Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 17 Who Blew The Whistle

Amanda Goodwinter, alone. "I hate this play, but Fran's directing it, and she gave me a ticket."

Qwilleran met his guests in the upstairs lobby: Arch and Mildred Riker and Mildred's daughter, Sharon, who had driven in from Mooseville to use Polly's ticket.

"What's with Polly?" Riker asked.

Qwilleran described the situation. "Look here, Qwill! We've got to do something about your most favored friend. She's not herself these days. I realize how she feels about Bootsie, but her house is driving her batty. A sister of mine once had a nervous breakdown over the remodeling of her kitchen. What can we do about Polly?"

"I wish I knew. To make matters worse, her builder died this morning."

The lobby lights blinked, and they took their seats in the fifth row.

The play was wildly acclaimed. The audience applauded the students dressed as lords and ladies, as they made their entrance down the central aisle. Derek Cuttlebrink and the crew of rude mechanicals brought down the house, as expected. The greenies with their weird makeup and robotic movements stole the show, however. Meanwhile, the Shakespeare buffs waited for their favorite lines: I am amazed and know not what to say... The course of true love never did run smooth... What fools these mortals be!

As the king of the greenies delivered his line, I am invisible, and disappeared in a puff of smoke, Qwilleran heard the wail of a siren passing the theatre. It always alarmed him; he thought of fire. Then it faded away in the distance beyond the city limits. Moments later, he heard the honking of the rescue squad's vehicle. Then, just before intermission, Riker's beeper sounded, and the publisher, sitting on the aisle, made a quick exit to the lobby.

As soon as the first act ended, Qwilleran hurried up the aisle and found Riker in front of the telephone booth.

"Qwill, there's been a bad train wreck - south of Wildcat. The city desk is sending a man, but I think I should go, too. Want to come along? Sharon can take Mildred home."

The two men missed the second act. As they pulled out of the theatre parking lot, Riker said, "I'm taking you away from the play, and you have to write a review for tomorrow's paper."

"That's all right," Qwilleran said. "I know what I'm going to say about the first act, and I'll wing it for the second."

Outside the city limits Riker drove fast, and conversation was terse.

"Roger's baby-sitting. He'll be sorry to miss a hot story."

"Yeah... well..."

"Who's on tonight?"

"Donald. The new guy."

"He's getting his baptism by train wreck. Wonder what kind of train it is."

"Freight is all they pull on SC&L."

"Northbound or southbound?"

"They didn't say."

Reaching the town of Wildcat, they noticed unusual activity. The hamlet consisted of a general store, bar, gas station, and antique shop, with railroad tracks running parallel to the main street. People were milling around the intersection or standing on the tracks and staring to the south. Riker had to sound the horn to get through. "It's supposed to be a half-mile south of town."

"If you remember the Party Train," Qwilleran said, "the tracks veer away from the highway south of Wildcat. We saw views from the train that we'd never seen before."

It was still daylight but overcast, and a strange glow lighted up the gloom ahead of them. As they rounded a curve, they found the highway blocked with police vehicles, ambulances, and fire trucks. A few private cars were parked on the shoulder, their occupants gawking at the emergency equipment. Riker found a space, and they walked toward the center of activity. As soon as an ambulance was loaded, it took off for Lockmaster or Black Creek, and another took its place. All surrounding towns had responded. Medics running into the woods and stretcher bearers come back from the wreck had to push through underbrush, although rescue personnel with axes and chain saws were frantically trying to clear a path.

Riker showed his press card to a state trooper. "Can we reach the scene of the accident?"

"Follow those guys, but stay out of their way," the officer said. "Take flashlights. It'll be dark soon."

The newsmen plunged into the woods, Riker grumbling that it was going to ruin his new shoes.

Voices could be heard shouting orders that bounced off the cliffs on both sides of the creek. The whining of chain saws and hacking of axes added to the feeling of urgency. When they emerged from the brush, they were on a railroad right-of- way with a single track and a string of old telegraph poles. A team of paramedics, carrying a victim strapped to a stretcher, came running up the track, hopping awkwardly from tie to tie.

As the newsmen hobbled toward the wreck, they could see a flatcar with a huge floodlight that illuminated the trestle bridge. On the opposite bank of the creek was another flatcar with a railroad wrecking crane. Then a surreal scene came into view: a row of dazed victims sitting or lying on the embankment, while white-coated doctors moved among them. No train was in sight.