Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 17 Who Blew The Whistle

That, Qwilleran observed, was a curious development. Why would she choose not to give her right name? Before leaving the bank, he consulted the local telephone directory and found seventy- five Trevelyans but no Letitia. There were no Penns at all - not that it mattered; it was one of the pointless things he did to satisfy his idle curiosity. After that, he walked home with a lighter step, buoyed by the knowledge that his twice-weekly words were not totally forgotten and might even be doing some good. He walked via the back road to pick up his mail and check Polly's building site.

There were no trucks and no workmen, but concrete had been poured and smoothly troweled. She had decided on a crawl space instead of a basement, and on a poured foundation instead of concrete block - this after extensive reading on the subject. On one of their recent dinner dates she had explained, A poured foundation gives a stronger wall with less danger of cracks and leaks. Did you know they are supposed to leave a groove in the footings to tie in a poured concrete wall?" And after dinner they had visited the building site to check the grooves.

Now the walls had been poured, and Qwilleran phoned Polly at the library to report.

"Thank you for letting me know," she said. "Now I feel the project is finally under way."

"Yes, you have something concrete to show for all your planning," he said lightly.

"I wonder how long it takes to dry before they can start the framing. Mr. Trevelyan uses platform framing construction. I must phone him tomorrow morning to see if he spaces the joists on twelve-, sixteen-, or twenty-four-inch centers."

"I'd go with twelve-inch, considering the way Bootsie goes around stamping his feet," Qwilleran said in another attempt to amuse her.

With worry in her voice she said, "Will I regret my decision to eliminate the fireplace? It makes a charming focal point, but it adds to the initial cost and then creates extra work if one burns wood, and I would never consider the gas- fired type."

"Be of good cheer," he said. "I have three fireplaces, and you're welcome to come and enjoy one or more at any hour of the day or night. I'll chop the wood, keep the logs burning, and haul the ashes. Reservations should be made an hour in advance." He was doing his best to divert her, without success, and the conversation ended with frustration on Qwilleran's part.

He turned from the telephone to his stack mail. An envelope with an Illinois postm caught his eye:

Dear Chief,

I got your letter about the Kabibbles and almost died laughing. Glad you like them. I'll send some more. You can see by the envelope I've left Florida. I'm back on my son's farm. Sorry to say, I don't get along too good with my daughter-in- law-she's such a sourpuss - and you may think I'm crazy, but I'm thinking of moving to Pickax. It sounds very nice. I know you get lots of snow, but I love to throw snowballs at the side of a barn. I'd need to somehow find a furnished room because I sold everything when I moved to Florida, and maybe I could find a part- time job-cleaning houses or waiting on tables. I'd like to sort of give it a try for a year anyway. What do you think?

Yours truly Celia Robinson

She gave a phone number, and Qwilleran called immediately without waiting for the evening discount rates as he was prone to do. The phone rang and rang, and he let it ring while fragments of thought teased his brain: Celia could cook... Did he need a live-in housekeeper?... No, he liked his privacy... Some macaroni and cheese, though... Some meatloaf for the cats...

He was wondering about Celia's mashed potatoes when a woman's harassed voice shouted a breathless hello.

In a menacing monotone he said, "I'd like to speak to Mrs. Celia Robinson."

"She's out back, collecting eggs. Who's calling?"

"Tell her it's the Chief."

"Who?" "Chief of the Florida Bureau of Investigation," Qwilleran said with his talent for impromptu fabrication.

The receiver was put down abruptly, and a woman's voice could be heard shouting, "Clay, go and get Grandma quick. Tell her to hurry!"

There was a long wait, and then he could hear Celia's laughter before she reached the phone. "Hello, Chief," she said happily. "You must've got my letter."

"I did indeed, and it's a splendid idea! Your grandson can spend Christmas with you, and you can have snowball fights. How is Clayton?"

"He's fine. Just got back from science camp. He won a scholarship."

"Good! Now to answer your questions: Yes, you'll have no trouble finding part- time work. Yes, you can find a furnished apartment. There's one close to downtown, if you don't mind walking up a flight of stairs."

"I don't want to pay too much rent."

"No problem. The owner will be only too happy to have the premises occupied."

"Could I bring my cat? You remember Wrigley, from Chicago."

"By all means. I'll look forward to meeting him." He waited for her merry laughter to subside before asking, "Do you have transportation?"