### Amazon.com Review Qwilleran and his crime-solving Siamese cats KoKo and Yum Yum are back on the case in Pickax, the biggest little city in Moose County, which is 400 miles north of everywhere but still boasts a remarkably sophisticated social and cultural scene. Hardly a day or a night goes by without a tea, dinner party, crafts fair, play, or pageant, all of which are attended and described in great detail by Qwilleran, a former crime reporter whose not very onerous duties entail writing a feature column for the local newspaper as well as overseeing the civic philanthropy made possible by an inheritance from a wealthy friend of his deceased mother. Fans of this long-running and immensely popular series will delight in this 23rd installment, in which the matrons of Pickax are buying French perfume and blueing their hair for the annual visit of Mr. Delacamp, a jeweler from Down Under (Chicago), whose arrival will coincide with the reopening of the town's fabulously refurbished grand hotel. When the mysterious Mr. Delacamp is found dead in the presidential suite, and his "niece" goes missing along with the jewels and the cash, Qwilleran and his curious cats investigate. As usual, it takes a couple of Siamese with extraordinary powers (even for cats) and a current preoccupation with pennies, gum wrappers, and paper towels to point their owner toward the solution; Qwilleran may not be the quickest sleuth in Moose County, but with KoKo and Yum Yum on the case, he doesn't need to be. This is the coziest of cozies, a particular niche in the mystery subcategory of crime-solving felines of which Braun is the acknowledged mistress, and once again she delivers the goods. *--Jane Adams* ### From Publishers Weekly After 22 Cat Who mysteries (The Cat Who Saw Stars, etc.), Braun's legions of fans know precisely what to expect from this mistress of feline detective stories--a bloodless crime, much bantering between Jim Qwilleran and his friends, and mysterious crime-solving hints from his beloved Siamese cats, Koko and Yum Yum. Braun's 23rd novel fulfills these expectations. Journalist Qwilleran has evolved into an independently wealthy columnist and generous benefactor for almost every worthy cause in Pickax, Mich. As a leading citizen, he participates in everything from the refurbishing of the Pickax Hotel (renamed the Mackintosh Inn) to the tricounty Scottish Gathering and Highland Games. One of the renovated hotel's first guests is a jewelry buyer and seller from Chicago. Mr. Delacamp appears once every five years or so to offer exquisitely expensive jewelry (cash only, please) and to buy heirlooms (cash, again) from Pickax's wealthy ladies. This trip proves to be his last, and his murder provides the grist for Koko's deductive prowess. This Sherlock of the cat kingdom does his best, from his reading choices to his seemingly inexplicable actions with paper towels, gum wrappers and nuts, to educate the mere human he lives with. Yet again, Braun's upbeat prose and amiable characters make her novel the cat's meow of cozies. (Jan.) Copyright 1999 Reed Business Information, Inc.
The Cat Who Robbed a Bank
Lillan Jackson Braun
One
IT WAS A SEPTEMBER to remember! In Moose County 400 miles north of everywhere, plans were rife and hopes were high.
First, the historic hotel in Pickax City, the county seat, was finally restored after the bombing of the previous year, and it would reopen with a new name, a new chef, and a gala reception.
Then, a famous American (who may or may not have slept there in 1895) was about to be honored with the city’s first annual Mark Twain Festival.
Next, a distinguished personage from Chicago had reserved the presidential suite and would arrive on Labor Day, setting female hearts aflutter.
To top it off, the tri-county Scottish Gathering and Highland Games would be held at the fairgrounds: bagpipes skirling, strong men in kilts tossing the caber, and pretty young women dancing the Highland Fling on the balls of their feet.
The one unexpected happening was the homicide on the Pickax police blotter, but that was a long story, starting twenty-odd years before.
As September approached, the good folk of Pickax (population 3,000) were quoting Mark Twain about the weather, suggesting ribald names for the hotel, and gossiping endlessly about a man named Delacamp; few would ever meet him, but all had something to say about him.
Jim Qwilleran, columnist for the Moose County something, felt an air of anticipation when he made his rounds of downtown Pickax. When he went to the bank to cash a check, the young woman who counted out his fifties said, ”Isn’t it exciting? Mr. Delacamp is coming again, and he always comes into the bank. I hope he comes to my window, but the manager usually handles his transactions. Anyway, it’s all so thrilling!”
“If you say so,” Qwilleran said. After a long career as a newspaperman he was seldom excited and certainly never thrilled.
At the florist shop where he went to order a flowering plant for a sick friend, the wide-eyed assistant said breathlessly, “Did you hear? Mr. Delacamp is coming! He always has to have fresh flowers in his hotel room, and he sends roses to his customers.”
“Good!” said Qwilleran. “Anything that helps the local economy has my approval.”
While picking up a New York Times at the drugstore he heard a woman customer saying she had received an engraved invitation to Mr. Delacamp’s afternoon tea, and she wondered what kind of perfume to wear. The pharmacist’s wife said, “They say he likes French perfumes. We don’t carry anything like that. Try the department store. They can special-order.”
Qwilleran crossed the street to the department store, his newshound instincts scenting a good story with human interest and a touch of humor. Lanspeak’s was a large fourth-generation store with new-fashioned merchandise but old-fashioned ideas about customer service. He found the two owners in their cramped office on the main floor.
“Hi, Qwill! Come on in!” said Larry Lanspeak.
“Have a cup of coffee,” said his wife, Carol.
Qwilleran took a chair. “No coffee, thanks, but please tell me something. Explain the Delacamp mystique.” He knew the couple were official hosts for the man’s visit. “Why all the excitement?”
Larry looked at his wife, and she made a helpless gesture. “What can I say? He’s an older man, but he’s handsome – elegant – gallant! He sends women roses!”
“And kisses their hands,” said Larry with raised eyebrows.
“He pays lavish compliments!”
“And kisses hands,” Larry repeated derisively.
“Everything is very formal. Women have to wear hats to his Tuesday afternoon tea, and we’ve sold out of millinery. We sell the basic felt that women wear to church, but our daughter said we should gassy them up with feathers and flowers and huge ribbon bows. So we did! Diane is a sober, dedicated M.D., but she has a mad streak.”
“Takes after her mother,” Larry said.
“The results are really wild! Sorry you can’t write it up, Qwill, but everything is private, invitational, and exclusive. No publicity!”
“Okay I’ll forget it. No story,” Qwilleran acquiesced. “But he sounds like an interesting character… You two go back to work.”
Larry accompanied him out of the office and toward the front door, down the main aisle between cases of men’s shirts and ties and women’s scarves and earrings. “Old Campo is harmless, although a trifle phony,” he said. “Still, his visits every four or five years are good for a certain element in our community and good public relations for the store. It’s Carol’s project, actually. I stay out of it.”
