Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 14 Who Wasn't There

Irma was, indeed, meticulously dressed and groomed, and her statuesque figure had a polished perfection that put the other women at a disadvantage. The map was an instant attraction, especially the west coast, fringed with firths, lochs, ky les and isles.

"Caused by glacial movement in the Ice Age," the leader explained with authority. Someone asked, "How big is Scotland?" Before Irma could answer, a man's voice came from the rear of the group--the chesty voice that goes with a portly figure.

"The country is 30,414 square miles, smaller than South Carolina." Everyone turned to gaze in speechless wonder at Whannell MacWhannell, accountant. In a small, fearful voice his wife asked him, "Do we have to drive over any mountains, Daddy?" "Not big ones, Mother," he assured her. Amanda whispered, "Aren't they a sweet couple? I may throw up!" The map brought forth a variety of comments: "Look! There's the famous Loch Lomond!" "Hope we see the Loch Ness monster." "Where are the distilleries?" The deep voice in the rear said, "There's a famous railway bridge over the Firth of Forth, with two spans of 1,710 feet each and two of 690 feet. The tracks are 157 feet above the water." Amanda groaned.

"Big Mac is going to be the official bore on this trip." Someone said quietly, "Put on your sunglasses, everybody.

Here come the Chisholm sisters." The two women who entered the parlor were older than the others in the group, both having white hair. One walked a few steps behind the other. In the lead was a short, stocky woman wearing a dazzling array of jewelry, her bosomy figure displaying it like a jeweler's velvet tray. Carol confided to Qwilleran in a whisper, "It's all the real thing! You should see her on Saturday night at the country club! She and Zella also collect teddy bears on a large scale." He was no connoisseur of jewelry, but he was impressed by the strands of pearls twisted with chunky gold chains and clasped at the left collarbone with a spray of diamonds.

Her sister--taller and thinner and plainer--wore a small gold teddy bear with ruby eyes. The pair headed directly toward him, and the bejeweled sister said in a raspy voice, "You're Mr. Qwilleran! I recognized the moustache from your picture in the paper. We always read your column." She looked up at him brightly.

"I'm Grace Utley, and this is my sister, Zella. We're Chisholms. You must have heard of the Chisholms. Our grandfather built the Moose County courthouse. yes!" "How do you do," he said with a gracious bow.

"My mother was a Mackintosh." "We collect teddy bears!" she said, eagerly awaiting a newsman's reaction to this newsworthy credential.

"Very interesting," he said stolidly.

"Yes... We have a button-in-ear Steiff that's very rare." At that moment he was aware that Melinda Goodwinter was entering the parlor; he caught a whiff of her familiar perfume. As a doctor and a Goodwinter she was being greeted with suitable respect, but her eyes wandered around the room until she spotted Qwilleran. Within seconds she was at his side.

"Hello, lover," she said coolly.

"Melinda, have you met Grace Utley and Zella Chisholm?" he asked.

"Ladies, do you know Dr. Melinda Goodwinter?" "We do indeed... yes!" said Mrs. Utley.

"How are you, dear heart? We were distressed to hear about your father. You have our deepest sympathy." The waiter reappeared with his tray of champagne and orange juice, and while the older women were momentarily distracted, Melinda managed to draw Qwilleran aside, saying, "Alone at last! You're looking great, lover!" "How did you like Boston?" he asked, avoiding any lingering eye contact.

"It's good of you to come back and take over your father's clinic." "Boston served its purpose, but I'm glad to be home. I heard you've converted the Klingenschoen barn, and you're living in it." "For a while, at any rate." "Do you still have the cats?" "I provide their bed and board." Koko, he recalled, had not cared for Melinda, always telling her to go home in his subtle, catly way. Trying to keep the conversation impersonal, Qwilleran asked, "How do you like Moose County's new newspaper?" "Big improvement." Melinda gulped the rest of her champagne.

"Aren't you the one who's financing it?" "The Klingenschoen Foundation is behind it," he corrected her.

"Arch Riker is editor-and-publisher. Have you met him? He and I are old friends, and we're sharing accommodations on this tour... Arch!

Come over here!" The publisher caught the significance of the situation and rose to the occasion.

"We met at the funeral," he said when Qwilleran introduced him.

"I'm glad you're taking over your father's practice, Melinda. We need all the doctors we can get. They keep inventing new diseases. I hope you brought your little black bag on this trip, in case anyone chokes on the porridge or gets bitten by a haggis..." Good old Arch!

Qwilleran thought.