Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 17 Who Blew The Whistle

"No. The first was the Lumbertown office, and he liked it. Maybe you've seen how we duplicated the atmosphere of an old railway depot. He had just sold his construction firm to XYZ Enterprises and had tons of money. He paid the bill in thirty days."

"And what about his house in West Middle Hummock? I had a glimpse of it when I interviewed him about the model trains. The interior didn't look like you; it looked like Mudville thrift shop."

"Well, he said his wife didn't want any professional help with the house. That meant one of two things: Either he'd rather spend the money on model trains, or Mrs. T was too ill to care. We accepted that. Apparently Floyd himself didn't care how the house looked as long as the bar was well stocked. I don't know who drinks all that stuff. I think they never have company. Maybe Floyd has drinking buddies from Sawdust City.... But then, he commissioned us to do the interiors of the PV and the diner and the club car, and believe me, they needed a lot of doing!"

"You did a beautiful job, Fran."

"Well, why not? He was willing to spend a fortune..."

"And you thought you were on the gravy train," Qwilleran said sympathetically.

Fran groaned again. "I'm afraid Amanda will have a stroke. You know how excitable she is."

"Did you work directly with Floyd on the cars?"

"No. With his secretary - or assistant - or whatever she is. Nice person. Good to work with. Nella Hooper has fine taste. When Floyd wanted something flashy, she toned him down."

"I saw her on the Party Train. Very attractive. Know anything about her background?"

"Only that she's from Texas. She never wanted to talk about herself, and I know when not to ask questions. Floyd had me do her apartment in Indian Village and gave me carte blanche to spend money. She wanted a south-western theme."

"How about your father, Fran? Has he had anything to say about the embezzlement?"

"It's too soon."

"Or the disappearance of the principals?"

"Too soon."

The way it worked: The police chief would come home from his shift and talk shop with his wife at the kitchen table; then, when Fran made her daily phone call to her mother, Mrs. Brodie would pass along some tidbit of information in strict confidence; later, if Qwilleran dropped into the studio looking genuinely concerned and utterly trustworthy, Fran would feel free to confide in him. She was aware that he had helped the police on several occasions, behind the scenes.

"It's too early for any scuttlebutt," Fran said, "although I haven't called home yet. Why don't you come to rehearsal tonight? By that time I might have heard something."

"Will Derek Cuttlebrink be there?" Qwilleran asked. "He's on my list of leads to interview."

"He'll be there. So will his latest girlfriend."

"You mean - Elizabeth Appelhardt?"

"She prefers to be called Elizabeth Hart now."

"I must say they're an odd couple."

"But they're good for each other," Fran said. "She's talked him into enrolling at the college, and Derek is gradually nudging her into the mainstream. When you first brought her from the island, she was in a world of her own."

"Please! I didn't bring her here," Qwilleran said gruffly. "She happened to be on the same boat."

"Whatever," the designer said with raised eyebrows. "She's started wearing natural makeup and patronizing my hairdresser, and now she looks less like a character in a horror movie."

"I hear she's joined the club. That'll be good for her."

"Good for us, too! She has some fresh ideas for costumes and staging, although I expect some opposition from our older members."

"Any other news?"

"I'm doing an apartment in Indian Village for Dr. Diane - country French, lots of blue. She seems to have replaced Hixie in Dr. Herbert's life, but here's an off-twist: When Hixie broke her foot, she stayed with Dr. Herbert's mother until she could walk, and now Dr. Diane is staying with his mother until her apartment is ready."

Qwilleran said, "I'm sure there's some underlying significance to that fact, but it escapes me.... I like that paperweight. What is it supposed to be?" He pointed to a fanciful chunk of tarnished brass on Fran's desk.

"That's Cerberus," Fran told him. "The three-headed dog that guarded the gates of Hades in ancient mythology. Amanda picked it up at an estate sale in Chicago. It belonged to a wealthy meatpacker."

The detail was meticulous, even to the snakes that formed the dog's mane and tail. Qwilleran often bought a small object in the design studio; it pleased Fran, and it was advantageous to please the daughter of the police chief.

"If you like it," she said, "I'll give you a price on it and shine it up for you."

"I like it," he said, "but I have some other stops to make. How about shining it up and bringing it to the rehearsal tonight?"

As Qwilleran left the studio, he was chuckling to himself in anticipation of the cats' reaction to the grotesque bauble. They were always aware of any new item that arrived in their territory.