Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 14 Who Wasn't There

Tibbitt pressed the wrong button and was trapped in the elevator. We checked out 229 books and 54 cassettes, collected $3.75 in overdue fines, and issued 7 new-reader cards... Did you have a good day?" "I did an assignment for Arch, and earlier this evening I audited a rehearsal at the theatre. were you out at all tonight?" "No, I had dinner at home and spent the evening reading and putting my wardrobe in order." "If you have occasion to leave your apartment after dark, Polly, I'd rather you didn't drive alone. These are changing times.

We have to face the fact that strangers are coming into Pickax. If you have an evening engagement, call me and I'll provide chauffeur service." "Why this sudden concern, Qwill? Has anything happened? If it's because of that prowler last June... that was three months ago!" "It's your neighborhood I worry about," Qwilleran said.

"There are so many vacant houses. It behooves you to be careful.

Meanwhile, would you like dinner tomorrow night? I'll be on my best behavior." "The library will be open, and it's my turn to work." "How about Friday?" "The Hasselriches invited me to dinner. They're having Irma's favorite roll aden cooked in red wine." Qwilleran huffed into his moustache.

That was twice in one week! Now that she was their "surrogate daughter," they would be monopolizing her time.

"Then how about Saturday? We could drive to Lockmaster and have dinner at the Palomino Paddock," he said, one-upping the Hasselriches' roll aden In a state-wide dining guide the Paddock was rated * * * * for food and @. @. @. @. @. for price. Polly gasped as he hoped she would.

"Oh, that would be delightful!" "Then it's a date." There was a pause.

"All's well, then?" he asked gently.

"All's well," she said with feeling.

"A bien to Polly." "A bien to dear." He immediately phoned the Paddock to reserve a good table. It was short notice for the celebrated restaurant, but the mention of his name commanded special consideration even in the next county, the K Foundation having recently funded a swimming pool for the youth center in Lockmaster. Then he started up the ramp to change into pajamas and slippers. He was halfway to the first balcony when Koko rushed up behind him at a frantic speed and lunged at his legs, throwing him off balance and nearly knocking him to the floor.

"Say!

Who do you think you are?" Qwilleran yelled.

"A Green Bay linebacker? You could break my neck, you crazy cat!" Koko, who had bounced off his target, picked himself up and sat on his haunches with head lowered as he licked his paw and passed it over his mask, stopping between licks to stare at the forehead of the man who was scolding him. Qwilleran passed his own hand over his moustache as he thought, Can he smell Melinda's perfume? I spent two minutes with her, and he knows it! ... And then he thought, Or is he trying to tell me something? I'm following the wrong scent; he's trying to push me back on track. What does he want me to do?

Eleven

The morning after Koko's flying tackle, there was no more domestic violence in the apple barn, but Koko stared at Qwilleran pointedly, as if trying to communicate. Over coffee and a thawed breakfast roll, the man tried to read the cat's message, thoughtfully combing his moustache with his fingertips. Could it be, he wondered, a warning about the Boulevard Prowler? Precognition was one of Koko's rare senses. In sheer uncertainty mixed with curiosity, Qwilleran drove his car north that morning, turning left at the Dimsdale Diner onto the unpaved extension of Ittibittiwassee Road. This neglected stretch of gravel dead-ended at the abandoned Dimsdale Mine, with its rotting shaft house and red signs warning of cave-ins. Nearby, where the thriving town of Dimsdale used to stand, there was only an eyesore called Shantytown. It was a slum of shacks and decrepit travel trailers, rusty vehicles, and ramshackle chicken coops. They were scattered in a patch of woods, and the transients who lived there were actually squatters on Klingenschoen property. Shantytown was known as a hangout for derelicts, but poor families also lived there, and children played in the dust that surrounded the substandard housing. Efforts by the county and the K Foundation to "do something about Dimsdale" never achieved much. As soon as families were helped to move on to a better life through skill training employment, and a healthy environment, more families moved in to take their dreary place. On this occasion, Qwilleran chose not to drive into the Shantytown jungle, thinking that his white car would be too conspicuous, but he peered through the woods with binoculars for a glimpse of a maroon vehicle and saw nothing that fitted that description. Leaving the area, he stopped for lunch at the diner, chiefly to confirm that it was as dismal as he remembered.