The Cat Who Dropped a Bombshell полностью

Returning to the kitchen with appetites whetted, they polished off two plates of turkey scraps from Lois's Luncheonette. As he watched them enjoying their meal, the phone rang.

Koko's ear twitching told him it was friend, not foe.

"Good morning!" he answered in the unctuously musical voice that amused his close associates.

"Qwill! I've just received a very . . . interesting letter!" It was Polly's voice, brimming with excitement.

"About what?" he asked.

"Wait until you read it!"

"Would it be too presumptuous to ask who sent it?"

"Clarissa Moore!"

"Hmmm . . . Read it to me."

"It's too long and too personal."

"Then we'll go to dinner tonight, and you can bring it with you," he suggested.

"Tonight is my Bird Club meeting. Why don't you come over to the bookstore for a few minutes. You can park your bicycle in the office."

He agreed, wondering what Harvey Ledfield's fiancée could be writing about: Jerome? Invitation to a wedding?

"I'll be there as soon as I brush the cats. Want me to pick up something for your lunch?"

"Thanks, dear, but I've brought my lunch."

He had guessed as much and he knew what it would be!

Qwilleran finished brushing the cats and told them he was going to visit Dundee and read a letter from Jerome's mother. Then he added, "Let's hope the Ledfield heir isn't suing you, Koko, for an unprovoked attack!"

Qwilleran had planned to bike to the newspaper office to file copy for his Friday column, but his built-in itch to know the latest news caused him to detour to the bookstore. He was pedaling his British Silverlight that stopped traffic; on a sunny day it gleamed like a piece of jewelry.

Qwilleran parked his handsome bike in Polly's office, and Dundee, who had never seen a bicycle in his young life, gave the wheels the sniff test.

Qwilleran said, "He's telling me I need air in the rear tire."

"Have a chair," Polly said. "You'll need to be sitting down to read this." She handed him a business envelope with typed address. With a newsman's lack of personal reaction, he read the letter through - then read it again.

Dear Polly,

It was a privilege and pleasure to meet you Saturday night. I wish we lived in the same town. You would be my role model. Sorry I didn't meet Brutus and Catta.

Here is a snapshot of Jerome taken when he won first prize in a cat fashion show. He was dressed as Santa Claus. I made his costume: a red coat and red cap with white fur trim and a white fur bib hanging around his neck, supposed to be a beard. It was hilariously funny, and he didn't object. Jerome is always calm, cool, and collected.

And now for the bad news - or good, depending on one's point of view. I've broken up with Harvey. I'm still going to call her Aunt Doris and keep in touch. She's so sweet! To tell the truth, I think she likes me more than she does Harvey!

When we got home, Harvey told me I'd have to get rid of Jerome! He hates cats. I said he'd have to get a steady job and/or go to college. He said he wouldn't have to do either because he'll inherit the Ledfield millions or billions.

Well! I took off Aunt Doris's ring and told him I was going to return it to her.

Harvey is sexy and all that, and he has that gorgeous head of hair - but we're all wrong for each other. What do you think, Polly? I don't have anyone to discuss it with, and my family in Indiana wouldn't understand.

With best wishes, Clarissa

"Well . . . What do you think?" Polly asked. "Are you surprised?"