Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 17 Who Blew The Whistle

Eventually the bell clanged, the whistle screamed and, as the train started to move, an army of waiters in white coats surged down the aisle with bottles of champagne. Everyone applauded.

Qwilleran, riding backward, saw Floyd Trevelyan at an end table with his attractive companion, and their body language was not that of a husband and wife or father and daughter. Also in his line of vision were Carol and Larry Lanspeak with a fresh-faced young woman and the bearded doctor who had been Hixie Rice's escort for the last six months. All four seemed inordinately happy, leading Qwilleran to mumble a question to Polly. She replied that the young woman was Dr. Diane, the Lanspeaks' daughter, who had escaped the medical madness Down Below and had returned to Moose County to go into practice with Dr. Herbert.

Polly said, "I'm transferring my medical records to Dr. Diane. I didn't like the man who replaced Dr. Melinda."

The train was rolling along at a comfortable excursion clip through typical Moose County landscape: fields of potatoes and pastures dotted with boulders and sheep.

The waiters kept pouring champagne, and Qwilleran produced a bag of snacks to accompany the drinks. "I'd like you to taste these," he said. "A friend of mine made them."

"Who?" Polly asked too quickly.

"A woman I know in Florida." He was purposely taunting her with incomplete information.

"They're very good," Riker said. "I'll have another handful."

"They're rather salty," Polly murmured.

Mildred, who wrote the food column for the newspaper, said they were actually croutons toasted with parmesan cheese, garlic salt, red pepper, and Worcestershire sauce. Qwilleran said, "Koko and Yum Yum think they're the cat's meow."

The food expert nodded. "They detect the anchovy in the Worcestershire."

In a far corner of the car, out of the path of the bustling waiters, a white- haired accordionist was playing show tunes with the blank demeanor of one who has played the same repertoire at thousands of banquets.

Polly said, "His lack of passion is refreshing. We attended a Mozart concert in Lockmaster where the string ensemble was so passionate, they almost fell off their chairs."

"I watched their antics," Qwilleran said, "and forgot to listen to the music."

"It's the same way in art," Mildred declared. "The artist is becoming more important than the art. I blame the media."

"We get blamed for everything," Riker said. They discussed the curriculum at the Moose County Community College: No music. No art. Plenty of English, accounting, data processing, office systems, and business management. Introductory courses in psychology, economics, history, sociology, etc. No cosmetology. No real estate. No tennis.

Polly said, "They're making giant strides with the remodeling of the campus. The administration offices are staffed and operating, and I introduced myself to the president. Dr. Prelligate is a very interesting man."

"In what way?" Qwilleran asked bluntly. "He combines a solid academic background with a most congenial personality. He's from Virginia and has that ingratiating Southern charm."

"I adore Southern men," Mildred said girlishly. "Is he married?"

"I don't believe so."

"But you are!" Riker informed his wife. Polly had more to report. "Dr. Prelligate's staff has been feeding a dirty orange-and-white stray who looks exactly like Oh Jay. I phoned the Wilmots and learned that Oh Jay disappeared last November, right after they moved from Goodwinter Boulevard."

Riker said, "That's called 'psi trailing.' He's been on the road nine months, panhandling and living off the land! That's a fifteen-mile hike!"

"Well, the Wilmots said he can stay on campus," Polly said in conclusion, "and he's going to be the college mascot."

"And the school colors," Qwilleran guessed, "will be orange and dirty white."

The soup course was served: jellied beef consomm‚. It was rather salty, according to Polly. The Chateaubriand was an excellent cut of beef, and everyone agreed that neither the meat nor the chef could have come from Mudville.

Meanwhile, the cars rolled gently from side to side, the whistle blew at grade crossings, and the conversation in the dining room was animated. Eventually the landscape became craggy, and there were dramatic views never seen from the highway. The tracks ran through the town of Wildcat, then down a steep grade to the Black Creek gorge, and across a high bridge. Now they were in Lockmaster County with its rolling hills and lush woods. By the time the cheesecake and coffee had been served, the train pulled into Flapjack, an early lumbercamp converted into a public recreation park.