Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 17 Who Blew The Whistle

Brodie was an imposing figure on the Pickax landscape, always growling and scowling and snapping commands - except when he was playing the bagpipe at weddings and funerals. He did both very well. Qwilleran considered him one of his best friends, and the two friends rarely missed an opportunity to exchange gibes.

After the usual banter, the chief dropped his official brusqueness and said in a voice brimming with innuendo, "I've noticed some activity behind the theatre."

The eagle-eyed cop had apparently seen the red car, but Qwilleran ignored the oblique reference and launched a long explanation that had nothing to do with the question. One of his many skills was his seemingly innocent failure "to get it."

"Yes, the parking lot's busy these days," he began. "They're in the throes of producing a new play, and you know what that means: actors rehearsing every night, set builders and costume makers on the job every day. It's quite an ambitious project: A Midsummer Night's Dream with a cast of hundreds. Your daughter's directing it. Shakespeare wrote it. Junior Goodwinter is playing Puck. Carol and Larry are doubling as - "

"Knock it off!" Brodie interrupted. "You've rented your carriage house to somebody - older woman - drives a red car - Florida plates."

Qwilleran's aimless babbling about the play had given him time to formulate a defense. "The real estate division of the K Foundation handles rentals. I don't get involved with that."

"But you know who she is," the chief said accusingly.

"Of course! Everyone knows who she is: a friend of Euphonia Gage in Florida."

"What's she doing up here?"

"I'm not entirely clear about this, but I believe it had to do with doctor's orders. She was in a deep depression following the death of her favorite grandson - or something like that - and Euphonia had praised Moose County as a good place to start a new life."

Brodie was unconvinced. "What kind of new life does she expect to start at her age?"

"Again: Don't quote me! But I've heard that she's a good cook, and the rumors are that she intends to start a small catering business. And you have to admit this town could stand some improved food service. The catering department at the hotel is an abomination. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the economic development division of the K Foundation had been instrumental in bringing this woman up from Down Below."

"So what was she doing in West Middle Hummock today? She was seen driving into Floyd Trevelyan's property."

"What time was it?"

"Around noon."

Qwilleran had to think fast. "She was probably delivering a hot lunch to a shut-in. Mrs. Trevelyan is said to be - "

"So why didn't she come out until after five o'clock?"

"Andy, how many spies do the state police have stationed in Floyd's trees? And why haven't they found the guy yet? Maybe they're looking in the wrong place."

"Go home! You're wasting my time." Brodie jerked his thumb over his shoulder and headed back to his official vehicle.

"It was your idea to stop and chat," Qwilleran called after him.

"Go home and get that two-wheeled suicide contraption off the street."

"Okay, tell me how to get out of this traffic without breaking the law!"

"Follow me!" The police car led the way to the head of the circle with light flashing and stopped the flow of traffic in both directions while the richest man in the northeast central United States made his illegal U-turn.

Arriving at the barn he said to Yum Yum, "I had a touch-and-go session with your boyfriend a minute ago." She was in love with Brodie's badge.

Polly was dining with the Hasselriches that evening, an obligation she usually dreaded, so he thawed a frozen dinner for himself and opened a can of crabmeat for the Siamese. Then, at a suitable hour, he telephoned Celia and invited her to the barn "for a cold drink on this warm evening."

She arrived with a joyful, toothy smile and, while Qwilleran reconstituted limeade concentrate, wandered about the barn in search of the Siamese. They were nested together in the bowl-shaped seat of the twistletwig rocking chair.

"We used to have a rocker like yours at the farm," she said when they were seated with their cold drinks. "It was handed down in my husband's family. He burnt it when we got television."

"What was the connection?" Qwilleran asked with genuine curiosity.

"Well, for TV he had to have a recliner, and we didn't have room for both. You've got lots of room here. Where are your TV sets?"

"We have only one. It's in the cats' loft apartment. They enjoy nature programs or commercials without the audio."

Celia laughed with delight. "I wish my husband was alive, so I could tell him that! We had barn cats, and they weren't allowed in the house. They certainly didn't have TV in the hayloft!"

After a few minutes of polite small talk, Qwilleran broached the subject. "How did you fare at West Middle Hummock today?"