### From Publishers Weekly Lovers of bestseller Braun's irresistible Siamese cats, regal Koko and delicate Yum Yum, and their pet human, Jim Qwilleran, will need no further recommendation than the title for this 25th book in the series. (Remember The Cat Who Went Up the Creek?) The locale is the same, the town of Pickax in Moose County, 400 miles north of everywhere, with its peculiar, lovable citizens. Into this bucolic setting comes Thelma Thackeray, a native of Moose County, who, having achieved fame and fortune in Hollywood, is returning at age 82 to die. But first she intends to have some fun. Everyone is curious about the glamorous retiree, who also has purchased the long-vacant opera house downtown. Local historians recall that Thelma's twin brother, Thurston, had operated an animal hospital in neighboring Lockmaster until his tragic death from an accidental fall a year earlier. Now his son, Richard, has come to live with Thelma. When she decides to turn the opera house into a film club, Dick is offered the position of manager-with startling results. The first public event in the renovated opera house is the Kit Kat Revue, a fund-raiser, whose finale is a procession of prominent citizens with their pets, all cats. Qwill and Koko are at the end of the line, and that's when Koko brings down the house. In her inimitable gentle style, Braun documents the daily activities of the inhabitants of Pickax. Kidnappings, robberies and murders may abound, but nothing is really upsetting or unpleasant. Braun devotees will cheer. Copyright 2002 Reed Business Information, Inc. ### From Booklist This is the twenty-fifth volume of these intensely mild-mannered mysteries: it is hard to conceive of a more dulcet whodunit. Local columnist Qwilleran--Qwill, our hero--is immensely wealthy but funnels it through a foundation; lives in Pickax, Moose County, 400 miles north of anywhere; and dates the town librarian (although she's about to throw that over because libraries aren't about books anymore; Qwill's foundation is going to set her up in a bookstore). Thelma Thackeray, in her 80s, comes back to Pickax after a long Hollywood career in food. She's turning the old opera house into a revival movie theater, sparks a few other local delights, but can't seem to get her ne'er-do-well nephew to do well at all. Qwill plugs away at old lies and a death in Thelma' s family. We learn stuff through his newspaper column and his journal entries, and through the responses of his Siamese cat, Koko. All the murders are offstage: the fun part is in food, clothing, and the quotidian joys of small-town life; there's no sex and barely a whiff of technology. How can one fail to be amused by naming conventions that include local weatherman Wetherby Goode? *GraceAnne DeCandido* *Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved*
The Cat Who Brought Down the House
Lilian Jackson Braun
Chapter 1
Who was Thelma Thackeray?
It was April first, and it sounded like an April Fool’s joke.
Had anyone by that name ever lived in Moose County, 400 miles north of everywhere?
Yet, there it was, in black and white—in the newsbite column of the Moose County Something:
RETURN OF THE NATIVE
Thelma Thackeray, 82, a native of Moose County, has retired after a 55-year career in Hollywood, CA, and is returning to her native soil. “I'm coming home to die,” she said cheerfully, “but not right away. First I want to have some fun.”
It was followed by less startling items: The sheriff had purchased a stop-stick to aid deputies in high-speed car chases... The Downtown Beautiful committee had decided on hot-pink petunias for the flower boxes on Main Street... The sow that escaped from a truck on Sandpit Road had been discovered in the basement of the Black Creek Elementary School.
Immediately the lead item was being discussed all over town, via the grapevine. In coffeehouses, on street corners, and over backyard fences the news was spread: “A Hollywood star is coming to live in Pickax!”
Jim Qwilleran, columnist for the newspaper, was working at home when his phone started ringing. “Who was Thelma Thackeray?... Was she really a movie star?... Did the press know more than they were telling?”
“It sounds like a hoax,” he told them. He remembered the April Fool’s prank that his fellow staffers had played on the
Nevertheless, Qwilleran’s curiosity was aroused. He phoned Junior Goodwinter, the young managing editor, and said sternly, “What was the source of the Thelma Thackeray newsbite?”
“She phoned our night desk herself—from California. Why do you ask? Do you have a problem with that?”
“I certainly do! The name sounds phony! And her remark about dying and having fun is too glib for a person of her apparent age.”
“So what are you telling me, Qwill?”
“I'm telling you it’s a practical joke played by those guys in Lockmaster in retaliation for the horse hoax. Have you been getting any reader reaction?”
“Sure have! Our phones have been ringing off the hook! And—hey, Qwill! Maybe there really is a Thelma Thackeray!”
“Want to bet?” Qwilleran grumbled as he hung up.
Qwilleran had a sudden urge for a piece of Lois Inchpot’s apple pie, and he walked to the shabby downtown eatery where one could always find comfort food at comfortable prices—and the latest gossip. Lois herself was a buxom, bossy, hardworking woman who had the undying loyalty of her customers. They took up a collection when she needed a new coffeemaker and volunteered their services when the lunchroom walls needed painting.
When Qwilleran arrived, the place was empty, chairs were upended on tables, and Lois was sweeping up before dinner. “Too early for dinner! Too late for coffee!” she bellowed.
“Where’s your busboy, Lois?”
Her son, Lenny, usually helped her prepare for dinner.
“Job hunting! He finished two years at MCCC, and he’d really like to go to one of them universities Down Below, but they’re too expensive. So he’s job hunting.”
Qwilleran said, “Tell Lenny to apply to the K Fund for a scholarship. I'll vouch for him.” The young man had faced personal tragedy, a frame-up, and betrayal of trust –with pluck and perseverance.
With a sudden change of heart she said, “What kind of pie do you want?”
“Apple,” he said, “and give me that broom and I'll finish sweeping while you brew the coffee.”
The middle-aged man pushing the broom and righting the chairs would have been recognized anywhere in three counties as James Mackintosh Qwilleran. He had a pepper-and-salt moustache of magnificent proportions, and his photo appeared at the head of the ‘Qwill Pen’ column every Tuesday and Friday. He had been a highly regarded journalist in major cities around the country; then he inherited the vast Klingenschoen fortune based in Moose County and he relocated in the north country. Furthermore, for reasons of his own, he had turned the inheritance over to a philanthropic institution. The Klingenschoen Foundation, popularly called the K Fund, was masterminded by experts in Chicago, where Qwilleran was recognized as the richest man in the northeast central United States. Around Pickax he was Mr Q.
Eventually Lois returned from the kitchen, carrying two orders of apple pie and a coffee server; forks, napkins, and mugs were in her apron pockets. They sat in a booth near the kitchen pass-through, so she could shout reminders to the woman who cooked dinner. Lois herself would wait on tables, take the money, and serve as moderator of the free-for-all talk show carried on among the tables.
