Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 14 Who Wasn't There

"I deducted five hours instead of adding. I'm so sorry!" "Is anything wrong? Are the cats all right?" "They're fine. We've just had a little snack." "When is Irma's funeral? How are the Hasselriches taking it? Have you heard?" "That's why I'm calling, Qwill. The funeral's been postponed--for family reasons, it said in the paper. Actually, the body hasn't arrived yet." "Hasn't arrived! It left here with Melinda four days ago!" "Yes, Melinda is home. She said the body was flown cargo... but it's lost." "How do you know?" "Roger was at the funeral home, asking why there were so many flowers and no body, and the Dingleberry brothers told him it had gone astray." "Is there any trace of it?" "Oh, yes. It arrived from Scotland and went to Chicago all right, but then it was shipped to Moose Jaw in Canada, instead of the Moose County Airport." "Is that where it is now?" "No, it's been traced to Denver, and they think it's on the way back to Chicago, by way of Atlanta." Qwilleran groaned.

"This is absurd, Mildred. Does Junior know what's happened?" "Roger told him, but it's being suppressed to keep from upsetting Irma's parents." "Hold the line," Qwilleran told her. Turning to Riker, he said, "Irma's body hasn't arrived. It's being shipped all over North America.

Junior is withholding the news." The two men stared at each other, both thinking what a headline it would make. All their training and experience and instincts as newsmen told them to go for the headline, but Pickax was a small town, and the Moose County Something was a small-town newspaper, and attitudes were different. Riker nodded assent.

"Well, thank you, Mildred," said Qwilleran.

"Is everything else okay? How about the cats?" "One of them has been chewing holes in your old sweaters and throwing up." "That's probably Koko. He hasn't done that for years! He's lonely." "I'm terribly sorry I disturbed you, Qwill." "That's all right. I'm glad you called. I'll be home soon--perhaps sooner than I planned."

Six

On the morning of Day Ten the members of the Bonnie Scots Tour placed their luggage in the corridor at seven-thirty instead of six thirty having voted unanimously to amend Irma's orders and start sleeping an extra hour. Qwilleran walked down the hall to Polly's room and knocked on the door.

"May I come in?" he asked.

"Good morning, dear. I was about to plug in the tea-maker. Would you like a cup?" "No, thanks. I simply want you to know I'm leaving the tour as soon as we reach Edinburgh." "Has something happened at home?" she asked anxiously.

"No. I simply have a strong desire to get back to Pickax, that's all." He fingered his moustache significantly.

"I'm changing my flight." "Would you like company, Qwill?" "Don't you want to see Edinburgh? It's a magnificent city. I've had many newspaper assignments there." "Frankly, my heart isn't in this tour since Irma died, and it may seem foolish, but... I'm lonesome for Bootsie." "Give me your ticket and I'll phone the airline," he said.

In changing their flights, he also upgraded their reservations to first class. Even though he was reluctant to spend money on transportation, he needed the extra space for his long legs and wide shoulders, and--after ten days of small talk with the heterogeneous Bonnie Scots family-he wanted privacy for a sustained conversation with Polly.

Twenty-four hours later they had said goodbye to their traveling companions and were airborne-- Qwilleran stretching his legs luxuriously, Polly sipping champagne, and both of them enjoying the pampering of VIP'S.

"I wonder if Bootsie has missed me," Polly said.

"I've never left him for more than a weekend. My sister-in-law takes good care of him, but there isn't the rapport that he has with me." "Mildred says Koko's been chewing my sweaters. That means he's lonely, even though she's feeding him haute cuisine and perverting him with dubious diversions, like tarot cards." The champagne bottle made the rounds again, and delectable hors d'oeuvres were served, prompting Polly to say, "Do you realize we were never offered any haggis in Scotland?" "We never heard any bagpipes, either," he added.

"Or saw anyone dancing the hornpipe." "In fact, we never really met any Scots. We were always with our own group, a little bit of Moose County on foreign soil." This was followed by a regretful silence until Polly said, "On the credit side, I survived the trip without bronchitis, although I decided not to take my vitamin C. The capsules were too large and hard to swallow." "Your bronchitis in England last year was all psychological, because I wasn't with you." "What a sweep of vanity comes this way!" she said, quoting Shakespeare with glee.

"A little vanity is a good thing," he retorted.

"That's a questionable aphorism, if I ever heard one! Who said that?" she demanded.