The Cat Who Brought Down the House

Chapter 9

On Monday morning Qwilleran was listening to the weather prediction on WPKX while preparing the cats’ breakfast. It was something choice, left over from the reception, that Celia saved for them. The Siamese watched intently.

Not bothering to turn the radio off, Qwilleran heard newsbites from the two counties to the south. From Lockmaster: A new president had been appointed for the Academy of Arts... The date had been set for the annual flower show... A local chess player had won a tournament in Milwaukee. From Bixby: A drug bust in Bixton had jailed four men and three women

A couple had been killed in a motorcycle accident on Highway 12... An unidentified male was found shot to death at the wheel of a rented van.

At that moment a bloodcurdling howl came from Koko’s throat. Once again, it was Koko’s death howl. But why was the cat concerned about an unidentified driver of a delivery van in Bixby County... unless... it had something to do with Janice’s cryptic phone call of the night before. There had been horror and fear in her voice. Qwilleran devised an oblique way of investigating.

First, he called Burgess Campbell and congratulated him on a successful party. “Has Pleasant Street recovered from the excitement? Did anyone consume too much champagne or oxtail ravioli?”

“I didn’t hear any ambulance sirens,” the Duke replied. “And let me say that everyone thanks you for opening your fabulous barn for the occasion.”

“My pleasure,” Qwilleran said.

“There were some scatterbrained suggestions from the Thackerays,” Burgess went on. “Thelma thought the barn would make a wonderful restaurant—with kitchen and bar on the main floor and dining on the open balconies and waiters whizzing up and down the ramp on roller skates... And Dick visualized it as a twelve-unit apartment complex, if you wanted to install elevators and a whole lot of plumbing... The odd thing is, Qwill, that you can’t guess whether they’re kidding or being serious.”

“Very true, Burgess. I always suspect women who wear crazy hats and men who wear two-tone shoes.”

Next, Qwilleran phoned Amanda’s Studio of Interior Design and was not surprised to hear that Fran Brodie was taking a week off. He called her in Indian Village.

“Qwill, I'm beat!” she groaned. “No one knows how hard I've worked for that woman—and her inflated ego!”

“You did a heroic job.”

“And now she has another design project she wants me to handle. I'm going to sic her on Amanda. That’ll be the battle of the century. Thelma Thackeray versus Amanda Goodwinter!”

“What is Thelma’s new design project?”

“She’s not telling.”

“Could it be connected with the old opera house?”

“More likely a restaurant, featuring California cuisine.”

“Well, anyway, Fran, you’ve done admirable work, and

I'll make you a margarita whenever you say.”

Qwilleran continued, “That was a lot of partying for a woman of Thelma’s age. Have you heard how she is this morning?”

“No, but she was still going strong when I dropped them off at the curb. She invited me in for a nightcap, but I declined and Janice reminded Thelma that she was leaving in the morning for a couple of days in Lockmaster. For someone over eighty, Thelma has a lot of energy. She doesn’t drink, she eats right, and she retires at ten P.M.... Maybe I should try it!”

The conversation was all very interesting, but it offered no clue to the ‘terrible’ thing that had happened at the Pat was known for his powers of observation, while Celia was always a secret agent at heart. But the O'Dells would be on their way to Purple Point with chicken pot pies and blueberry muffins for a birthday luncheon.

Qwilleran left a message on their answering machine under the alias of Ronald Frobnitz. Celia waited until Pat was out of the house before returning the call.

“What’s up, Chief?” she asked briskly.

“Did anything unusual happen on Pleasant Street last night?”

“Well, it was quiet and dark until everyone started coming home. Then the street was filled with headlights, and people laughing and shouting good-night, and kids leaving their pizza party. It had quieted down when Fran Brodie brought the Thackeray party home and dropped them at the curb. Just as they were turning the indoor lights on, I thought I heard a scream. Pat heard it, too, but said it was the parrots. How’m I doin’, Chief?”

“If you get tired of the catering business, you can always get a job with the CIA.”

“Oh, I remembered something else. Before everyone came home from the party, Pat saw a delivery van drive around the back of the Thackeray house—then leave a few minutes later. We decided it was some kind of fabulous welcome gift that made Thelma scream when she came home.”

Qwilleran huffed into his moustache and thought, How does that explain the panic in Janice’s voice... and the reference to something terrible... and the urgent plea not to tell anyone?

“Tomorrow morning, Chief, I'll get that information you want from downtown.”

“You can phone it. It’s not classified.”

“But I want to deliver some chicken pot pies and blueberry muffins, if you think you can use them.”

Gravely he said, “I imagine I can devise an appropriate way... to dispose of them.”

Celia’s hoot of delight pierced his eardrum as she hung up.

He had been working on his Tuesday column and now he needed a stretch, so he walked to the public library for the book containing Homer’s favorite poem. The parking lot was nearly filled, and the main room was crowded with men and women of all ages. They had seen the announcement in Friday’s paper: “Autographed photographs of old movie stars from the Thelma Thackeray collection—on temporary exhibition.”

Eight-by-tens in individual easel-back frames filled the shelves in two showcases: Claudette Colbert, Ronald Colman, Groucho Marx, Joan Crawford, Fred Astaire, Humphrey Bogart, Esther Williams, Edward G. Robinson, and more. An occasional comment interrupted the awed silence of the onlookers.

Man: “I'm gonna come back when there ain’t such a crowd.”

Another man: “Valuable collection! One assumes they’re insured.”

Woman: “My mother used to rave about Ronald Colman.”

Child: “Mommy! Where’re the kitties?”

Qwilleran, before leaving the building, stroked the two library cats and dropped coins into the jar that provided for their material needs. “Handsome Mac! Gentle Katie!” he said, wondering if anyone ever read a little Dickens or Hemingway to them.

The Siamese were waiting for him with stretched necks and pointed ears: They knew he had been fraternizing with the library cats.

“Read! Read!” he announced, letting them sniff the library book. It was well thumbed, and the binding had been repaired twice by the late Eddington Smith, according to notations inside the back cover. Before taping ‘Lasca’ for Homer’s birthday, he would do a practice reading for Koko and Yum Yum.

“Lasca’ was written by Frank Desprez. Scene: Texas, down by the Rio Grande. Story: A lonely cowboy hangs around bars, maundering over his lost love, remembering how they rode the range on their gray mustangs. One day, without warning, the weather changed, alarming a herd of steers, goading them into a stampede that trampled everything in its path. When the dust cleared Lasca was dead, but her impulsive act of heroism had saved her lover’s life. All was now still on the range, but for a lone coyote, the gray squirrels, a black snake gliding through the grass, a buzzard circling overhead.

Qwilleran paused. It had been more than a hundred lines of galloping rhythm and deep emotion. Yum Yum was breathing hoarsely; Koko uttered a soft yowl.

It was the moment when Rhoda Tibbitt always dried her eyes, and Homer always blew his nose.

The Siamese were sequestered in the gazebo while Qwilleran recorded the poem.

On Tuesday morning Celia marched importantly into the apple barn and reported, “The opera house property has been held by a bank trust for years and years—no new owner... and no permits for remodeling have been issued or even requested.”

Qwilleran said wryly, “Perhaps the bank is going to rent the space to traveling burlesque shows. The theatre seats were removed long ago, but customers could be told to bring their own floor cushions.”

“Oh, Chief!” she protested with her ever-ready laugh. “But I drove by to see what was going on, and there was a van in the parking lot with ladders on top, and it was marked BIXBY PAINT AND DECORATING. Pat says everything is cheaper in Bixby County—goods and services and gasoline. We buy our fresh food at Toodle’s Market, but once a week he drives to Bixby to fill up the tank and buy staples.”

“Just what I wanted to know, Celia. Have you time for coffee or fruit juice?”

She flopped onto one of the bar stools. “I know you don’t go for gossip, Chief, but I've collected some basic intelligence . . .”

“Let’s hear it.”

“During the party, Thelma’s assistant hung around the dining room, and we found we have a lot in common: Both of us have farm backgrounds and both of us are involved in food preparation. Janice is from North Dakota.”

“How did she gravitate to Hollywood and the Thackeray household?”

“That’s a Cinderella story. She was ten when her mother died, and her father married a woman with three young children. For the next several years, Janice had to help with the kids and the cooking. She had no time for hobbies or sports and felt like dropping out of school and running away from home, but her Aunt Patty made her a deal. If Janice would stay and get her diploma, her aunt would lend her the money to move to a big city and find work in an office. She had taken a commercial course in school.

“Actually she was more interested in cooking than typing and thought Hollywood would have a lot of restaurants as well as glamour.

“Thelma hired her as a dishwasher and Janice worked her way up to assistant chef”

“Did she tell you all this at the party?”

“Well, no... She came to the house yesterday morning and asked if she could do anything to help with the luncheon. I took her along in place of Pat; Thelma’s out of town. I feel sorry for that young woman. She doesn’t have a life of her own. For example, she loves cats but Thelma hates them.”

Qwilleran said, “Too bad she didn’t get a chance to meet Koko and Yum Yum Sunday night. Would she like to drive over here while her boss is away? She can come anytime but should phone first.”

“That’s very kind of you, Chief.”

He shrugged modestly. Actually, he saw an opportunity to satisfy his curiosity about the canceled breakfast date, but he said, “The cats enjoy meeting a new admirer who will blubber over them. They’re only human.”

His quips always delighted her, and she asked, “Where are the little dears? I have to say good-bye before I go home.” She searched in her big floppy handbag.

“Are you looking for your car keys—or for a possible stowaway, Celia?”

Yum Yum was in the kitchen, batting and chasing a small shiny toy, while Koko peered down from the top of the refrigerator as if amazed by her kittenish antics.

Qwilleran explained, “One of my fans Down Below –an older woman who can no longer see to sew—sent me her sterling silver thimble for the cats to play with. She’s the tenth-grade teacher who inspired my writing career. Relatives of hers in Lockmaster send her clippings of my column now and then. I polish the thimble once a week –and hide it in different drawers, but Yum Yum always finds it, and her famous paw can open any drawer that isn’t padlocked.”

Janice phoned in the late afternoon and arrived soon after in an emerald green coupe.

Qwilleran went out to the barnyard to greet her. “Did you bring this from California?”

“We towed it behind our van full of parrots,” she explained.

She was wearing blue denim pants and shirt and wore her dark hair tied back in a ponytail. Other times, it had been knotted close to her head.

He said, “I told the cats you were coming, and they had a good washup. They’re waiting for you in the gazebo.”

There they were, sitting tall on their haunches, with expectancy in every whisker.

“Aren’t they beautiful!” she cried. “Those blue eyes!”

“The one with an imperial air is Kao K'o Kung. Yum Yum likes to be picked up and hugged, but Koko is too macho for lap-sitting.”

With his usual perversity, however, Koko was the first to jump on the visitor’s lap when she sat down.

“I've never seen Siamese except in pictures,” she said. “When I lived on a farm, we had nothing but barn cats.”

“That’s what these are. Barn cats.”

For the first time he heard her laugh. “I wish I'd brought my camera.”

“It wouldn’t do any good, Janice. They don’t cooperate. Koko considers it an invasion of privacy, and naughty Yum Yum poses only for tail shots.” This brought another laugh. “Are you interested in photography?”

“Mostly for practical purposes. I've photographed everything in the house for an insurance inventory, and I take a snap of what Thelma wears whenever she appears in public. Just so she won’t duplicate, you know.”

“Smart idea. May I offer you a glass of white wine? I've chilled a nice white Zinfandel.” At the party he had noted that neither she nor Thelma had been drinking champagne, and he had wondered if it might be a Thackeray house rule. Now he would find out.

After a brief pause she said, “Yes, I believe I'd like a glass of wine.”

For himself he mixed what was becoming known around the county as the ‘Q cocktail’ Cranberry juice and Squunk water.

There was more conversation about the cats, and Janice hand-fed them a few Kabibbles, saying, “I love the feel of a cat’s rough, wet tongue and little, sharp teeth!”

“Do you know about the Kit Kat Agenda?”

“Oh, yes, and I'd love to have kittens... but we can’t. They have a kitten colony next door, and Duke says I can go over anytime to play with them. It’s good for their morale. The housekeeper said the back door is always open; I can just walk in. She’s very nice. Everybody’s nice around here. They told us it was neighborly to leave the back door unlocked. Thelma thought it was too folksy, but... when in Rome, do as the Romans do.”

Janice suddenly stopped chattering and looked preoccupied.

Qwilleran said, “Duke lectures on American history at the college, and you might like to audit one of his lectures. They’re never dry; he has a sense of humor.”

“I'd like that, but it would depend on Thelma’s schedule.”

“How long have you been with her?”

“Ever since high school. I wanted to work in a restaurant, and she hired me as a dishwasher. That’s a general kitchen helper, you know, and I worked my way up to assistant chef at her private dinner club.” She was chattering again—nervously, Qwilleran thought. “It was a luxurious club, with a high-ceilinged dining room and crystal chandeliers. Then there was a lounge where you could have cocktails and see old movies on a large screen. In the dining room Thelma moved about the tables, wearing one of her fabulous hats and kidding with the customers, calling them "Ducky" and swearing in Portuguese, which she learned from the parrots. Everyone loved Thelma and hated to see her retire. She sold the club and kept me on as a secretary, housekeeper, and driver. She’s strict—but nice.” With a fond smile, Janice added, “She’s always quoting things she learned from her pop: Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched... Time is money... Try to kill two birds with one stone.”

Qwilleran said, “No wonder she was a success in business... May I refresh your drink, Janice?” And casually he added, “It’s hard to imagine such a vital personage retiring from the workplace.”

“Well, her twin brother died and Dick, her nephew, asked her to come back east.”

She paused long enough to make him suspect jealousy between the longtime, hardworking assistant and the charming Johnny-come-lately who was the only living relative. But then she said, “Well, Dick is the kind of person that everyone likes. He cheers her up. But she also treats him like a strict parent.” Janice giggled apologetically. “Thelma was born to be boss! Oh, I almost forgot, Thelma would like you to come for waffles Thursday morning at ten o’clock. You can meet the parrots.”

Qwilleran jumped up. “I just had a good ideal I happen to have some chicken pot pies and blueberry muffins. We could warm them up and have a picnic supper out there in the gazebo!”

They went indoors, and Janice was privileged to feed the cats while Qwilleran warmed the picnic fare. He also steered the conversation away from the Thackerays.

During the meal he talked about the classes at the Art Center, the clubs that one might join, and the possibilities for volunteer work. “You might like to donate some time to the animal shelter, Janice, and Thelma might find a cause that she could support with her presence.”

He felt he was on thin ice, but that’s what he wanted.

Janice put down her fork and looked at him with desperate indecision. “There’s something I shouldn’t talk about . . .

“Then don’t.”

“But I want to, and Celia says you’re the only one in Moose County that you can trust not to blab... Thelma isn’t really retired; she’s working on a business deal. That’s all I can say.”

“More power to her!”

“She wanted to go to Lockmaster today to see her brother’s grave and the scene of his fatal accident. I don’t know why. You’d think it would just upset her.”

“It’s called closure.” He lifted the wine bottle. “Shall I?”

“I'd better not. I'm driving.”

“If the worse comes to the worst, I can tow your car home behind my SUV.”

The comment brought laughter. She was laughing easily. “Wouldn’t Pleasant Street have a picnic with that scene! They don’t miss a thing.”

Suddenly serious, he said, “That’s why your mysterious cancellation Sunday night worried me. You said something terrible had happened, and your neighbors heard screams.”

For a moment she was frozen in an attitude of indecision, her eyes darting left and right.

He waited patiently but with encouragement.

“When we got home,” she said hesitantly, “the parrots were gone!... Kidnapped! And there was a ransom note.”

“Did you notify the police?”

“We were afraid to. There were threats—what would happen if we did. So horrible I can’t repeat them. Thelma was sick to her stomach.”

“Ghastly experience,” he said, remembering his gut-wrenching horror when Yum Yum was snatched.

“We had to do what they wanted. Fortunately Dick was there, and he brought them back by daybreak, but he’s afraid to talk about it. We’ve ordered new locks on all the doors and a burglar alarm that rings in the police station For God’s sake, don’t let Thelma know I told you all this!”

As he accompanied Janice to her car, he asked, “Are you sure you want to drive? I could drive your car and walk home.”

“No, no! I'm perfectly all right. Thanks for everything, and we’ll see you Thursday morning.”

After Janice had driven away, Qwilleran brought the Siamese indoors, and the three of them sprawled in the big chair for a little reading. The cats always enjoyed the sound of his voice and Yum Yum—that little rascal—had discovered the vibration in his rib cage when he was staging a good show.

When Qwilleran closed the book his listeners went on to other activities, and he began to brainstorm:

Who were the kidnappers who made off with five talkative Amazons without detection? No doubt they were readers of the Moose County Something. They knew how Thelma treasured her pets. They knew that all of Pleasant Street would be celebrating her arrival at a gala party somewhere else. What was their ransom demand? Large bundles of cash would not be readily available on a Sunday night. Did they want jewels? The parrot pin and matching bracelet had created a stir at the Grist Mill; had Thelma been flaunting her rubies, emeralds, and diamonds at other good restaurants in Moose County and Lockmaster? Whatever the ransom demand, the victims were warned not to notify the police.

And what about Dick? He took a great risk... As the saying goes, “Three may keep a secret if two of them are dead.” I wouldn’t want to be in Dick Thackeray’s shoes at this moment!