The Cat Who Brought Down the House

Chapter 22

As someone who liked publicity, Thelma was getting more than her share. “Thackeray’ had become a buzzword among headline writers in Moose County. Her opening of the Film Club and her magnanimous loan of the opera house to an animal-rescue cause put her in the limelight, but not all the news was good.

On Monday the banner headline read: 24 WORKS or ART DROWNED IN DITCH. Dick Thackeray Cited for Reckless Driving.

On Tuesday the news was better but less dramatic:

LOST CHURCH FOUND IN FOREST. Thackerays Buried in Graveyard of Tiny Log Chapel.

There was no name-dropping on Wednesday: PUBLIC REST ROOMS SLATED FOR DOWNTOWN PICKAX. Merchants and Shoppers Applaud Town Council’s Decision.

On Thursday morning Bushy stopped at the barn on the way to cover an assignment for the paper. “The newsroom is hot this morning. Thought you’d want to know. It ties in with the bad news I had to report to Thelma. If she didn’t have a stroke then, she’ll have one when she reads today’s headline.”

Thursday’s headline read: INDECENT EXPOSURE LANDS 3 IN JAIL. Members of Film Club Nabbed While Strip-Dancing in Parking Lot.

As soon as papers were delivered to the library, Polly phoned Qwilleran. “That poor woman! My heart bleeds for her! But I can’t think of anything we can do.”

He was silent.

“Qwill, did you hear what I said?”

“I'm thinking... Thelma’s a trouper! She’ll drink a lot of cocoa and sit in her Pyramid and the club will continue as if nothing had happened.”

Later, to confirm his prediction, he phoned the club and heard a recorded message:

“Seats for tonight’s showing of Anna Christie featuring Garbo are sold out. If you want to make a reservation for future shows, press one. Next week’s billing: City Lights (1931). Charlie Chaplin’s last completely silent film.”

It wasn’t until Friday, however, that Qwilleran’s low blood pressure started to rise. His friends at the Something were always eager to tip him off. And in this case they knew he had a special interest in Thelma Thackeray.

First Bushy phoned from his van. “One of the guys in the lab was sent out to get a shot of the entrance of the Film Club. They say it’s closed until further notice.”

Roger MacGillivray, a longtime friend, phoned Qwilleran on the way to the police station. “There’s been a shooting at the club,” he said.

And the managing editor phoned and said, “Qwill, how fast can you get your copy in? We’ve got an early deadline. There’s been a murder.”

The Friday headline read: MANAGER OF FILM CLUB SHOT DURING BURGLARY. Dick Thackeray’s Body Found by Janitors. Safe Cracked.

Qwilleran was taken aback—not because of the murder; after all, Dick moved in questionable circles. What daunted him was Koko’s behavior in the middle of the night—not howling... more like... crowing! It had been the kind of strident, affirmative communication that could now be interpreted as ‘I told you so!’... That cat! At the time, when Qwilleran was wakened so rudely, he thought Koko had swallowed something unacceptable and he would upchuck in some unacceptable place. But now... the incident assumed new meaning.

Qwilleran sent Thelma flowers and a note of consolation, resisting the urge to say ‘Good riddance!’ When he phoned Simmons in California, the security man said, “Well, that solves the security problem, doesn’t it? Too bad she won’t continue it and hire a manager... I wouldn’t mind handling it myself I'd enjoy working for her again.”

Then there was another call from Bushy. “Well how about it, Qwill? I feel sorry for Thelma. This really messes up her plans, doesn’t it? I wish there was something I could do. But I don’t want to step out of line”

“How about taking her and Janice for a cruise Sunday afternoon. It’s peaceful out on the lake. It might be therapeutic. Call Janice and sound her out. I think she’ll agree.”

As for the author of the ‘Qwill Pen’, he had never really wanted to write a biography of Bud and Sis. But “The Last of the Thackerays’ would make a fascinating legend for Short & Tall Tales. He would have to work fast if he wanted to interview her in depth; she was, after all, eighty-two.

He was not fast enough. In Monday’s newspaper there was a news bulletin important enough to warrant a remake of the front page. A black-bordered box focused attention on the sad news: “Thelma Thackeray, 82, died peacefully in her sleep early this morning, at her home on Pleasant Street. She recently returned from a fifty-five-year career in Hollywood, CA, to found Thelma’s Film Club. She was the last of the Moose County Thackerays. Obituary on Wednesday.”

Qwilleran subdued his urge to phone Janice for details, knowing she would be busy with helpful neighbors. Burgess Campbell, as the Duke of Pleasant Street, would be supervising the arrangements. Mavis Adams was Thelma’s attorney. Celia and Pat O'Dell would be enormously helpful.

He was surprised, therefore, when Janice called him. “May I drive over there, Qwill? I need your advice.”

Within a few minutes the green coupe pulled into the barnyard, and he went out to meet her. Besides her usual shoulder bag she was carrying one of Thelma’s capacious satchel-bags of soft leather. It was bulging as if it contained a watermelon. He refrained from commenting.

“Let’s sit in the library,” he said.

The old books that covered one wall of the fireplace cube from top to bottom made a comforting atmosphere for confidences.

“So many books!” she said.

“That’s only half of them. The rest are in my studio . Now, how can I help you, Janice?”

“I don’t know whether I did the right thing.”

“What did you do?” he asked in a kindly voice, although he was bristling with curiosity. “Would you like a little fruit juice? A glass of wine?”

“Well... yes... I think I'd like a glass of wine.”

The white Zinfandel relaxed her, but Qwilleran continued to bristle.

“Thelma’s always an early riser, and I knocked on her door to see if she’d like a cup of tea. She was still under the covers, but I got a sick feeling when I saw a liquor bottle on the bedside table—the bourbon that we bought for Mr Simmons. Thelma’s always had chronic pancreatitis and was supposed to avoid stress and alcohol---”

“She’s had plenty of stress lately,” Qwilleran interrupted.

“Dr Diane put "acute pancreatitis" on the death certificate.”

They were both silent for a while, Qwilleran remembering how Thelma had said, “I have to be a very good girl.”

Janice was fidgeting and glancing at Thelma’s handbag on the desk. “There’s something I want to tell you, Qwill... about what we did Thursday night. Or Friday morning, really. Thelma said she wanted me to drive her to the club at about two-thirty A.M., and she told me to take a nap and set the alarm clock for two o’clock. When we got there, a few cars were still in the lot, and we parked at the curb until they were all gone except Dick’s loaner. He wrecked his old van, you know.”

“I well remember!”

“She told me to stay in the car, and when she came out a few minutes later, she was smiling, and her big handbag was stuffed full of something. She said, "All’s well that ends well." One thing I had learned was not to ask questions. She was quite calm all weekend, sitting in her Pyramid and taking care of the Amazons. And Bushy invited us for a cruise on Sunday afternoon—not a party, just a quiet time on the water. I thought that was very sweet of him, and Thelma said it was just what she needed. We came home and she retired early, and the rest is kind of a blur.”

“You’ve handled everything very well, Janice.”

“Yes, but after the doctor had been at the house, I looked in Thelma’s handbag, although I felt I was doing something wrong. She was a very private person, you know... It was full of money! Bundles of currency! And the little handgun that Mr Simmons insisted on giving her for our cross-country trip. She wanted to give it back to him when he was here, but he wouldn’t take it... So then I went looking for the pocket tape-recorder he brought her as a gift. It was in the top drawer of her dresser.”

“Had she used it?”

“Yes,” Janice said with a frightened stare.

“Did you listen to what was recorded?”

“Yes. And that’s why I'm here—to ask you what to do with these things of Thelma’s.”

“Before I can advise you,” Qwilleran said solemnly, “I'd better hear the tape.”

“Why, Auntie! What are you doing here at this hour? You should be home, getting your beauty sleep—not that you need it! You’re beautiful—for your age!”

“Wipe that oily smile off your face, Dickie Bird, and explain who gave you permission to turn Thelma’s Film Club into a gambling casino and porno gallery. Next, you’ll be renting rooms by the hour!”

“Why, Auntie—!”

“Where’s the silver tray you used to have here?”

“I never had a silver tray.”

“You’re a liar as well as a thief! How much of that money you’re counting goes in the club account and how much into your pocket? You’re fired! As of now! I want you off the premises in half an hour. And my guest room is no longer at your disposal! You’ll find your belongings in a box on the back porch.”

“You’ve got me all wrong!”

“Then tell me what you did with a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of jewels that you took from your kidnapping accomplice after killing him on a country road in Bixby. And tell me what happened to your muddy hiking boots that you wore when you pushed your father over the cliff? Your own father who loved you so much and gave you everything you wanted! You had the unmitigated callousness to go home and notify the police that he hadn’t come home to lunch! He was my brother! And I'm the only one who cares!... You... are a monster!”

“You’re cracking up, Auntie!”

“Then you came out to Hollywood and put on your loving-nephew act until I changed my will and made you my sole heir... Well, I'm going to change it again! And you’re not getting a penny!”

“You selfish old woman! You’re not going to live long enough to change your will—”

“And you’re not going to live long enough to inherit!” (Two gunshots.)

(Click.)

When the tape ended, Qwilleran said firmly, “Show everything to Mavis Adams as soon as possible. She knows the law, and Thelma was her client.”

“Did I do right, Qwill?”

“Yes, but you don’t need to tell anyone that you brought it over here. Show everything to Mavis... and don’t worry. May I freshen your drink?”

“No, thanks. This is a big load off my mind. Now I want to go home and... maybe try sitting in Thelma’s Pyramid.”

“One question, Janice. Did Thelma have a chance to sign her new will?”

“Yes. She’d been working on it with Mavis, and was due to sign it Saturday morning. Mavis brought it to the house. Thelma left everything to a foundation that will reestablish the Thackeray Clinic as a memorial to her dear Bud.”

There were two thumps in the kitchen, as Koko jumped down from the top of the refrigerator.

Qwilleran thought, He’s been listening to this whole scenario!... Did he recognize Dick’s voice on the tape? NO! He’s never met Smiley; he’s just sensed his evil presence.

Koko stared pointedly at his empty plate under the kitchen table, and Qwilleran gave him a little something.

Qwilleran himself had a dish of ice cream. Then he sprawled in his big chair to think. He could imagine Simmons’s reaction to the drama. The tape recorder had been an inspired idea.

When Thelma confronted her nephew and he said she wouldn’t live long enough to change her will, she knew there was a gun in the desk drawer and she had told Simmons about it.

Did Thelma know all along that Dick was no good? It was too bad that Simmons had to leave so soon. Qwilleran would have enjoyed telling him of Koko’s investigative exploits.

It was a curious fact that lawmen were the only ones who accepted Koko’s peculiar talents. There had been Lieutenant Hames, Down Below, and there was Brodie, the Pickax police chief. Qwilleran had a hunch that Simmons would have been a third. Too late now.

Koko knew the man was thinking about him. The cat was sifting on a nearby lamp table, squeezing his eyes. He also rubbed his chin on the bottom edge of the lampshade. It was a gesture that seemed to give him a catly thrill. Knocking books off a shelf was another of Koko’s quirks, although it sometimes appeared as if there might be a method in his madness.

In the last two or three weeks he had shown a fondness for books with ‘Richard’ in the title. And he had exhibited a sudden interest in Robert Louis Stevenson. In quick succession he had dislodged A Child’s Garden of Verses and Travels with a Donkey and Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. Now, Qwilleran felt a prickling sensation on his upper lip. He thought, Could it be that Koko was looking for Kidnapped? It was the only Stevenson favorite not on the shelf. The notion, of course, was preposterous. And yet . . .

Qwilleran thought, If the kidnapping connection is preposterous, how about the catfit he staged when we played The Gambler? We thought it was Prokofiev’s music he didn’t like. More likely he was trying to tell us something about Thelma’s nephew... Koko knows a skunk when he smells one!

“Yoww-ow-ow!” Koko declaimed impatiently and rubbed the lampshade once more.

It was then that Qwilleran noticed an envelope on the table addressed simply to “Qwill’ It was large and square and ivory colored, and Qwilleran was not surprised to find the initials “T.T.” embossed on the flap. Obviously, Janice had left it there.

Inside there was a sheet of blank white paper.

Dubiously and reluctantly and even furtively, Qwilleran removed the lampshade and passed the paper back and forth over the hot lamp bulbs.

Gradually the message materialized printed in large block letters: THANKS, DUCKY, FOR EVERYTHING.

And where had Koko gone? He was under the kitchen table staring at his empty plate — the one on the right.

Yum Yum sat huddled on her brisket, guarding her one-and-only treasure, her silver thimble.

The End