Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 17 Who Blew The Whistle

It was made entirely of bent twigs, except for the rockers - and the bowl- shaped seat that appeared to be varnished treebark. Qwilleran thought, It's the ugliest chair I've ever seen! He slid into the seat cautiously and was immediately tilted back as if ready for dental surgery. It was, however, a remarkably comfortable sling.

"There's something I'm supposed to give you." Derek dashed out to his truck and returned with a snapshot. "This is her old man, posing with his chair. She thought you'd like to see what he looked like. Now I've gotta get to work. I'm on for the dinner hour, five to eight."

"What about your rehearsal?" Qwilleran called after him.

"The rude mechanicals aren't scheduled tonight."

After Derek had driven away, raising more dust than other visitors had done, Qwilleran grabbed the phone and called Amanda's Studio of Design, hoping Fran Brodie would be in-house. She answered.

"Stay there! I'll be right over!" he shouted. He hung up while she was still sputtering, "What... What... ?"

He usually chose to walk downtown, but this time he drove. At the design studio he barged through the front door and threw a snapshot on Fran's desk. "Know anything about this? The chair, not the man."

The designer's eyes grew wide. "Where did you get this picture? Who is he? Is he selling the chair?"

"The man's dead. The chair is in my barn. It's supposed to be a thank-you from Elizabeth for saving her life on the island. If I'd known I was getting this, I'd have thrown her back in the swamp."

"Very funny," Fran said, "but you don't know what you're talking about. This is a twistletwig rocker, a hundred years old, at least. It was the poor man's bentwood, made of willow."

"Well, the poor man can have it! Even Whistler's Mother would think it was ugly. Koko sniffed it and made a face. Yum Yum won't go anywhere near it; that should tell you something!"

"I don't consider Yum Yum an arbiter of taste!" The two females had feuded briefly at one time, and Yum Yum won. "As a matter of fact, it's a beautiful piece of folk art, and a dealer on the East Coast recently advertised one for $2,000."

"You're pulling my leg!"

"I'm not! This is a choice collectible! Do you want to sell? Amanda will give you a thousand without blinking. Is it comfortable?"

"Very, but I still think it's a nightmare masquerading as furniture."

"Go back! You're not ready!" Fran said impatiently. "The chair is linear sculpture! It'll be a dynamic accent for your light, contemporary furniture. Live with it for a while, and you'll be writing a treatise for the "Qwill Pen" on the charms of twistletwig. I'll help you do some research."

She had said the magic word; whenever anyone mentioned material for his column, Qwilleran went on red alert. To save face he pointed to a wooden box on her desk. "What's that? Is that another high-priced collectible?" It was slightly crude, in the size and shape of a two-pound loaf of bread.

"That's an English pencil box," Fran said. "A country piece, rather old. I believe it's walnut. It came from the Witherspoon estate in Lockmaster."

The wood was a mellow brown enhanced by the distress marks of age. The lid was rimmed with a fine line of brass, and there was a small brass key in the lock. Qwilleran lifted the lid and found a shallow compartment.

"You could use it for cufflinks," she suggested.

"I don't use cufflinks. No one in Pickax uses cufflinks! What I need is a place to lock up my pens. One of our resident cat burglars has been swiping them, and I suspect Koko."

"This would be perfect, and you could use the drawer at the bottom for paper clips."

"Yum Yum opens drawers and collects paper clips." He tugged at the drawer. "It's jammed."

"No, it isn't. There's a secret latch."

"I'll take it," he said. "Also my snapshot." Carrying the pencil box under his arm, Qwilleran walked to his car two blocks away; parking was a major problem in downtown Pickax. He could never set foot in the center of town without meeting a dozen acquaintances, and today he threw greetings to his barber, an off- duty patrolman, the cashier from Toodles' Market, and the proprietor of Scottie's Men's Store, who said, "Aye, there's the Laird hi'self!

When will you be comin' in to be measured for a kilt?"

"Not until you hear from my undertaker," Qwilleran retorted.

Then Larry Lanspeak, on the way to the bank, stopped him to ask, "What's that you're carrying? Your lunch bucket?"

"No, a pistol case. I'm on my way to a duel.... How's the play coming, Larry?"

"We've had problems. Fran and the new girl from Chicago wanted to incorporate a pyramid in the forest scenes. Imagine cluttering the stage, complicating the blocking, and confusing the audience with such a senseless gimmick! Carol, Junior, and I had to threaten to drop out before Fran would listen to reason. That girl is a good client of hers and also made a sizable donation to the club's operating budget. Politics! Politics!"