Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 14 Who Wasn't There

Melinda Goodwinter, ignoring the reminder that he was due for his annual checkup according to the records of the late Halifax Goodwinter, M.D. Irma Hasselrich was prompt in mailing tour participants a detailed itinerary as well as information on Scottish weather and appropriate clothing: "Sweaters and jackets are a must, because evenings can be cool, and we'll be traveling to windswept islands and mountaintops. Be sure to include a light raincoat, umbrella, and waterproof shoes or boots." The last was underlined in red. Then: "For special evenings, men are requested to pack a blazer or sports coat with shirt and tie, and women are advised to have a dress and heels for such occasions.

Luggage must be limited to one bag per person, plus a small carry-on.

There will be no smoking on the bus or in restaurants as a matter of courtesy, and no smoking in country inns because of the fire hazard." Enclosed was a brief glossary of Highland and Lowland terms: loch... lake moor... treeless hill glen... secluded valley fen.

marsh ben... mountain firth... arm of the sea burn... creek strath... wide river valley =yle... strait croft... farmhouse crofter.

farmer bothy... farmhands' barracks nee ps... turnips tat ties.

potatoes haggis... meat pudding toilet... restroom usquebaugh.

whiskey (spelled "whisky" in Scotland) Included was a suggested reading list: Boswell, Dr. Johnson, Sir Walter Scott, and the like, most of which were in Qwilleran's growing collection of secondhand books. Nevertheless, he went to Eddington Smith's used-book store and picked up an old travel book with a yellowed fold-out map of Scotland. The bookseller also suggested Memoirs of an Eighteenth Century Footman. He said, "It's about Scotland. It was published in 1790 and reprinted in 1927. It's not in bad condition for a sixty-year-old book." Qwilleran bought it and was on his way out of the store when Eddington mentioned, "Dr.

Melinda came in yesterday. She wants me to buy Dr. Hal's library, but she's asking too much money." That evening, as Qwilleran sat in his favorite lounge chair with Memoirs, the cats arranged themselves for a read: Koko on the wide upholstered arm of the chair and Yum Yum on his lap with forelegs extended and paws crossed prettily.

Sixty years of assorted household odors made the book fascinating to the Siamese. Qwilleran was enthralled by the incredible account of four motherless children--ages two, four, seven, and fourteen-setting out to find their father, who had left to fight for Prince Charlie.

After walking 150 miles, being on the road for three months, begging for food and shelter, they learned that he had fallen in battle at Culloden. Absorbed in their predicament, Qwilleran was almost too stunned to answer when the telephone rang, until Koko yowled in his ear.

"Uh... hello," he said vaguely.

"Hello, lover.

Is that you? You sound far away. Do you recognize a voice from your high-flying past?" "Who is this?" he asked in a flat voice, although he knew.

"Melinda!" "Oh... hello." "Am I interrupting something important?" "No. I was reading a book." "It must be pretty good.

What's the title?" "It's... uh... Memoirs of an Eighteenth Century Footman by John Macdonald." "Sounds like hot stuff. Someone told me you're collecting old books now." "I have a few." He was trying to sound like a poor prospect, not to mention a dull and uninteresting person.

"I'm selling my father's library. Are you interested?" "I'm afraid not. I pick up one book at a time, here and there." "Why don't you meet me at the house for a look at Dad's library. You might see-something--you like. I'm living at Indian Village, but I could run into town." "That's a good idea," he said with misleading enthusiasm.

"I'll see when Polly Duncan's available, and we'll make an appointment with you. She's my guru when it comes to old books." There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"Okay. I'll get in touch with you later, if the books are still available... I hear we're going to Scotland on the same tour, lover." "Yes, Polly talked me into x." "Well, don't let me keep you away from your exciting book." "Thanks for calling," he said in a routine voice.

"Nightynight." Melinda never called back about the books, for which Qwilleran was thankful, but her name was frequently mentioned around town. One afternoon he dropped into Amanda's Studio of Interior Design to scrounge a cup of coffee and use the telephone, as he often did when Fran Brodie was in-house. Fran was assistant to Amanda Goodwinter but younger, more glamorous, and betterdispositioned. As a member of the Theatre Club and daughter of the police chief, she had still another attraction: She could always be relied upon for the latest gossip--or local information, as Qwilleran preferred to call it. Fran greeted him with welcome news: "You've just missed Melinda! She came in to try to sell us her father's books. I don't know what she thought we could do with them.