Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 14 Who Wasn't There

"Excuse me, sweetheart," he said, lifting Yum Yum gently and placing her on the warm seat cushion he had just vacated. It was Irma Hasselrich on the line, speaking with the syrupy, formal charm that was her style. She said, "Mr. Qwilleran, I learn with a great deal of pleasure that you wish to join the Bonnie Scots Tour." "Yes, it strikes me as an interesting adventure. My mother was a Mackintosh. And by the way, please call me Qwill." "Needless to say, Mr. Qwilleran," she continued as if she had not heard, "we're delighted that the Klingenschoen Foundation is offering a matching grant. We want to create a park for the patients at the facility, with flower beds, winding paths for wheelchairs, and a pavilion with tables for picnic lunches and games." "Very commendable," Qwilleran murmured.

"How many persons do you expect to enlist for the tour?" "Our goal is sixteen. That number will fill a minibus." "Did Polly tell you I want to spend some time in Glasgow?" "Yes. Several participants want to extend their stay abroad, so I suggest that we all make our own flight arrangements and meet on Day One at a prescribed location in Glasgow." "How many have signed up so far?" "Eleven. Perhaps you can suggest other compatible travelers that we might contact." Qwilleran thought for a few seconds.

"How about John and Vicki Bushland? They have a summer place in Mooseville, although they're residents of Lockmaster, where he has a commercial photography studio." "We would love to have a professional photographer along! May I call them and use your name?" "By all means." "As soon as it was known that you were joining the tour, Mr. Qwilleran, I was able to sign up three others: Mr. and Mrs.

MacWhannell--he's the CPA, you know--and Dr. Melinda Goodwinter.

Aren't we fortunate to have a doctor with us?" Qwilleran cringed inwardly and combed his moustache with his fingertips. He had visions of the importunate Melinda tapping on his hotel door at a late hour and inviting herself in for a chat. She was a persistent young woman, and, according to Arch Riker, who had met her after her father's funeral, she was still carrying the torch for him, Polly or no Polly. Qwilleran veiled his distress by inquiring about the weather in Scotland, and Irma assured him that she would send all pertinent travel information in the mail. When the conversation ended, he immediately phoned Arch Riker at the office of the Moose County Something. The two men had grown up together in Chicago and had pursued separate careers in journalism Down Below. Now they were reunited in Pickax, where Riker was realizing his dream of publishing a small-town newspaper.

"Arch, how would you like to knock off for a couple of weeks and go to Scotland with a local group?" Qwilleran proposed.

"We could save a few bucks by sharing accommodations." He added a few details and dropped some important names: Hasselrich, Lanspeak, Compton, Goodwinter, MacWhannell. Riker liked the idea, saying that he'd always wanted to play the seventeenth hole at St. Andrews.

"And now the bad news," Qwilleran said.

"Melinda Goodwinter is going." "The plot thickens," said Riker with a chuckle. He was amused by his friend's problems with women.

"Does Polly know?" "If she doesn't, she'll soon find out!" Complimenting himself on a successful maneuver, Qwilleran called Irma Hasselrich and changed his reservation to double occupancy. The next day it was his turn to chuckle when Riker telephoned.

"Hey, listen to this, Qwill," he said.

"I took Amanda to dinner last night and told her about the Scottish tour, and she wants to join! How do you like that kettle of fish?" "She'll have to pay the single supplement. No one will be willing to room with Amanda--not even her cousin Melinda." Amanda Goodwinter was a cranky, outspoken woman of indefinite age who "drank a little," as Pickax natives liked to say.

Yet, she operated a successful studio of interior design and was repeatedly elected to the city council, where she minced no words, spared no feelings, played no politics. Riker, with a journalist's taste for oddballs, found her entertaining, and fora while the Pickax grapevine linked them as potential mates, but Amanda's prickly personality guaranteed that she would remain single for life. Now he was enjoying the prospect of Amanda disrupting the harmony of a group tour.

"I hope everyone has a sense of humor," he said to Qwilleran on the phone.

"What's so absurd is that she hates bagpipes, mountains, bus travel, and Irma Hasselrich." "Then why is she going?

Surely not only to be with you, old chum!" "No, I can't take the credit. She's excited about visiting whiskey distilleries. She's heard they give free samples." While Qwilleran was relishing this news, Chief Brodie phoned to report that state troopers had spotted a Massachusetts license plate on a maroon car headed south near the county line.

"Probably leaving the area," he said.