Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 11 Who Lived High

"Do you still have your beautiful cats?" "More accurately, they have me. At this moment Koko knows we're on the way up to Fourteen, and he'll greet us at the door. Did you ever see the Bessinger apartment?" "No, but I've heard a lot about it. Her murder was something I can't get through my noodle. She was a good woman. I don't know about her private life, but she was always honest and fair with artists, and that's more than I can say about most dealers. And more than I can say about her husband." "I didn't know she was married, although I think the obituary mentioned daughters." "Oh, sure! She and Jerome Todd were married for years in Des Moines. They divorced after they came here." "Apparently it was amicable." "Yes and no, according to scuttlebutt. To tell the awful truth, I never knew what she could see in Todd. He's such a cold fish! But they stayed together as business partners. She took care of the talent; and he was a good businessman - good for himself, that is; not so good for the artists he represents." Old Green finally stumbled up to the top and stopped with a bang as if it had hit the roof, and when Qwilleran unlocked the door to 14-A and switched on the foyer lights, Koko walked to greet them with stately gait and lofty ears.

"Hello, you swanky rascal," said Inga. "Look at that noble nose! Look at that tapered tail! Talk about line and design! Where's the other one?" "Probably asleep on the waterbed." The potter gazed around the foyer with an artist's eye. "Pretty posh!" "Wait till you see the gallery!" Qwilleran opened the French doors and turned on the track lights that illuminated the mushroom paintings, the conversation pit, and the well-stocked bar. "We'll have our drinks in the library, but I wanted you to see the artwork." Inga nodded. "I knew Ross when he was in art school, before he got into mushrooms and found himself. Those paintings are worth plenty now... What's the cat doing?" Koko was burrowing under the dhurrie in front of the bar.

"Merely expressing his joy at seeing you again, Inga." He was loading a tray with bourbon, mineral water, glasses, and an ice bucket. "Go into the library and look at the art books while I get ice from the kitchen." When he carried the tray into the library, Inga was exclaiming over the collection. "If they have an estate sale, I'll be the first in line. That's the only way I can afford books like these." Qwilleran poured the drinks. "There won't be any bargains, Inga. The murder will give all of this stuff a juicy provenance, and the prices will skyrocket." "Disgusting, isn't it?" she said. "Murder used to be shocking. Now it's an opportunity for profiteering." She raised her glass. "Here's to the memory of two good kids. I don't understand how Ross could do it." "The autopsy showed drug use." She shook her head woefully. "I can't picture Ross as a druggie. He was kind of a health nut, you know. He didn't go in for weight lifting or jogging or anything like that, but he had definite ideas about food. He was the next best thing to a vegetarian." "What about his relationship with Lady Di?" "Ah, there's the fly in the soup!" Inga said. "From what I hear, that's what broke up her marriage." "They say Ross's motive was jealousy. Di had found a new prot‚g‚." Inga scowled into her gray bangs. "Rewayne Wilk. He was there tonight." "Spell it," Qwilleran requested.

"R-e-w-a-y-n-e W-i-I-k. Big blond with long hair and a cleft chin. Maybe you saw his three masterworks. He calls them The Pizza Eaters, The Hot Dog Eaters, and The Wing Ding Eaters. All I can say is... Van Gogh did it better with potatoes." "May I freshen your drink, Inga?" "I never say no." "I suppose you've heard about Ross's confession painted on the wall," he said as he poured. "I found it today. It had been painted over, but the lettering shows through faintly." "Where? Let me see it." They went to the end of the foyer, Koko trotting ahead as if he knew their destination. Qwilleran removed the butcher block painting and sidelighted the wall with a bare lamp bulb.

Inga said, "It looks like he used pigment right out of the tube, and his brush was a #12 bright, but he spelled her name wrong. Poor kid! He had talent and a future, and he threw them both away." "Speaking of wasted lives," Qwilleran said, "do you know Adelaide Plumb?" "We've never met, but I've known about her for years." "Do you know the story about her - how she sold her fianc‚ for millions to save the Casablanca?" "It wasn't her idea," said Inga. "She did it under duress." "What are you implying?" "Her father set it up! That's not the conventional wisdom, but I happen to know that it's true. I was around in the Thirties, don't forget... What time is it? Here I am, babbling like an idiot, and it's time for me to go home. I live at the Senior Towers, and if I'm not in by eleven o'clock, they check the morgue." "I'll take you home," Qwilleran said.