Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 14 Who Wasn't There

"How did the family react to your request?" "When I phoned about it, they were most appreciative and invited me to dinner after church. It was a painful occasion, but we talked about Irma lovingly, and they said they consider me their surrogate daughter now. I was deeply touched." "Did they know anything about Katie?" "Only that she and Irma had been in art school at the same time. When I brought the book home, I searched it for a Katie with an Edinburgh address and discovered one Kathryn Gow Mac Bean It looks as if Mac Bean might be her married name, in which case Bruce would be a Gow." Polly sounded excited about her first attempt at detection and deduction.

"Good work, Polly!" Qwilleran said.

"Give me the Edinburgh phone number, and I'll see what I can find out." He avoided mentioning Koko's death dance around the obituary or his own murder theory. She said, "I'd invite you over for coffee or something, but I need to do some laundry and get myself together for work tomorrow. Let me know what luck you have." After hanging up, Qwilleran checked his watch. It was too late to call Edinburgh, but the next morning he took his first cup of coffee to the telephone desk, locked the meddlesome Koko in the loft, and placed a call to Katie. He said, "This is Jim Qwilleran, a friend of Irma Hasselrich." He used a sincere and cordial tone of voice intended to inspire confidence.

"Yes?" the woman replied warily.

"I'd like to speak to Kathryn Gow. Or is it Kathryn Mac Bean "I'm Mrs. Mac Bean "I'm phoning from the States--from Irma's hometown of Pickax." "Where is she?" came a sharp reply.

"I mean, I expected her to ring me up." "She never reached Edinburgh, I'm sorry to say," Qwilleran said, introducing a grieved note to prepare his listener for bad news.

"I was a member of her Scots Tour, and while we were still in the Western Highlands, she suffered a heart attack and died.

" "Died! ... That's perfectly awful!" "It pains me to break the news, but her family felt you'd want to know." There was a blank silence.

"Hello? Hello?" he said. In a softer voice Katie said, "I do declare, this is a bit of a shock! I mean, she was fairly young." "Her body was flown back here, and she was buried two days ago. We're notifying a list of her friends." "Was the rest of the tour canceled? My brother was the driver. Odd that he didn't notify me." "Bruce Gow! Is he your brother?" "Ah... yes." "He's an excellent driver, and he was very courteous to a busload of crotchety American tourists." "Yes, he's... very good. What is your name, did you say?" "Jim Qwilleran. My mother was a Mackintosh. We're branches of the same clan. There was a Mac Bean a giant of a man, who fought at Culloden and killed thirteen English with his broadsword, fighting with his back to a wall." This was intended to proclaim his Scottish sympathies and win her good will.

"Ah... yes... there's a fair number of Mackintoshes about." Her attention was wandering as if she were concerned about her brother.

"When did it happen?" "Almost a week ago." "Honestly, I'm in a state! I'm not sure I know quite what to say, Mr.... Mr...." "Qwilleran. It would help to console Irma's parents if you would write them a note. How long had you known her?" "More than twenty years. We met in art school. In Glasgow." She seemed to be speaking in a guarded way.

"Do you have any snapshots or other memorabilia that you could part with? I'm sure her parents would welcome any little memento." "I expect that's the least I can do, isn't it?" "Do you have the address?" "Goodwinter Boulevard? Yes, of course." "I'll send you a clip of the obituary that ran in the local newspaper.

It has a very good photo of Irma." "That would be kind of you. If you could spare two cuttings..." "Glad to do it, Mrs. Mac Bean "And thank you for calling, Mr...." "Qwilleran." He verified her address before concluding the conversation and hung up with a strong feeling of satisfaction. Now he was ready to talk with Chief Brodie. He walked briskly downtown to the police station, and the sergeant at the desk nodded him into the inner office before a word was spoken. Brodie looked up in surprise.

"When did you get back, laddie?" "Saturday. Did you hear the bad news?" The chief nodded.

"I played the bagpipe at her funeral." "You probably heard that she had a fatal heart attack, but there's more to the story than that, and I'd like your advice." Qwilleran glanced toward the outer office and closed the door.

"Pour a cup of coffee and sit down.

How was Scotland, apart from that?" "Beautiful!" "Get your fill of bagpipes?" "Believe it or not, Andy, we didn't hear so much as a squeal, all the time we were there." "You went to the wrong places, mon. You should come to Scottish Night at my lodge. We'll show you what piping is all about... So, what's buggin' you?" Qwilleran pulled up a chair.