The Cat Who Dropped a Bombshell

Chapter 13

There was plenty to talk about that weekend - in the coffee shops, on the street corners, over the grapevine.

About the murder at the family reunion: "They've let the suspect go because of not-enough-evidence, but it looks like murder to me." . . . "That's what happens when you have a lot of strangers coming into town." . . . "Thank God it wasn't one of us."

About the new feature writer at the newspaper: "Why did they have to go to California to get somebody?" . . . "Do you like the way she writes?"

About the Heirloom Auction: "Did you see that copper picture of Lincoln in the paper?" . . . "My grandmother had a gold locket with Lincoln's picture on the front, his autograph on the back, and inside there was a smidgeon of cloth from the vest he was wearing when he was shot. The locket disappeared." . . . "A lot of family treasures are coming out of the closet! They're not telling who-gives-what. Does it have something to do with income tax?"

About the Big Burning show: "You haven't seen it? I've seen it three times." . . . "My great-grandparents lost their house, barns, livestock, everything! Lucky to escape with their kids."

About the weather: "Do you think this good weather will keep up?" . . . "It's nice for parades and family reunions, but not so good for crops." . . . "A good rain would wash the pollen away, too. Notice how many people are complaining about allergies?"

An editorial in Friday's paper was headlined:

CAMPBELL'S KIDS DO IT AGAIN

It praised the MCCC students of Burgess Campbell, who learned lifetime skills while contributing to the well-being of the community. Prodded by their mentor, they challenged a problem, devised an original solution, involved the General Public, and accomplished wonders. The General Public deserved much of the credit, but it was the enthusiasm of the young people that enlisted their support.

The editorial said: "There has never been an activity centre for seniors. Burgess Campbell has donated an old downtown building; money to equip it is being raised by auctioning heirlooms donated by old families and collected by a crew of Kids. Local merchants, organizations, and news media are supporting it."

On Saturday morning auction-goers lined up in front of the Community Hall, waiting to buy tickets: five dollars for spectator seats in the balcony, twice that for persons intending to bid; they were given numbered flash cards.

Small objects were displayed on long tables lining the walls; large items were displayed on the platform. All had DO NOT TOUCH signs, and were under the watchful eye of security guards disguised as hosts and hostesses. There was even background music - not recorded but live : bouncy rhythms played by electric guitar, clarinet, and flute.

The emcee said, "Please take your seats: yellow tickets on the main floor, green tickets in the balcony."

There was a moment's hush, and then the chairman of the Kids extended a welcome and introduced Moose County's favorite auctioneer, "who is donating his expertise today, Foxy Fred." (Tumultuous applause!)

He entered wearing his usual outfit, which included sombrero, red neckerchief, and cowboy boots. "Howdy! Howdy!" he said. "As you good people know, there will be no noise of any kind while bidders are bidding and the porters and spotters are doing their job."

The porters and spotters and cashiers wore MCCC T-shirts, white on blue, with red neckerchiefs. All were emotionless, staring pointedly at the audience until there was an absolute hush.

Then a porter carried a framed picture to the platform. Glancing at the tag, Foxy Fred said, "What we have here is an early-twentieth-century trolley car poster in mint condition, advertising a big bowl of healthy, crispy, crunchy breakfast cereal with strawberries and cream. What am I offered?"

"A hundred!" came a man's authoritative voice.

"A hundred I've got. Who'll make it two?"

"Two hundred!" came a voice that WPKX listeners recognized. There were gasps from the audience.

"Are you gonna let him get away with this rare piece of Americana?"

"Three!" shouted Qwilleran.

"Three I've got. Make it four . . ."

Wetherby flashed his card.

"Four I've got . . . Make it five? Make it five?"

The audience held its collective breath.

"Five I've got - from the man with a moustache! Now we're talkin'. . . . Make it six? Make it five-fifty . . . No? . . . Goin' at five hundred! Five hundred once, five hundred twice--"

Wetherby shouted, "Five-fifty!"

The audience roared.

"Six hundred!" Qwilleran shouted.

All eyes were on Wetherby, and he shook his head.

The audience groaned.

"Six hundred once, six hundred twice. Sold for a measly six hundred - this rare example of antiquity!"

The audience applauded as a spotter escorted Qwilleran to the nearest cashier.

Following the crowd-pleasing stunt, the auction settled down to reasonable bidding. Foxy Fred was a genius at manipulating an audience, and he coaxed the top dollar for the four items photographed for the newspaper, while letting other items move quickly. His technique added excitement and promised everyone a chance to take something home. If the bidding was slow, he shocked everyone by giving someone an incredible bargain. Or he mesmerized them with the auctioneer's chant: "Wanna wanna wanna wanna . . . bidda bidda bidda . . ."

There were short interludes for stretching legs and chattering, as well as long interludes for flocking to the lower level for cold drinks and sandwiches. Altogether he kept the crowd happy for six hours.

Polly said, "How does he maintain the pace?"

"He's a pro," Qwilleran said. "I'm waiting to see how he handles the cat auction next Saturday."

The Lincoln portrait went for four thousand, the tall case clock for three thousand, and the three porcelain teacups to Qwilleran for three hundred.

Polly gasped, "Qwill, what are you going to do with them?"

"Give tea parties," he said glibly.

It was an anonymous donation that caused the greatest stir. It had been the last of the important items photographed in the Something - a massive library table of carved oak, with two bulbous legs at one end and a realistic carving of a basset hound standing on hind legs and supporting the table at the other end. It had belonged to the affluent father of Sarah Plensdorf, according to people in the know. Whispered comments were: "Bet she's glad to get rid of it." . . . "Who on earth would want such a monster?" . . . "How much do you think they'll pay?"

A sealed bid from an agent in Lockmaster - unchallenged - won the table for ten thousand!

When Qwilleran and Polly left the auction scene, he had his teacups and she had an autographed copy of Mark Twain's travel book A Tramp Abroad. She said, "It will please Lisa Compton that I bought the book; it belonged to her great-grandmother, who had the thrill of meeting Mark Twain when he lectured here in 1895. . . . Just think, Qwill, he spoke in the old opera house - the very stage where you do The Big Burning. It gives me goose bumps!"

"Where would your goose bumps like to have dinner?" he asked. "How about the Boulder House Inn - far from the bidding crowd?"

"I think it would be lovely," Polly said, ignoring his pun.

Before driving to the lakeshore, they stopped at the barn to feed the cats. Polly's cats had an automatic feeder that could be set for any hour, but Koko let it be known that he disapproved of automation.

From the barn Qwilleran phoned the inn for a reservation, and they drove leisurely through the countryside.

Polly said, "Everyone's talking about the ten-thousand-dollar bid from Lockmaster - for the Plensdorf library table. Can you think of anyone down there who would pay that?"

"Some sharpie who'll sell it for twenty thousand in Chicago. When they send a truck to pick it up, we should have our spies follow it."

She could not be sure whether he was serious or tossing one of his flip remarks. Rather than reveal her naïveté, she remained silent.

Qwilleran said, "This is the third time I've seen Foxy Fred in action. Do you think he will use the same sharp, scolding, bossy tactics with an audience of cat lovers? I should think the right approach would be gentler, appealing to their sentimentality. Also, I can't visualize the platform procedure of a cat auction."

"Well, you remember Peggy, who comes to the store twice a day to feed Dundee, don't you, Qwill? She's been volunteering at the animal shelter. She says each cat will arrive onstage in his own ?limousine' - a picnic basket with lift-up lid and top-handle. His name and other information will be on a tag attached to the handle. And the tags are being hand-lettered and decorated by art students. There's a soft pad in the bottom of each basket. Each cat is spending a few hours each day in his own private limousine to familiarize himself with the aroma."

Qwilleran said, "The well-organized routine sounds as if Hixie Rice has had a hand in the planning," he said with a touch of sarcasm, for which Polly rebuked him.

It was generally thought that Hixie's brilliant plans always went awry. Thus far, her plans for Pickax Now had been successful. Even the weather had cooperated, and the three-month celebration was almost two-thirds over. Still, Qwilleran could not quell the newsman's suspicion that everything was going too well.