Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 14 Who Wasn't There

"You gave me a fright! What did you do with Tiny Tim?" Ignoring him, they walked to the feeding station and stared at the empty plate, as if to say, "Where's our grub?" While Qwilleran was preparing their food, a loud and hostile yowl came from Koko's throat, and he jumped to the kitchen counter, where he could look out the window and stare into the blackness of the woods. Standing on his hind legs he was a long lean stretch of muscle and fur, with ears perked and tail stiffened into a question mark.

"What is it, old boy? What do you see out there?" Qwilleran asked.

There were lights bobbing between the trees-headlights coming slowly along the bumpy trail from the theatre parking lot. He checked his watch. It was the hour when the rehearsal would be over and Dwight would be dropping in for another confidential chat about his problem with Melinda. But why was Koko so unfrly? He had shown no objection to Dwight on the previous visit, and it was not the first time he had seen mysterious, weaving lights in the woods. Qwilleran turned on the exterior lights.

"Oh, no!" he said.

"You were right, Koko." The floodlights illuminated a sleek, silvery sport scar and Melinda was stepping out. He went to meet her--not to express hospitality but to steer her around to the front entrance. If she insisted on intruding, he wanted to keep it formal.

He approached her and waited for her to speak, bracing himself for the usual brash salutation. She surprised him.

"Hello, Qwill," she said pleasantly.

"We just finished our first dress rehearsal. Dwight told me about your barn, and I couldn't wait another minute to see it." "Come around to the front and make a grand entrance," he said coolly.

It was the barn that was grand--not his visitor. She wore typical rehearsal clothes: tattered jeans and faded sweatshirt, with the arms of a shabby sweater tied about her shoulders. Her familiar scent perfumed the night air.

"I remember this orchard when we were kids," she said.

"My brother and I used to ride up that trail on our bikes, looking for apples, but they were always wormy. Dad told us never to go into the barn; it was full of bats and rodents." Opening the front door, he reached in and pressed a single switch that illuminated the entire interior with up lights and down lights dramatizing balconies, catwalks, and beams.

"Oooooooh!" she exclaimed, which was what visitors usually said.

Qwilleran was aware that the Siamese had scampered up the ramps and disappeared without even waiting for their food.

"You could give great parties here," she said.

"I'm not much of a party giver; I simply like space, and the cats enjoy racing around overhead." He was trying to sound dull and uninteresting.

"Where are the little dears?" "Probably on one of the balconies." He made no move to take her up the ramps for sightseeing. Melinda was being unnaturally polite instead of wittily impudent.

"The tapestries are gorgeous. were they your idea?" "No.

Fran Brodie did all the furnishings... Would you care for... a glass of apple cider?" "Sounds good." She dropped her shoulder bag on the floor and her sweater on a chair and curled up on a sofa.

When he brought the tray, she said, "Qwill, I want to thank you for buying my dad's paintings." "Don't thank me. The K Foundation purchased them for exhibition." "But you must have instigated the deal. At a hundred dollars apiece it came to $101,500. Foxy Fred would have sold them for a thousand dollars." "It was Mildred Hanstable's idea. Being an artist, she saw their merit." The conversation limped along. He could have sparked it with questions about the play, the tag sale, the clinic, and her life in Boston. He could have turned on a degree of affability, but that would only prolong the visit, and he hoped she would leave after a single glass of cider. She was being too nice, and he suspected her motive.

Melinda said, "I'm sorry I was a nuisance on the telephone last week, Qwill. I guess I was sloshed. Forgive me." "Of course," he said.

What else could he say?

"Do you ever think of the good times we had together? I remember that crazy dinner at Otto's Tasty Eats... and the picnic on the floor of my apartment when the only furniture I had was a bed... and the formal dinner with a butler and musicians.

Whatever became of that pleasant Mrs. Cobb?" "She died." "Knowing you, Qwill, was the highlight of my entire life. Honestly!

Too bad it had to be so short." She looked at him intently.

"I thought you were the perfect man for me, and I still do." Qwilleran's naturally mournful expression was noncommittal as he recalled his mother's sage advice: When there's nothing to say, don't say it. During his calculated silence Melinda gazed into her glass of cider, and he studied the framed zoological prints on the wall. At the end of the wordless hiatus he asked, "How did the dress rehearsal go tonight?" She roused from her reverie.