The Cat Who Talked Turkey полностью

“The thing of it is,” Gary began, “Lish lived with her grandma in Brrr while she was in high school. She even took her grandmother’s last name. Perhaps you know old Mrs. Carroll who lives in the house that looks like Mount Vernon. No? There was a scandal, you see, in Lockmaster, where Lish had grown up. Her father was a big-shot landowner, and her mother was a social snob. Then he went to prison for land fraud—on a grand scale!—and a female employee was involved, one way or another. His wife was so stunned or embarrassed or something that she overdosed. And Lish landed in Brrr with her grandmother.”

“Do you expect me to believe this, Gary? It sounds like something you read in a tabloid.”

“Honest! It was all over the Lockmaster Ledger when it happened. More coffee? So now the scuttlebutt is that old Mrs. Carroll is moving into Ittibittiwassee Estates, and Lish is getting the big house. Do you want to hear more?”

“I never say no to coffee or scuttlebutt, Gary.”

“Well, the thing of it is, Lish travels with a guy, and that doesn’t set too well with Grandma Carroll. Lish says he’s her driver; she can’t have a license because of a special heart condition. He’s tall and lanky, and you see him traipsing behind her like a puppy dog.”

“Do they come in here? Is Lish good-looking?”

“Well, she has . . . an intelligent face. Her driver is good-looking and has long hair and drinks a lot. I call them Lish and Lush.”

Qwilleran went home and thought about the brainy young woman with an intelligent face. No doubt she could handle the sound effects skillfully, but he had hoped for someone with an engaging personality. There was, however, one detail in her favor. She lived, or had lived, in Milwaukee.

Qwilleran’s interest in the brainy young woman was understandable, but he needed a second opinion. He called his friend Wetherby Goode, a native of Lockmaster.

“Qwill! Where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you since you moved back to the barn!”

The two men had adjoining condos in Indian Village, and Qwilleran spent winters there when the barn was too hard to heat.

“I need to talk to you, Joe. How about coming over for sandwiches and coffee—between your six P.M. and eleven P.M. broadcasts. Lois’s Luncheonette is featuring TLTs this week, and it’s turkey off the bone.”

The Siamese hopped about joyously when the weatherman’s car pulled into the barnyard. Did they recognize the sound of the motor from last winter in Indian Village? Did they sense that the driver lived with a cat named Jet Stream? Did they know what was in the sandwiches that had been delivered?

The reunion consisted of loud talk and back-slapping. Then they trooped out to the gazebo, with the host carrying a large tray and the guest carrying the cats and a cordless phone in a canvas tote bag.

“Did you attend the groundbreaking?” Qwilleran asked.

“No, I had a family powwow to attend in Horseradish, but I read all about it in today’s paper.”

Qwilleran surmised that the personable bachelor had found a new attraction in his hometown in addition to his ample supply of cousins, aunts, nieces, uncles, nephews, and in-laws.

Wetherby went on, “I’ll bet Polly is all excited about managing the store. What will they name it? How about The Pirate’s Chest? I hope they’re planning to have a cat. If they want music at the grand opening, I’d be glad to play.”

“Do you have a repertory of bookstore music, Joe?”

“Without giving it any deep thought, I’d say that . . . John Field’s Nocturnes would be good for starters.”

“Yow!” said Koko, who had been sitting nearby.

“See? He agrees with me,” Wetherby said.

“Don’t be fooled, Joe. Koko saw a sliver of turkey drop out of your sandwich.”

“Hey, Qwill! I never told you how much I enjoyed your column on Cool Koko!”

He referred to a recent “Qwill Pen” column in which Qwilleran introduced the wise sayings of Cool Koko: “A cat with no tail is better than a politician with no head. . . . A cat may look at a king, but he doesn’t have to lick his boots. . . . Every dog has his day, but cats have three hundred sixty-five.”

He said to Wetherby, “If Jet Stream has any wise sayings, send them to Cool Koko, in care of the Moose County Something.” Then he mentioned casually, “Do you happen to remember, Joe, a big land-fraud scandal in Lockmaster?”

“Sure do! The Kranson case. Juiciest crime we ever had in our simon-pure county! Why do you ask?”

“To answer your question in a roundabout way: Do you remember the one-man show I did on the Big Burning?”

“I should! I saw it three times!”

“Well, I’m doing a similar dramatization on the Great Storm of 1913, and the Kranson daughter has been suggested to handle the sound effects.”

“Sorry. Don’t know anything about her.”

“Oh,” Qwilleran said, “I thought you might, since you spend so much of your time in Horseradish.”