelopes came from people having cats or dogs…. One was from Burgess Campbell, a printout of Phineas Ford’s Fabulous Collection:

Back in the 1920s there was a feed-and-seed dealer in Brrr Township who was a real nice guy-hardworking, honest with his customers, and devoted to his wife. They had no children, and it was his way of showing kindness and understanding by taking her for a ride every Sunday afternoon in his Maxwell. Or was it a Model T? They would buy strawberries or a pumpkin, depending on the season, and stop at an ice cream parlor in town for a soda.

His wife also liked to visit antique shops. She never bought anything-just looked. Every town had an antique shop and every farmhouse had a barnful of junk and a sign that said ANTIQUES. As she wandered through the jumble of castoffs, her husband trudged behind her, looking left and right and wondering why people bought such stuff.

Once in a while he played a little joke on her as they drove. She would say, “Stop! There’s an antique shop!” And he would say, “Where? Where?” and speed up. Sometimes she’d insist that he turn around and go back.

On one of these occasions she had her own way, and they visited a farmhouse collection of this and that, Phineas traipsing dutifully behind his wife. Suddenly he saw something that aroused his curiosity, and he asked the farmwife what it was.

“A scamadiddle,” she said. “Early American. Very rare. Found only in the Midwest.”

“How much do you want for it?”

“Oh, a dollar, I guess,” she said.

“Give you ninety cents.” Phineas was no fool.

He carried it to the car and put it on the backseat, causing his wife to ask, “What’s that thing?”

“What thing?”

“That thing on the backseat.”

“That’s a scamadiddle,” he said casually, as if he bought one every day. “Early American, you know. Very rare. Found only in the Midwest.”

“Oh,” she said. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Put it in the china cabinet.”

Every weekend after that, Phineas found pleasure in antiquing, forever searching for another scamadiddle. One Sunday he found it! Now he had two! He was a collector!