The Cat Who Talked Turkey полностью

Finally, there was a reading session. Koko, the official bibliocat, sprang to a bookshelf, sniffed bindings, and made a selection. Currently he liked Robert Service poems, apparently for their rollicking rhythms: I wanted the gold, and I sought it; I scrabbled and mucked like a slave.

The Moose County Something claimed to have ten thousand subscribers, most of whom were members of the Toothache Club, as it was called in the “Qwill Pen” column. They were readers who asked the nagging question: Why do you always get a toothache on a weekend—and it’s gone when you get to the dentist’s chair on Monday morning? Members added their own unanswered questions and mailed them to the newspaper on postcards. When a sufficient number had accumulated, Qwilleran ran another column on the subject, eagerly awaited by members and nonmembers alike:

“Why does the motorist ahead of you always drive too slow and the one behind you always drive too fast?”

“Did you ever notice that a ten-minute wait standing up is twice as long as a ten-minute wait sitting down?”

“We’ve all learned that medications have side effects, but golly if the side effects don’t have side effects now!”

Arch Riker kidded the columnist about letting the readers do his work, but actually he liked reader participation. Subscribers talked about the pet peeves in the coffee shops and started mailing in some of their own.

Qwilleran had a pet peeve of his own: He had an intense dislike for unanswered questions. Who was the “nice young lady” helping John Bushland photograph Boulder House for the Brrr souvenir book? He and Roger MacGillivray and Qwilleran had shared a horrendous boating accident that had bonded them for life. The photographer’s professional successes and personal tragedies would always concern Qwilleran. Bushy had been unlucky in his choice of assistants, but now a “nice young lady” was assisting him with the lighting on photo jobs. Who was she? Qwilleran called the studio.

“John Bushland Studio. May I help you?” asked a woman’s voice that was faintly familiar.

“This is Jim Qwilleran. To whom am I speaking?” he asked with comic formality.

“Qwill! This is Janice Barth! Remember me from Thelma’s house? Remember the parrots . . . the waffles?”

“Of course I do! Especially the waffles. Are you helping Bushy at the studio?”

“Yes, and he’s teaching me developing and printing so I can help with the darkroom. Shall I have him call you?”

When the photographer returned the call, Qwilleran said, “My spies tell me you shot Boulder House for the souvenir book, and you had a ‘nice young lady’ holding the light.”

“Qwill! You nosy devil! You’ve been snooping again! Well, to make a long story short, Janice is not only on my payroll—we’re tying the knot!”

“What? You’re marrying her? When? Where?”

“Just a civil ceremony at the house on Pleasant Street, with Roger and his wife as witnesses. After, there’ll be a small wedding dinner at Boulder House Inn, to which you may or may not be invited.”

“That being the case, buster, I may or may not pick up the check for the dinner—as a wedding gift to a pal who once tried to drown me. Meanwhile, someone should warn Janice that you’re just looking for free darkroom service. How about the five parrots? Do you have to support them?”

And so it went. Before Qwilleran could return to work on “The Great Storm,” he had a brilliant idea! He called his friend Simmons in California. The retired police detective had been a security officer at Thelma Thackeray’s dinner club, gradually becoming a friend of the family with a standing invitation to Sunday-morning waffles. To Janice he was a kindly uncle. And when Thelma had sent him a plane ticket to Pickax, Simmons and Qwilleran had struck an immediate rapport—the retired cop and the former crime reporter. Now Qwilleran would send him a plane ticket, and Simmons would be the surprise guest at the wedding dinner. Janice would be overcome with delight.

Qwilleran tracked Simmons down at his daughter’s house, where he was babysitting his grandchildren. He said, “Sounds great! But I have a security job lined up for July fourth that’s too good to pass up. Tell you what I could do: take the redeye flight to Chicago and then the morning shuttle flight to Moose County. Thanks for thinking of me, Qwill. I’m very happy for Janice.”

Qwilleran said, “Also, you’ll be interested to know that a dead body was found on my property at the beach, and police are investigating. And investigating. And investigating. Perhaps you and I can solve the case.”