The Cat Who Came To Breakfast

CHAPTER 13

The groom handed Elizabeth into the driver's seat, and one of the seersucker coats came running with a bouquet of herbs. She sat straight and square, with elbows close to her body and reins between the fingers of her left hand. Her right hand held the whip. She was in perfect control as they drove away from the lodge.

Qwilleran thought, All we need for this climactic scene is some melodramatic background music with full orchestra, as we drive away into the sunset. And what a cast of characters! Autocratic mother, timid daughter, two obedient sons, plus one who's sufficiently cavalier to deliver the defiant punch line.

Seated alongside the frail driver, he said, "Are you sure your injured wrist can handle that whip?"

"It's only a symbol," she replied. "Skip responds to the reins and the driver's voice. Our steward happens to be a wonderful trainer." They had stopped at the gate before turning into the procession of Sunday sightseers. "Walk on, Skip!" Nodding his head as if acknowledging the request, the horse moved forward into a left turn.

"Mother says you write for a newspaper. Which one?" Elizabeth asked.

"The Moose County Something on the mainland."

"Is that really its name? I don't read newspapers. They're too upsetting. What do you write?"

"A column about this and that... If I may ask, where were the peacocks today? It was my understanding that you have peacocks."

"Mother sold them to a zoo after Father died. Their screams made her nervous. Actually they were Father's pets. She sold his telescopes and astronomy books, too. That was his hobby. Did you ever see a UFO? Father said they hang over large bodies of water. If he spotted one, he'd wake us up in the middle of the night, and we'd all go out on the roof with binoculars—except Mother and Jack. She said it was foolish; Jack said it was boring. Jack is easily bored."

Elizabeth was more talkative than Qwilleran had expected. As she rambled on, he silently classified the family he had just met. Jack and his mother had the same assertive manner, good looks, and inverted smile. It was a safe bet that he was her favorite. He caused her trouble with his marrying addiction, but she kept on bailing him out. The three other siblings probably favored their male parent. They had wide brows, delicate features, and a gentler personality.

Elizabeth was still talking about her father. "He taught me proper driving form when I was quite little. It's more fun than driving a car." She identified two private vehicles returning from the Grand Island Club: a Brewster and a spider phaeton, both restored by William. When they reached the commercial strip, she expressed surprise and sadness at the conversion of private lodges.

Qwilleran said, "You probably remember the birch-bark lodge. It's now the Domino Inn, and I'm staying in a cottage at the rear. It's small and quite confining, but I tell the cats to be patient; it's better than a tent."

"Do you really talk to them like that?"

"All the time. The more you talk to cats, the smarter they become, but it has to be intelligent conversation."

In front of Four Pips, Qwilleran handed her down from the driver's seat. "I hear lovely music! A flute with harp!" Her face was suddenly radiant.

"My next-door neighbor is a musician, and if she isn't playing the piano, she's playing recorded music."

"I wanted so badly to play the flute. I had visions of piping on the nature trail and luring small animals out of the woods. But my mother insisted on piano lessons. I wasn't very—" She stopped and squealed with delight as she saw two pairs of blue eyes watching from the front window. Koko and Yum Yum were sitting tall on the domino table with ears alert and eyes popping at the sight of a large beast outside their cottage. Indoors, Elizabeth extended her left hand to them, and they sniffed the fingers that had held the reins.

Qwilleran made the introductions, mentioning that Koko was unusually smart; his latest interest was dominoes.

"He feels the power of numbers," Elizabeth said seriously. "Cats are tuned into mystic elements, and there's magic in numbers. Pythagoras discovered that thousands of years ago. Do you know anything about numerology? I've made an informal study of it. If you write down your full name for me, I'll tell you something about yourself. I don't do fortune-telling—just character delineation. Write down the cats" names, too, in block letters."

Qwilleran thought, Wait till Mildred hears about this! Riker's new wife was involved in tarot cards and other occult sciences. Soberly he did what Elizabeth requested:

JAMES MACKINTOSH QWILLERAN

KAO K'O KUNG a.k.a. KOKO YUM YUM,

formerly called FREYA

"Notice," he pointed out, "that my name is spelled with a QW."

"That's important," she said. "Each letter has a corresponding number. I'll take them home and work on them. And now I must drive back to The Pines, or Mother will fret. Your little friends are so beautiful. I hope we'll meet again."

"Yow!" came a stentorian voice from the desk.

"He's thanking you for the compliment," Qwilleran explained.

Koko had something else in mind, however. As soon as he had their attention, he nosed the maroon velvet box across the desk until it fell to the floor.

Qwilleran picked it up. "He has a parlor trick he performs. If I place the dominoes facedown on the table, he can make a blind draw and come up with high-scoring pieces, like double-six and double-five. You sit down and watch quietly." He spread the entire set on the table and encouraged Koko to draw.

The four dominoes that landed on the floor were not high-scoring pieces; they were 0-1, 1-2, 1-4, and 3-4. Elizabeth laughed merrily. It was the first time Qwilleran had heard her laugh. "Do you think cats have a sense of humor?" she asked.

"I think Koko gets a kick out of making me look like a fool."

She was toying with the four dominoes Koko had selected. "He's smarter than you think," she said. "If you add the spots on each one, you get one, three, five and seven. If you match them with the letters of the alphabet, you get A, C, E and G. And if you shuffle them, you get Cage. That's my middle name."

Qwilleran felt goosebumps on the back of his neck. It had to be pure coincidence, he thought. And yet he said, "I'd like to hear more about numerology. Would you have lunch with me at the hotel some day this week?"

"I'd be delighted!" she said, and her eyes sparkled.

He thought, There's nothing wrong with this girl that can't be cured by a reduction in motherpower and a few chocolate malts.

On the way out, Elizabeth caught sight of the gilded leather masks over the sofa. "Your theater masks are stunning!" she said and then she giggled. "One looks like my brother William, and one looks like Jack."

After the phaeton had rolled away from Four Pips, Qwilleran remembered an episode in his early-school years. His teacher, Miss Heath, had a toothy and ambiguous smile that could mean either good news or bad news. Being a domino player at home, although a reluctant one, his private name for her was Miss Double-six. The class was seated alphabetically, and James Qwilleran was assigned to sit in front of a fat kid named Archibald Riker. In dull moments they amused each other by exchanging notes in secret code. It was nothing that would stump a cryptographer—or even Miss Double-six if she had caught them; the letters of the alphabet were numbered 1 to 26. One day, while her back was turned, Qwilleran tossed a wad of paper over his shoulder: 13-9-19-19 8-5-1-20-8 8-1-19 2-9-7 20-5-5-20-8. Arch decoded it and laughed so hard that he choked and was sent into the hall for a drink of water. Forty years later, he still quaked with internal laughter whenever he saw someone with prominent dentition.

And now, after all those years, Qwilleran had a cat who was interested in double-six—most of the time. That was the name of Nick's boat; did it mean that Koko wanted to go home? Or did the twelve pips signify the letter L? And if so, what did the letter L have to do with anything? Kao K'o Kung had some obscure ways of communicating. Often it was merely a matter of nudging Qwilleran's thought processes. In this case, nothing clicked.

The morning plate of meatloaf was still untouched, and Qwilleran's determination to win the argument struggled with his humane instincts—and lost. Just because he had been impulsive enough to pay for ten pounds of meatloaf up front, he could not let them starve. He opened a can of boned chicken. The breakfast that the Siamese had ignored was carried to the trash cans for the strays.

Nick was there, working on the foundation of the building. "Mildew's a problem," he explained. "I'm taking a week of my vacation and trying to catch up on the maintenance ... Say, Qwill, does the music from Five Pips bother you?"

"It's a little mind-numbing when she practices technique, but I've learned to wear ear plugs for catfights, fog horns, and finger exercises."

"I had to speak to her about smoking this afternoon," said the hard-working innkeeper. "I was repairing one of her porch screens and saw a saucerful of butts. She thinks she's a privileged character because Exbridge pays her rent .. . How about you? Is everything okay?"

"So far, so good. Tonight I meet with my undercover man. Right now I'm on my way downtown for something to eat."

At the hotel he waited for the Comptons to come out of the small auditorium where Lyle had delivered his lecture on "Bloody Scotland." The superintendent of schools had a perverse sense of humor that Qwilleran enjoyed, and Lisa's agreeable disposition was a foil for her husband's orneriness.

She said, "We had a good crowd, with lots of young people. They like blood, and Lyle always pours it on: the massacre at Glen Coe, the atrocities of the Highland Clearances, and the slaughter at the Battle of Culloden."

They took a booth in the Buccaneer Den and ordered burgers, and Qwilleran said, "You talk about the farmers being cleared out of the Scottish Highlands and replaced by corporate flocks of sheep. It wouldn't surprise me if the natives were driven from Breakfast Island and replaced by something like corporate oil wells."

The cynical jest appealed to Lyle. "That would be a juicy rumor to start on the mainland! All I'd have to do is whisper confidentially to my next-door neighbor that XYZ has struck oil behind the swimming pool, and in two days it would be all over Moose County, and Don Exbridge would be denying it in the headlines. Of course, no one would believe him!"

"It would be just like you to do it, too," said his wife, "and that's really sick!"

"I'll tell you what's sick, sweetheart. It's sick what XYZ did with the new elementary school building. It's lousy construction! They keep patching it up, but what we really need is one good tornado, so we can start again from scratch—with a different builder."

Lisa said, "Be careful what you wish for; you may get your wish! The weatherman says there's a peculiar front headed this way." Then the food was served, and she said, "It's so dark in here, I can't tell whether this is a burger or chocolate cake."

"That's because people patronize bars for illicit trysts, graft payoffs, and subversive plotting," her husband informed her. "Nice people like you should eat in the coffee shop."

After a while, Qwilleran asked him if he remembered a student named Harriet Beadle, an islander who attended high school on the mainland.

"No, but we've had a pack of Beadles from the island. Another common name is Kale. Another is Lawson. They're all descended from survivors of the same shipwreck, supposedly. They work hard to get good grades, and some even earn scholarships. Those one-room schools aren't all bad."

"How do the other students treat diem?"

"They taunt them about their so-called pirate ancestry, and there are some bloody fights. And who knows whether it's true or not? But I'll tell you one thing for sure: The islanders know more about ecology than we do. They grow up with a respect for the earth and the elements."

Over coffee Lisa asked about Polly.

"She's in Oregon, visiting an old college chum."

"Great country out there!" said Lyle. "Let's hope she doesn't decide to stay. She's a great librarian."

"Everybody loves her," said Lisa.

"Nobody loves a school superintendent. I'm on everybody's hit list—board of ed, taxpayers, and parents."

Qwilleran asked him, "Do you know that one of your department heads has a summer job over here?"

"Wish she'd stay on the island permanently," he grumbled. "June is an independent so-and-so."

Lisa said, "She's certainly not popular with the wives of Moose County. She thinks she's God's gift to husbands— mine included, and Lyle is no Robert Redford."

"Why," Qwilleran asked, "does an educator with her credentials choose a rural county like ours?"

"Horses! She likes to ride. That's how she landed in Lockmaster after a divorce Down Below. Then we offered her a good contract, and now we're stuck with her. But she's good! She sailed through school on scholarships and did a concert tour before coming to us." The check came to the table, and when Qwilleran reached for it, Lyle said, "Drop it! The hotel's paying for this one."

The Comptons were staying for a nightcap, but Qwilleran groped his way out of the murky bar, bumping into tables and kicking chair legs. In passing the corner booth he squinted into the gloom and saw a man and a woman leaning amorously toward each other. Their faces were in shadow, but he heard the woman say, "Shall we have a replenishment?"

Before riding home in a cab, Qwilleran picked up some beer for Derek Cuttlebrink, as well as crackers and pickles to go with the meatloaf. On the way he pondered several of Lyle Compton's remarks, chiefly his hint that Polly might decide to relocate in Oregon. It was a possibility that had never crossed his mind. It made him vaguely uneasy.

At Four Pips he was met by a highly disturbed cat. Koko was yowling in two-part harmony and running back and forth between sitting room and porch. A casual inspection showed nothing amiss, but after refrigerating the beer Qwilleran investigated with deepening concern. The cat was jumping up and pawing the porch screen as he did when batting down an insect. This time there were no insects—only small holes in the screen. Alarmed, Qwilleran hurried to the inn and confronted Nick in the office.

"Someone's been taking pot shots at the cats!" he said with indignation.

Nick looked up from the bookkeeping. "I can't believe it! How do you know?"

Qwilleran described Koko's behavior and his discovery of the holes. "There's growing hostility among the islanders, I'm convinced, and someone may have connected me with the financial backers of the resort. Someone may be using this method of harassment!"

"Did you look for spent shot on the porch?"

"There was nothing that I could find, but the porch is shaded at this hour."

"Which screens had the holes?"

"Both side panels, east and west."

"Birds!" Nick said. "Bird beaks! They try to fly through the porch, not realizing it's screened. All the cottages have holes in the porch screens."

Qwilleran huffed into his moustache. "Well . . . sorry to bother you, Nick. Now all I have to do is explain it to Koko."

Back at Four Pips he prepared for Derek's visit. He opened a can of mixed nuts and dumped them into a soup bowl, filled another bowl with dill pickle chips, and arranged a platter of crackers and meatloaf slices.

When the young man arrived, the Siamese gave him the royal welcome, prancing with lofty tails curled like question marks. "They like me," he said. "I'm getting a standing ovation."

"Before you congratulate yourself," Qwilleran parried, "bear in mind that these opportunists have an instinctive affinity for dairy farmers, fishermen, butchers, and restaurant employees. I leave it to you to figure out."

Derek's height made the ceilings look lower than ever. He walked around, looking at the travel posters. Then he pointed to the tragedy and comedy masks. "I'll bet those didn't come with the cottage. Where'd you get them?"

"In Venice—from a small antique shop near the Accademia delle Belle Arti" was the casual reply. "How about a beer? Sit down and help yourself to the food. What time did you have dinner?"

"They feed us just before we start the dinner shift, at five o'clock:"

"Then you must be hungry. Dig in. The meatloaf is homemade." Then craftily he asked his guest, "Did you have any trouble finding this place?"

"No. I was down here last night," Derek said with youthful candor. "Dr. Halliburton wanted me to audition."

"Did you read a script? Or sing?"

"We just rapped. She wanted to know what acting I'd done, and how I felt about theater, and what kind of role I liked to play. I told her what I'd done in Macbeth. We just drank beer and listened to jazz and had a good time. She's very friendly. I was surprised. She may get me the job of assistant entertainment director. That would pay more money than I'm getting now."

Uh-huh, Qwilleran thought. "So explain the note you handed me last night, Derek. What's all this about gumbo?"

"Yeah . . . well ... I met this girl where I'm rooming, and she kinda likes me. Her name is Merrio. How's that for a name? She's a waitress in the Corsair Room, but she was hired for the kitchen in the beginning. Then Mr. Ex decided she had a good personality for meeting the pub-be, so now she's out on the floor, serving."

"Did the switch—or promotion, whatever it was— occur after the poisoning incident?"

"I guess so, because she was still on salads when it happened."

"Where does gumbo fit into the picture?"

"That's the interesting part," Derek said. "They had several chicken specials that night, but the only people that got sick were the ones that ordered chicken gumbo. The shrimp gumbo—no trouble!"

Qwilleran thought, So it wasn't necessarily contaminated chicken from Lockmaster. It could have been the fault of the hotel kitchen. "Who was working that night?" he asked.

"Well, besides the chef and sous chef, they had some college kids from restaurant schools and some islanders for the support staff—that's what they call the unskilled jobs."

"Who was responsible for the gumbo? Was it a single individual, or were others involved? And was it freshly made that day? If so, was it the usual recipe? Did anything unusual happen in the kitchen that night? Had anyone been fired?"

"I'll have to get back to Merrio," Derek said.

Qwilleran said, "It might stimulate her memory if you showed her a good time and spent a little money. You have an expense account, of course."

Derek liked that idea.

"Okay. Now, what about the guy that drowned. Any luck? Have you found a source?"

"Yeah. One of the barhops—his name is Kirk—rooms at our place, and he remembers serving them."

"Them?"

"The guy was drinking with some woman. They were sitting by the pool."

"What were they drinking?"

"Wine. He remembers that, because most people want beer or Pirate's Gold or a straight shot."

"Did they seem like friends? Or was it a pickup?"

"Oh, they knew each other all right. They were arguing. The guy was pretty upset."

"Was he a hotel guest or a drop-in? And what about her?"

"Kirk didn't know her, but the guy was registered, and the drinks were charged to his room. They had a few rounds, and then Kirk took his break. When he got back, the pool lights were off, and the busboy was cleaning up the rim. He's the one that saw something floating. He rushed into the bar; the head barman called security; the police came, and the rescue squad; and that was it!"

"Did the police investigate?" Qwilleran asked.

"They hung around for a while, asking questions, but die boss told everybody not to talk to outsiders—or even discuss it with other employees—or they'd lose their jobs. When I talked to Kirk, we went down on the beach for privacy. He was glad to get it off his chest. He'd been thinking about it a lot. Because of the secrecy thing, he was suspicious, you know."

"What did he remember about the couple who were drinking?"

"Only that they were sharp-looking—young, but not too young—and they were speaking a foreign language."

"That's a big help," Qwilleran said. "The last time I counted, there were five thousand foreign languages."

Derek had another beer and finished the meatloaf before leaving with some extra money in his pocket. As they stepped out of the cottage, music was coming from Five Pips, and voices could be heard, a male and a female.

"Sounds like another audition," Qwilleran said.

Derek galumphed up the lane, wielding his flashlight and swinging a sack of pears for his fellow roomers.

Qwilleran went back indoors and immediately stepped on something small and hard. At the same time he caught Koko with his paw in the nutbowl.

"No!" he yelled. "Bad cat!" he scolded as he gathered up the nuts scattered on the floor. It was no great loss; they were all hazelnuts, and he considered them a waste of chewing time. The walnuts, pecans, almonds, and cashews were untouched.

"Smart cat!" Qwilleran said, changing his tone. Ko-ko sat up like a kangaroo and laundered a spot on his underside.