Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 14 Who Wasn't There

"We ran a check, and it's registered to one Charles Edward Martin of Charlestown, Massachusetts." "What was he doing here?" Qwilleran asked sharply, a rhetorical question.

"In five years I've never seen a Massachusetts car in Moose County.

Those New Englanders don't even know it exists!" "Could be a friend of Dr. Melinda's. Could be he came for her dad's funeral. There were lots of beards there," Brodie said.

"Tell you what, Qwill: If he shows up again and we get a complaint, we'll know who he is, at least. For now, we're stepping up the night patrols on Goodwinter Boulevard, and you tell Polly not to go out alone after dark." Qwilleran's moustache bristled. Whenever he thought of that maroon car, he felt a distinct tremor on his upper lip. His luxuriant moustache was more than a prominent facial feature; it had long been the source of his hunches and suspicions, bristling and tingling to get his attention, and experience had taught him to trust the signals. This peculiar sensitivity was a matter he was loath to discuss with any but his intimate friends, and even they were disinclined to believe it. Nevertheless, it was a fact. He was not alone in his ability to sense trouble. Kao K'o Kung possessed a unique faculty for exposing evil deeds and evildoers, in the same way that he sniffed a microscopic spot on the rug, or detected a stereo control turned to "on" when the power should be off. When Koko's ears pointed and his whiskers twitched, when he scratched industriously and sniffed juicily, he was on the scent of something that was-not--as--it-comshd--but every After the phone conversation with Brodie, Qwilleran turned to Koko, who always perched nearby to monitor calls.

"Well, old boy," he said, "the Boulevard Prowler seems to have left town." "Yow," said Koko, scratching his ear.

"So far, so good. Now, how do we find you a suitable cat-sitter?" Koko jumped to the floor with a grunt and trotted to the pantry, where he stared pointedly at his empty plate.

Yum Yum was not far behind. It was time for their mid-day snack.

Qwilleran gave them a handful of crunchy cereal concocted by the food writer of the Moose County Something, Mildred Hanstable. It was the only dry food the Siamese would deign to eat. As he watched them munching and waving their tails in rapture, an idea struck him.

"I've got it!" he said aloud.

"Mildred Hanstable!" Besides writing the food column for the newspaper, she taught home economics in the Pickax schools, and she enjoyed cooking for cats, dogs, and humans.

Widowed, she lived alone. Plump and pretty, she had a kind heart, a lively imagination, and an ample lap.

"Perfect!" Qwilleran yelped, so loudly that the Siamese turned to look at him in alarm before finishing the last morsel on the plate. Mildred Hanstable was the mother-in-law of his friend Roger MacGillivray, and he tracked down the young reporter at Lois's Luncheonette.

"What do you think of the idea, Roger? She likes the cats, and they like her." "It would do her a lot of good--help get her mind off the past," said Roger.

"She thinks your barn is sensational, and the chance to live there for a couple of weeks would be like halfway to heaven!" "One thing I must ask: Is she still drinking heavily?" "Well, she went through a twisted kind of alcoholic mourning for that no-good husband of hers, but she snapped out of it. Now she's overeating instead. Basically she's lonely. I wish she could meet a decent guy." "We'll have to work on that, Roger... Where are you headed now?" "I have an assignment in Kennebeck. The Tuesday Afternoon Women's Club is planting a tree in the village park." It so happened that Qwilleran had brought several handwoven batwing capes from the mountains, and he presented one to Mildred after a staff meeting at the newspaper.

It was the kind of voluminous garment that she liked for camouflaging her excess poundage, and the invitation to cat-sit and barn-sit for two weeks thrilled her beyond words. With that worrisome matter concluded, he now applied himself to other matters.

He gave batwing capes to his part-time secretary, the young interior designer who had helped him furnish the barn, and the advertising manager of the Moose County Something, making three women deliriously happy. Next, to replace the car that was left mired in the mountains, he found a white four-door on the used-car lot; he never wasted money on new models. All the while, he was cleverly managing to avoid Dr.