Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 14 Who Wasn't There

"I surrender," said Qwilleran. After a demitasse that smelled like almonds and tasted like a hot fudge sundae, they drove back to Pickax in the comfortable silence of a pair of well-fed ruminants. Finally Qwilleran asked, "How was your dinner with the Hasselriches last night?" "Rather depressing. They're going through a bad period." "Do you know if... uh... Irma's medical records were returned to them?" "I don't know. Is that customary?" "I have no idea," he said, "but one would think they might be turned over to the family by the attending physician." "Why do you ask, Qwill?" "No particular reason.

As a matter of curiosity, though, why don't you ask your sister-inlaw, discreetly, what happens to the records of a deceased patient?" "I suppose I could do that. I'll see her at church tomorrow." They had arrived at Polly's carriage house.

"Will you come up for a little reading?" "Is that all?" he asked.

"I could use a large cup of real coffee." He had brought Memoirs of an Eighteenth Century Footman for reading aloud.

"It's a true story," he explained, "about the orphan of a Scottish gentleman, who became a veritable prince of servants, with gold lace on his livery and a silk bag on his hair." With its Scottish background and un bowdlerized style, it proved to be more interesting than they expected, and it was late when Qwilleran returned to the barn. The Siamese were prancing in figure eights, demanding their overdue bedtime snack, and he gave them their crunchy treat before checking his answering machine. There was a message from Nick Bamba: "Got some good news for you. Call whenever you get in.

We'll be watching the late movie." It was two o'clock when he called the Mooseville number.

"Are you sure I'm not calling too late?" he asked. Lori assured him, "With all the commercials they throw in, the movie won't be over till four. I'll let you talk to Nick." "Hey, Qwill!" said her husband.

"I saw the maroon car again tonight!" "You did? Where was it?" "Parked on Main Street in Mooseville. He could have been in the Shipwreck Tavern or he could have been in the Northern Lights Hotel." "More likely the tavern." "And that's not all. Lori went to a baby shower in Indian Village, and she saw the same car leaving the parking lot." "What do you suppose he was doing among all those yuppies?" "I dunno. Maybe looking for a victim... Sorry, I shouldn't kid about it." "Well, there's nothing we can do until he makes an overt move," Qwilleran said.

"I'll tell you one thing: I'm not letting Polly go out alone after dark!" Nick had barely hung up when the phone rang again, and Qwilleran assumed he was calling back; no one else in Moose County would call at that hour. He picked up the receiver.

"Yes, Nick." "Nick? Who's Nick?" asked a woman's voice.

"This is Melinda. Hi, lover!" Annoyed, he said stiffly, "Isn't that epithet somewhat obsolete under present circumstances?" "Ooh! You're in a beastly mood tonight! What can we do about that.

huh?" "You'll have to excuse me," he said.

"I'm expecting an important call." "Are you trying to brush me off, lover? My feelings are hurt," she said with coy petulance.

"We used to be such good friends! Don't you remember?

We were really attracted to each other. I should have trapped you three years ago-was "Melinda," he said firmly, "I'm sorry but I must hang up and take another urgent call." And he hung up. To Koko-whicho was standing by as usual, with disapproval in his whiskers-he said, "That was your friend Melinda. She's over the edge!"

Twelve

It was a peaceful Sunday morning. The church bells were ringing on Park Circle as Qwilleran walked downtown to pick up the out-of-town newspapers. At the apple barn, the Siamese huddled in a window to count the leaves that were beginning to fall from the trees. Their heads raised and lowered in unison, following the downward course of each individual leaf. In another week there would be too many to count, and they would lose interest. At noon, Polly phoned.

"I forgot to tell you, Qwill. The Senior Care Facility is trying the Pets for Patients idea this afternoon. I'm taking Bootsie. Would you be willing to take Yum Yum?" "I'll give it a try. What time?" "Two o'clock. Report to the main lobby." "Did you speak to your sisterin-law, Polly?" "Yes. She said doctors usually keep the records of deceased patients for a few years-for their own protection in case of dispute." "I see. Well, thank you. And thank her, also." Shortly before two o'clock he brought the cat carrier out of the broom closet.

"Come on, sweetheart," he said to Yum Yum.