Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 14 Who Wasn't There

"What did they serve for dinner? Not chicken cordon bleu, I hope." "No, some other kind of chicken. It wasn't bad. Of course, the sole topic of conversation was the return of Emory Goodwinter." "Naturally. How many awards were presented?" "Ten. It was a tearful moment when Mrs. Hasselrich accepted Irma's posthumous award for volunteerism. Melinda received the health-care award, and a hospital official accepted it, since Melinda had to be at the theatre." "Correction. She was not at the theatre," Qwilleran said.

"Her role was filled by the Olson girl." "Oh, dear!" Polly said sympathetically.

"Melinda must be devastated by the unpleasant publicity!" "Mmmm," he agreed without conviction.

"Who else won a plaque?" "Oh, let me tell you the sensation of the evening," she said, laughing.

"Lori Bamba, as secretary of the auxiliary, was the presenter, and she was wearing a batwing cape just like mine, but in violet. When Fran Brodie went up for the arts award, she had the same thing in green!

Mildred Hanstable received the education award, and she was wearing one in royal blue. Finally, Hixie Rice had it in taupe. We stood on the platform in a row looking like a malapropos chorus line--tall, short, plump, thin--but all with batwing capes and peacock brooches! The whole room was in a screaming uproar that simply wouldn't stop until the hotel manager rang the fire bell." "It just proves," Qwilleran said, "that I know a lot of distinguished women." Polly invited him up to her apartment for coffee and cake, and they were welcomed by Bootsie, who had the brassy voice of a trumpet.

"How's old Gaspard?" Qwilleran greeted him.

"Really, Qwill, you treat him with such disrespect," she complained.

"He treats me with disrespect. I think he's jealous." "I think you're jealous, dear." She started the coffee brewing and cut a large wedge of chocolate cake for him and a sliver for herself.

After the first few bites he asked casually, "How did your sisterin-law feel about my request?" "She said it was highly irregular, but she agreed to bring Irma's records to me at the banquet, provided she could return them early in the morning." "And?" "Tonight she informed me that the folder has been removed from the filing cabinet." "Perhaps they have a special drawer for deceased patients." "They do, but it was neither there nor in the active file.

Why are you interested, Qwill?" "Just curious... Did Mrs.

Hasselrich ever mention any disagreement about Irma's funeral?" "Good heavens, no!" "She was buried, but Melinda said she wanted to be cremated. How come no one else knew Irma favored cremation?" "Qwill, dear, I'm afraid to ask what's on your mind." "Nothing. Just talking off the top of my head. Is there any more cake?" "Of course.

And may I fill your cup?" After a period of silence, which his hostess attributed to gustatory bliss, he said, "They say vitamin C is good for fighting colds. What kind did you take to Scotland?" "High-potency capsules, but they were too large for me to swallow comfortably." "Want me to take them off your hands?" "I'm afraid I didn't keep them, but you can buy them at the drug store," Polly said.

"Irma was complaining of a sore throat, so I offered them to her." "Did she take them?" "I don't know. I left them in the bathroom for her and never saw them again. Do you think you're catching cold, dear?" "I have a slight cough." He coughed slightly.

"This is very good cake. Did you make it?" "I wish I had time to bake. No, I bought it at Toodle's.... By the way, you didn't tell me how well the Olson girl performed." "She was scared stiff, but she knew her lines. She'll be better tomorrow night if Melinda doesn't make it." He noticed Polly glancing at her watch.

"Well, I'll pick you up tomorrow morning, same time.... What's that?" They heard sirens speeding down the boulevard, and they caught glimpses of flashing lights.

"Sounds like an accident," he said, moving toward the door like the veteran reporter that he was.

"I'll go and check... See you tomorrow!" He ran down the stairs, jogged the length of the driveway, and found neighbors standing on porches and looking westward. Walking rapidly toward the end of the street, he met a couple standing on the sidewalk--the city attorney and his wife.

"We were just coming home," said the woman, "and this car was speeding down the boulevard. There was a terrible crash." "Going eighty, at least," her husband added.

"The driver must have been crocked. Obviously didn't know this is a dead-end street, although it's posted." "Here comes the sheriff's wagon," Qwilleran said.

"They've got to cut someone out of the wreckage." He hurried toward the scene of the accident. Police floodlights were beamed on the small park, the granite monument, and the car crumpled against it.

Running back to his car, he drove home to call the newspaper. He could hear the phone ringing as he unlocked the door, and he caught it before Riker hung up.