Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 14 Who Wasn't There

We'll have a ball, won't we, cats?" "Yowl" said Koko, squeezing his eyes as if visions of shrimp Newburgh danced in his head.

The next morning Qwilleran said a regretful goodbye to the cats and looked back as he walked out the door to see two pairs of large blue eyes filled with concern. He would have wished for a more cheerful send-off. And when he drove away he was aware of two tiny creatures watching him from an upper level of the huge barn. At the Moose County Airport he parked his car in the new indoor facility, and the shuttle plane departed without requiring the usual last-minute repairs. The connection in Chicago went smoothly, perhaps too smoothly. Three meals and several magazines later, he arrived in Glasgow on schedule. His luggage was flown, unfortunately, to another city in Western Europe. So began the Bonnie Scots Tour.

Three

By the time the participants in the Bonnie Scots Tour gathered for the Happy Hour on the eve of Day One, Qwilleran had recovered from jet lag, retrieved his luggage, and paid homage to Charles Rennie Mackintosh.

Throughout the day other travelers from Moose County had been straggling wearily into the centrally located hotel selected for the jumping-off place. At six o'clock Qwilleran--dressed in blazer, shirt, and tie according to instructions from Sergeant Hasselrich--reported to the hotel lobby and found it bright with kilts worn by males of all ages; there was a wedding reception in the banquet hall. The Bonnie Scots party was scheduled for the Robert Burns parlor, which was no different from the Sir Walter Scott Parlor or the Bonnie Prince Charlie Parlor or the Robert Louis Stevenson Parlor, except for a portrait of the poet hanging above the bar. When Qwilleran entered, a white-coated young man with red hair was circulating with a tray of champagne and orange juice.

Among the guests already on hand were Larry and Carol Lanspeak, the most likable couple in Pickax. They were civic leaders, owners of the Lanspeak Department Store, and mainstays in the Theatre Club.

Qwilleran approached them, saying, "All hail, Macbeth! Hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor!" "Dammit! It means growing a beard again," said the actor ruefully, rubbing his chin.

"First it's Henry VIII, then Abe Lincoln, and now this. How come I never get a chance to play Peter Pan?" He was a mild-mannered man, difficult to imagine as the murderous Macbeth. Carol said, "Qwill, this is Dwight Somers, who's directing Macbeth. I don't think you two have met... Dwight, Jim Qwilleran is better known as Qwill. You've seen his column, "Straight from the Qwill Pen," in the paper." "I've heard a lot about you," said the man with the neatly clipped beard, "and I enjoy your column. It's always right on." "Thanks. You're new in Moose County. Where do you hail from?" "Most recently, from Iowa. Should I read that line with pride or apology?" "There's nothing wrong with Iowa that couldn't be fixed with a few Wisconsin lakes and Pennsylvania mountains," Qwilleran said encouragingly. He liked Dwight Somers on sight; the man exuded an inner energy characteristic of theatre people. And his compliments did not go unnoticed; Qwilleran was vain about his writing. The foursome was joined by the other couple, the Comptons. Lyle was the tall, lanky, saturnine superintendent of schools; Lisa, who worked for Social Services, had dancing eyes and a sense of humor that contrasted with her husband's dour demeanor. She asked, "Who's taking care of your cats, Qwill?" "Mildred Hanstable. I hope she doesn't overfeed them.

They're con artists when it comes to food... Are you two ready for a happy adventure in the Highlands?" With his usual scowl Lyle said, "I'm going to be happy if it kills me!" A young man with thinning hair walked into the parlor, a camera slung over his shoulder, and Qwilleran introduced him as the photographer from Lockmaster, John Bushland.

"Call me Bushy," he said congenially, stroking his nearly bald head.

"How come you brought your camera and not your wife, Bushy?" "Well, you see, Vicki started a catering service this summer, and she has bookings she can't cancel. What did you do about the cats, Qwill?" "They're holding the fort in Pickax, with a live-in cook to cater their meals. I hated to leave them. I left some of my old sweaters lying around, so they can sit on them and not feel abandoned." "That's thoughtful of you," said Carol Lanspeak, "but I suspect you'll miss the cats more than they'll miss you." "You don't need to tell me that, Carol. I've been bluffed and bullied by those two opportunists long enough to know." Gradually the others arrived-the women in skirts and heels, the men in coats and ties. Mr.

and Mrs. MacWhannell were a quiet couple, stiffly formal--a tall, portly man and a tiny birdlike woman. Arch Riker and Amanda Goodwinter had obviously had a head start at a pub. Irma and Polly arrived with a large map of Scotland, which the red-haired waiter hung on the wall.