Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 17 Who Blew The Whistle

Koko went on rubbing industriously. One never knew when he was trying to communicate and when he was just being a cat. There was the matter of the felt-tip pens he had been stealing recently - not red ones, not yellow, only black. Was it a coincidence that Polly had hired the black-haired, black-bearded Edward Penn Trevelyan? Penn was Florrie's maiden name. Tish's pen name was Letitia Penn. Koko's attempts to convey information - if that's what they were - failed to get through to Qwilleran. He went for a long bike ride to clear his head. It was good exercise, and he filled his lungs with fresh air, but no questions were answered.

When Celia arrived that evening, she flopped on, the sofa, dropped her shapeless handbag on the floor, and said, "Could you put a little something in the lemonade tonight, Chief? I need it!"

"I mix a tolerable Tom Collins," he said. "I take it you've had a hectic day."

"We've had two deaths in the family on the same day! Both funerals are on Saturday. The women leave for Switzerland on Sunday. Tish is upset! Florrie is hysterical!"

"Drink this and relax awhile," he said, presenting the tray. "Tell me what you thought of the play."

"I liked it! We both did. I had to read it in high school, but I'd never seen it on the stage. The greenies were fun - better than fairies. And I loved that young man who's so tall. Derek Cuttlebrink was the name in the program."

Qwilleran assured her that there was a whole village full of Cuttlebrinks. "They're all character~!" he said.

"That nice Mr. O'Dell was there with his daughter. He talked to us in the lobby. Charming Irish accent!" She looked around the barn. "This would make a good theatre - with people on the balconies and the stage on the main floor."

Qwilleran said, "Everyone wants to convert it into a theatre or a restaurant or a poor man's Guggenheim. You've never seen the view from up above. Let's take a walk. Bring your drink."

They climbed the ramps, and he showed her his studio, the guestroom, the cats' loft apartment, and the exposed beams where the Siamese did their acrobatics.

When they returned to ground level, Celia dug into her handbag for her notebook. "Well! Are you ready for this, Chief? Tish told me some terrible things after Eddie died. Do you think a dying man comes back to life just before his last breath?"

"Sometimes there's a moment of lucidity before death," he said. "Great men utter memorable last words, according to their biographers, and others reveal lifelong secrets."

"Well, here's what happened yesterday morning. It's lucky the nurse was at the house when the hospital called. Tish drove into town in a hurry. Eddie was slipping away, but she talked to him, and all of a sudden his eyes moved, and he struggled to speak - just snatches of this and that."

"Were you there?" Qwilleran asked.

"I was waiting outside the room. Tish told me about it after. We came back to my apartment for a cup of tea, and she began to cry. Eddie had been mixed up in more dreadful things than anyone guessed."

At that moment the telephone rang. "Excuse me," he said and took the call in the library.

A shaking voice said, "Qwill, take me to the hospital. I don't feel well."

"I'll be right there!" he said firmly. "Hang up! Hang up!" As soon as he heard the dial tone, he punched 911. Then he dashed to the back door, calling to Celia, "Emergency! Gotta leave! Let yourself out!"

He drove recklessly to Goodwinter Boulevard and arrived just ahead of the ambulance. Using his own key, he let the EMS team into the apartment and ran up the stairs ahead of them.

Polly was sitting in a straight chair, looking pale and frightened. "Chest pains," she said weakly. "My arms feel heavy."

While the paramedics put a pill under her tongue and attached the oxygen tube with nose clips, Qwilleran made a brief phone call.

She was being strapped onto the stretcher when she turned a pathetic face to him and said. "Bootsie - "

"Don't worry. I've called your sister- in-law. She'll take care of him. I'll follow the ambulance." He squeezed her hand. "Everything will be all right... sweetheart."

She gave him a grateful glance.

He was there at the hospital when Polly was admitted and when Lynette Duncan arrived shortly afterward. The two of them sat in a special waiting room and talked about Polly's recent worries.

"You know," Lynette confided, "before she visited that friend in Oregon and got hooked on the idea of building a house, I wanted her to come and share the old Duncan homestead. I just inherited it from my brother. He'd had it ever since our parents died. Polly was married to my younger brother. He was a volunteer fire- fighter and lost his life in a barn fire. Tragic! They were newlyweds. Maybe she told you. Anyway, now I own this big house, over a hundred years old, with large rooms and high ceilings. Really nice! But too big for me. I think Polly would love it, and Bootsie could run up and down stairs."