Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 14 Who Wasn't There

Emory spelled with an O was a fairly common name in the Pickax phone book. Every time Qwilleran found a stray emery board on the floor, his mind went to the stray son who was killed in a car crash... Then the old gentleman at the Senior Care Facility had talked about the doctor's monthly payments. Emory wasn't Moose County's first remittance man; local historians wrote that wealthy families had often deported undesirable members to areas Down Below to avoid embarrassment to the family name. As for the payments continuing after Emory's death, Qwilleran could invent several explanations but accepted the most credible: Emory was still alive.. A few days later he met the bearded suspect at the preview of the Goodwinter sale, lingering over a table of family memorabilia: old LP recordings, a much-used piggy bank, the doctor's monogrammed pocketknife, a photo in a silver frame. Upon talking to him, Qwilleran realized that the beard disguised a long narrow face, known in Moose County as the Goodwinter face. Then, Qwilleran tried to recall, when did I first suspect he had a partner?

The fellow could carry off a solo operation like pilfering a silver pocketknife.

And, being a native of Moose County, he would know the best time to break into the Purple Point cottages. But he wasn't smart enough to plot a kidnapping; that was obvious. Furthermore, having lived Down Below for a decade or so, how would he know about Qwilleran's wealth and his relationship with Polly? How would he know about the renovated barn in the orchard and Qwilleran's obsessive concern for his pets? How did he know that Qwilleran would be attending the play on Wednesday night? When it had become clear to him that the prowler was the resurrected Emory Goodwinter, all the questions were answered, including, "What was the maroon jalopy doing in the elite Indian Village?" and "Why did Melinda drop in so sociably after the rehearsal Monday night, and why was she working so hard to be sweet?" She dropped in, Qwilleran now believed, to case the premises, and he had played right into her hands, giving her the T word and demonstrating how it worked. He mentally kicked himself, thinking, God, what a fool I was! He remembered her interest in the Scottish tapes, which she probably instructed Emory to grab--just in case they contained information that might be incriminating. The blaze in the fireplace burned out, and Qwilleran carried the Siamese to their loft apartment, limp with sleep, and wrote his review of Macbeth.

Seventeen

As the Siamese and the rest of Pickax slept, Qwilleran wrote his review of Macbeth, praising Larry and being kind to Melinda.

Kindness, he had learned, was a large consideration in writing drama criticism for a small town. To maintain some semblance of integrity, however, he expressed his opinion that it was redundant to project the image of a dagger on the back wall of the stage when Macbeth said, "Is this a dagger which I see before me?" He wrote, "It distracts audience attention from Shakespeare's great words, although modern grammarians--with their rules about whiches and th ats may be uncomfortable with the famous line." Convinced that his review was sufficiently charitable, he retired for the night, taking care to set his alarm clock. He had to drive Polly to the library the next morning. Even though the Boulevard Prowler had been apprehended, her car was still at Gippel's garage, awaiting a rebuilt carburetor.

"I was concerned about your sudden exit last night," she said when he called for her, "but Arch said it was a bit of theatricality indulged in by drama critics." "There's an element of truth in that," he replied evasively.

"I'll tell you the whole story when we both have more time. Meanwhile, I'd like you to do me a favor--with no ifs, ands, or buts. Yours not to reason why! Just do it!" "Well!" she said warily.

"Is it so very terrible?" "Ask your sister-in-law to sneak a look at Irma's medical records in the clinic office; I'm curious about her heart condition and the prescribed medication." "You're like a dog with a bone, Qwill; you simply won't let go of the matter. I'm not sure it would be ethical, but I'll ask her at church Sunday." "Ask her today. Phone her and take her to lunch at Lois's. Charge it to me... But don't eat too much," he added to lighten the serious aspect of his request.

"I'm overwhelmed by your generosity!" "Are you going to the women's banquet tonight? I'll take you there and pick you up, and you can tell me her reaction. If it's unethical, ask her to do it anyway. I won't tell." "Under protest, dear," she sighed as she stepped out of the car.

"Have a nice day. Issue lots of new-reader cards!" From there he drove to the Moose County Something to hand in his breathlessly awaited copy, and Arch Riker beckoned him into his private office.

"Man, have we got a story!" said the publisher, waving a galley proof.