Braun, Lilian Jackson - 07 by Lilian Jackson Braun

Author:Lilian Jackson Braun [Braun, Lilian Jackson]
Format: epub
Tags: Crime, Fiction
Published: 2010-01-07T09:00:00+00:00

"I wouldn't mention it, but. . . after I've moved the garden into a sunny spot, he moves it into a dark corner. I've seen him do it. He stands on his hind legs, puts his paws on the lower shelf, and pushes."

The corners of Qwilleran' s mouth twitched as he pictured Koko wheeling the herbs across the stone floor of the solarium like a baby carriage. Sunlight was not plentiful in November, and that cat wanted the best patches of sun for himself.

"Why don't you ask Hackpole to devise some kind of brake for the wheels?" he suggested.

The doorbell rang.

"Oh, dear! I forgot to tell you," Mrs. Cobb said. "I guess I'm all discombobulated. Hixie Rice is stopping on her way to work. That's probably her at the front door." She jumped up.

"Sit still. I'll get it."

Hixie had parked her little car in the circular drive, and she was ogling the front door with its quantity of brass fittings polished to a dazzling brilliance by Mr. O'Dell.

"Everything is so grand, Qwill! You should have a butler, she said as her heels clicked across the white marble vestibule. "Here, I've brought you the latest delicacy in our frozen catfood line: lobster nuggets in Nantua sauce with anchovy garnish."

Koko made an immediate appearance in the foyer and stood staring at Hixie without expression, except for a fishhook curve in his tail.

"I think he remembers me," Hixie said. "Comment ça va, Monsieur Koko?"

"Eeque, eeque," he replied. As Qwilleran gave Hixie a tour of the house, Koko followed like an overzealous security guard.

"Gorgeous rugs!" she said as they entered the drawing room.

The two large antique Aubussons were creamy in color, with borders and center medallions of faded pink roses.

"Watch Koko," Qwilleran said. "He always avoids stepping on the rose pattern."

"Weren't the old red dyes made from some kind of bug? Maybe he can smell it."

"After a hundred years? Don't try to explain it, Hixie. How about a cup of coffee?"

When they were settled comfortably in the library she gazed at the four thousand leather-bound books. "Did you find it traumatic, Qwill, to inherit a lot of money? Do you feel vulnerable or isolated or guilty?"

"Not particularly."

"Don't you find people envious or resentful or hostile?"

"You've been reading a book, Hixie. Actually, it's just a nuisance to have a lot of money, so I turn it over to a philanthropic trust, and they get rid of it quietly."

She started to light a cigarette, and he stopped her. "City ordinance. No smoking in museums. . . . How's your friend's mother?"

"Who?"

"You said Tony's mother had a stroke and he had to fly to Philadelphia."

"Oh, she's getting better, and he's back here, working on his cookbook," Hixie said airily. "I'm going to write a book myself, on the rest rooms in country restaurants. They're not to be believed!"

"Don't complain. You're lucky the facilities are indoors. What's your objection?"

"Well, let me tell you about the North Pole Café in Brrr. They have only one rest room, and you have to dodge a very busy cook and a three-hundred-pound female dishwasher to get there.

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