Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 14 Who Wasn't There

"Today I was talking to Lyle Compton about the famous medical school at Glasgow University, and he mentioned that the infamous Dr. Cream was a Glaswegian. He was the nineteenth-century psychopath who became a serial killer in England, Canada, and the United States-not as legendary as Jack the Ripper but noted for "pink pills for pale prostitutes," as his M.O. was described." Koko reacted excitedly to this reference, leading Qwilleran to assume that he heard the word "serial" and confused it with the crunchy "cereal" that was his favorite treat. In mid-afternoon Qwilleran walked downtown to the offices of the Moose County Something, to pick up a few more copies of Irma's obituary. He also left a small white box with a CRM monogram on the desk of Hixie Rice, the advertising manager, who had been his friend and neighbor Down Below. Then he dropped into Junior Goodwinter's office.

"You're back early," the managing editor said.

"We don't expect Arch till tomorrow or Wednesday. Tell me about Scotland. What did you like best?" "The islands," Qwilleran answered promptly.

"There's something wild and mystic and ageless about them. You feel it in the stones under your feet--the ancient presence of Picts, Romans, Saxons, Gaels, Angles, Vikings--all that crowd." "Wow! Write it up for the "Qwill Pen" column!" Junior suggested with his boyish enthusiasm.

"That's my intention eventually, after I've had a chance to sort out my impressions. But I came in to compliment you on the obit, Junior. A beautiful piece of copy! We're sending clips to Irma's friends in Scotland... How about the local scene? Any momentous news in Moose County?" "Well, we're carrying a series of ads on the liquidation of Dr. Hal's estate. Melinda's selling everything in a tag sale. I hope she rakes in some dough, because she needs it. After that, the house will go up for sale, and we'll have another empty mansion on Goodwinter Boulevard." "Did you attend Irma's funeral?" Qwilleran asked.

"Roger covered it, but I didn't go.

The cortege watchers counted forty-eight cars in the procession to the cemetery." "I hear there was some kind of argument about the disposition of the remains." "Oh, you heard about that? Melinda said they'd had a doctorstpatient discussion about living wills. She said Irma preferred cremation and no funeral. Mrs. Hasselrich wanted to go along with her daughter's wishes, but her husband-with his legal mind-set, you know--said it wasn't in writing. So Irma was buried in the family plot with full obsequies--eulogies, bagpipe, tenor soloist, and marching band. You know how Pickax loves a big funeral production!" Qwilleran said, "I ought to write a column on living wills." "Can you rip off a piece on Scotland for Wednesday?

Your devoted readers are waiting to hear about your trip." "We saw a lot of castles. I'll see if I can write a thousand words on castles without having to think too much," Qwilleran promised as he started out the door. Walking home from the newspaper office, he let his mind wander from castles to the baronial mansions on Goodwinter Boulevard. The only solution to the local problem, as he envisioned it, would be rezoning... or a bomb... or an earthquake, and the old-timers in Pickax would prefer either of the latter to rezoning.

He was walking along Main Street toward Park Circle when a car in a southbound lane caught his attention. It had what he thought was a Massachusetts license plate, its light color like a white flag among the dusky, dusty local plates. But it was not the old maroon car he had seen and suspected at the time of the prowler scare. It was a tan car, and it was soon lost in traffic. He thought, It could be the same guy in a new car; it could be the same car with a new paint job.

Qwilleran felt it wise to alert Polly, if he could do so without alarming her, and when he reached the library he went in, nodded to the friendly clerks, and climbed the stairs to the mezzanines. She was sitting in her glass-enclosed office, listening sympathetically to a young clerk who was pregnant. The young woman left immediately when her boss's special friend appeared in the doorway.

"Anything new?" Polly asked eagerly.

"I had a long telephone conversation with Katie," Qwilleran said, "and it appears her brother's name is in fact Gow. She was surprised he hadn't notified her of Irma's death--or so she said... By the way, did you and Irma ever discuss living wills? Or last wishes? Or anything like that?" "No. She never mentioned death or illness. Why do you ask?" "I thought I might write a column on living wills. It's a hot topic right now. When you two got together, what did you talk about, anyway?

Besides me," he added to give the discussion a light touch.

Her smile was mocking, but her reply was serious.