The Cat Who Dropped a Bombshell полностью

Carol Lanspeak was at the cosmetics counter, arranging a display. "Can you believe it? We're having a run on violet this morning! I'm going to do a window on the color - with items from all over the store, and with books courtesy of The Pirate's Chest."

For Polly, Carol suggested a light violet scent in a gold filigree bottle. "Do you have time to go back to the office and say hello to Larry?"

The owner of the store was frowning over record books. "Come in! Come in! Have a cup of coffee, I'm ready to take a break."

"I saw you and Carol at the meeting last night."

"Compliments on a good presentation. Carol and I knew the Hibbards."

"I suppose you know the Ledfields," Qwilleran said.

"Quite well, although they don't socialize like the other old-timers. Our daughter is their physician."

"Is that so?" Qwilleran sensed another link in the Ledfield Saga.

The Lanspeaks were fine old stock like the Ledfields but chose to live in a rambling farmhouse in the hills and join in the business life and community interests of the county. Their daughter was a physician practicing locally and living in Indian Village.

Suddenly Carol breezed into the office saying in a low voice, "Larry, strangers in jewelry. Would you see what they're all about?"

Larry dashed out, and Qwilleran asked, "Are you having any trouble this summer?"

"We're seeing a lot of new faces," she said, "but there are strangers - and strangers ! When Larry and I were in New York, trying to get into theatre, we both worked as store detectives - and learned plenty! This year our six-foot-two stockboy from Wildcat has been promoted to store detective, but this is his day off."

"Is he a Cuttlebrink?" Qwilleran asked, exhibiting his local savvy.

"Aren't they all?" She rolled her eyes.

She said, "You were asking about the Ledfields. They go to our church, and twenty years ago the Sunday school had a hands-on program for youngsters. Each child adopted a lonely widow or a couple who were childless. They sent handmade greeting cards throughout the year to their ?adopted' elders--"

"Great idea!" Qwilleran said. "Is the program still going?"

"I'm afraid not," Carol said. "It was the pet project of Agatha Burns, one of your ?Late Greats.'

"But one of the Happy Endings is that Diane has grown up and become a physician and has ?adopted' Doris and Nathan, who enjoy the luxury of receiving house calls."

"Beautiful story," Qwilleran said.

Following the visit with Carol and Larry, Qwilleran wrote a note to their daughter, drove to Indian Village, and dropped it in her mailbox:

Thursday

Dear Diane,

Were your ears burning this morning? Your parents were telling me about Agatha Burns's idea for Sunday school - and how your adopted "aunt" became a lifelong friend.

The reason I'm writing: A mutual friend has been trying to get in touch with Doris and is told repeatedly that she is unwell. She's concerned.

Qwill

In early evening, Diane phoned. "I know you're busy, and I appreciate your taking the time to notify me. I checked her condition this afternoon and found it wise to consult an allergy specialist in Lockmaster. We both think we should have an environmental investigation. Those old houses are terribly damp. Thank you for the tip."

When Qwilleran phoned Polly at eleven o'clock, she was effervescing with news. "Clarissa returned Doris's diamond ring, as you suggested, and today Doris sent it back to Clarissa with a touching note. It said, ?I think of you as the daughter I never had!' Clarissa is keeping the ring in a safety box at the bank, but first she had it appraised by a jeweler in Lockmaster."

"Did she say what it's worth?"

"No. And I didn't ask, dear!" Polly said archly.

"I admire your restraint," he replied, equally arch.

Having enjoyed that bit of badinage, they settled down to their usual exchange of news.

"Wetherby's giving a pizza party for Clarissa's guest," Polly said.

"That comes as no surprise," replied Qwilleran.

"Do you want to go to the cat auction, Qwill?"

"It's one event I can afford to skip, although I'm curious to know how Foxy Fred is going to handle those kittens without terrifying them."

"Peggy says it's going to be filmed."

"Good! Sign me up for two videos."

"Well, à bientôt, dear."

"À bientôt!"

Before he could call "treat" to the cats, the phone rang again. Obviously, Polly had an afterthought. He picked it up.

"On second thought, I'll take three videos," he said.

"What? What? . . . Qwill. Is this Qwill?" came a distraught voice. It was Maggie Sprenkle.

"Sorry. I thought it was someone else. Is this Maggie? What's wrong. This is Qwill."

"Oh, Qwill! Have you heard the bad news?" Panic was added to the aging voice.