THE CAT WHO PLAYED BRAHMS by Lillian Jackson Braun

Author:Lillian Jackson Braun
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2010-12-19T08:00:00+00:00

Qwilleran was feeling particularly happy and agreeable on Monday morning. Although he was not given to using affectionate appellations, he started calling Rosemary "honey." As the day progressed, however, his elation gradually deflated. The first setback occurred when Nick arrived to work on the locks before Qwilleran had had his coffee.

"I see you have a Siamese," Nick said after Koko had inspected him at the checkpoint. "We have three cats, just ordinary ones. My wife would love to see yours."

Recalling the engineer's cryptic remark about Buck Dunfield's murderer, Qwilleran said: "Why don't you bring your wife over some evening - to meet Koko and Yum Yum? I must apologize again for disturbing your meal yesterday."

"Think nothing of it. Glad to oblige. Besides, nobody ever says no to Miss Klingenschoen." Nick raised his eyebrows in a good-humored grimace.

When he left he was carrying one of Rosemary's catnip toys. "While you're here," he told her, "be sure to visit the flower gardens at the prison. The tulips are out now. Everything is later here than Down Below, you know."

After he had gone Rosemary said: "What a nice young man! I can visit the gardens this afternoon while you're working on your book. I'd also like to get my hair done if I can get an appointment."

The Siamese were delighted with their new plaything, catnip tied in the toe of a sock. Koko was especially dexterous, batting it with a paw, chasing it, tumbling with it, then losing it in some remote nook or crevice.

Qwilleran, on the other hand, was less than delighted with his late breakfast. It consisted of a fresh fruit compote sprinkled with an unidentified powder resembling cement, followed by a cereal containing several mysterious ingredients - some chewy, some gummy, some sandy. He knew it was all the Right Food, and he consumed everything without comment but refused to give up his morning caffeine in favor of brewed herbs.

Rosemary said: "I found some dreadful commercial rolls in your freezer, made with white flour and covered with sugary icing. You don't want to eat that junk, Qwill dearest. I threw them out."

He huffed into his moustache and said nothing. After her noisy car had chugged down the drive and headed for Bob's Chop Shop, Qwilleran planned his own day. He set up his typewriter on the dining table, together with writing tools and scattered papers, in a realistic tableau of creative industry. Then he telephoned Mildred: "How are you doing?"

"I'm not as hysterical as I was yesterday," she said, "but I feel terrible. Do you realize what it's like to have your next-door neighbor murdered?"

"We've all got to start locking our door, Mildred - the way they do Down Below."

"Buck and Sarah and Betty were such good friends of mine. We played bridge all the time. He'll be buried in his hometown, and the girls have taken off already, so it's quiet and gloomy. I miss hearing the woodworking machines. Would you like to drop in? I'll make a strawberry pie.

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