Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 12 Who Knew A Cardinal

"No, thanks. I'll call back." As he hung up he heard Yum Yum mumbling to herself in the adjacent lounge area, intent on some personal project. Here was a situation he always investigated; she had a hobby of stealing wrist watches and gold pens and stashing them away under the furniture. As he suspected, she was lying on her side near one of the sofas, reaching underneath it to fish out a hidden treasure. It was a piece of crumpled paper. To her consternation he confiscated it, knowing she would swallow pieces of it - the predatory instinct.

"N-N-NOW!" she demanded. "No!" Qwilleran insisted.

It was a yellow slip of paper he had not seen before, and when he smoothed it out, it proved to be a salescheck from the Tacky Tack Shop, Lockmaster, for the purchase of two sweatshirts. The date of the transaction was September 9. The customer's name was not recorded, but it appeared that Fiona had dropped it when she visited on the day before. Penciled scribbling on the back looked like directions for reaching the Qwilleran barn. Yum Yum had found it, hiding it under the sofa for future reference.

A sudden movement from the cats alerted him, and he caught a glimpse of activity in the woods. Someone was approaching from the direction of Main Street - on foot.. That alone was unusual. Although the gate was left open during daylight hours, most visitors arrived on wheels. Very few persons in Pickax chose to use their legs. This caller was walking timidly, and he was carrying a book.

Putting the salescheck in his pocket, Qwilleran went out to meet Eddington Smith.

"I found something for you," said the elderly bookseller.

"Why didn't you phone me? I could have picked it up."

"Dr. Hal told me to start taking walks. It wasn't far. Only a few blocks." He was breathing hard. "It's a nice day. I think this will be the last warm weekend we have."

Qwilleran reached for the book. Like most of the stock in Eddington's shop it had lost its dust jacket, and the cover suggested years of storage in a damp basement. Then he looked at the spine. "City of Brotherly Crime! It's my book!" he yelped. "You found it! This is worth a lot to me, Edd."

"You don't owe me anything, Mr. Q. I want you to have it. You're a good customer."

Qwilleran clapped the frail man on the back. "Come in and have a drink of cider. Let me show you around the barn. Say hello to the cats."

"I was here the night Mr. VanBrook was shot, but I didn't see much of the barn. Too many people."

Qwilleran served cider with a magnanimous flourish and explained the design of the building: the fireplace cube, the triangular windows, the ramps and catwalks, and the use of tapestries.

"That's quite an apple tree," said Eddington, looking up at the textile hanging overhead. He was chiefly impressed, however, by the presence of books on every level. Even in the 10ft apartment the cats had their own library: Beginning Algebra, Learning to Drive, Xenophon's Anabasis, and other titles from the ten-cent table at his shop.

After climbing the ramps - slowly, for the old man's sake - they reached the topmost catwalk and could look down on the dramatic view of the main floor.

"I've never been this high up, where I could look down," the bookseller said in wonder.

Yum Yum, who had followed them on the tour, jumped to the catwalk railing, now conveniently cushioned by the top edge of the tapestry, and arranged herself in fiddle position: haunches up, body elongated, and forelegs stretched forward like the neck of a violin.

"Siamese like a high altitude," Qwilleran explained. "It's their ancient heritage. They used to be watch-cats on the walls of temples and palaces."

"That's interesting," said Eddington. "I never knew that before."

"Yes, so they say, at any rate. But Yum Yum's developed a bad habit of pulling everything apart with her paw... NO!" he scolded, tapping the corner of the tapestry back on the tack-strip.

She gazed into space, afflicted by sudden deafness, a common disorder in felines.

"Someone's coming," said the bookseller. "I'd better get back to the store." A van winding up the Trevelyan Trail was visible through the high triangular windows.

"That's my five o'clock appointment," Qwilleran mumbled. He combed his moustache with his fingertips. "I'd appreciate it, Edd, if you'd stay a little longer."

"It's getting late."

"I'll drive you home."

"I shouldn't put you to the trouble, Mr. Q."

"No trouble."

"Won't I be in the way?"

"You'll be doing me a favor, Edd. Just stay up here and listen." Qwilleran started down the ramp. "And keep out of sight," he called over his shoulder.

The bookseller opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. What could he say? It was a strange request from a good customer.

In the barnyard Qwilleran greeted Redbeard as he jumped out of his van. "Nice day," he said.

"Yeah, this is the last warm weekend coming up. It's gonna rain, though, sometime. I can always tell by the way the horses act."