The Cat Who Came To Breakfast

"I'm going to drop "Appelhardt." I like "Cage" better. It was the maiden name of my paternal grandmother."

"I mean, where do you want to live? What kind of people would you like to meet? How long do you think you'll stay? What do you want to do while you're here?"

"I don't know. Do you have any suggestions?"

He groaned inwardly. He should never have gone to tea at The Pines. "You might take an apartment in Indian Village. They have a clubhouse and golf course, and a lot of young people live there."

"I prefer older people," she said, looking at him appreciatively.

"A lot of older people live there, too. Do you play bridge?"

"No, cards don't appeal to me."

"Wherever you live, you'll need a car. It's a necessity in Moose County. There are no taxis."

"Would there be any objection to a horse and carriage? I could have Skip shipped over here, and William would let me have the physician's phaeton."

"In order to stable a horse, you'd have to live in the country, and you'd still need a car. I assume you have a driver's license."

"I'm afraid it's expired. Mother didn't want me to drive."

"Well, you'll have to renew it."

"Is there a foreign car dealer in Pickax? I'd like a Bentley. William has a Bentley."

Nothing had been settled by the time they reached the airport. Qwilleran parked at the passenger-pickup curb and told Liz to sit tight while he made a phone call and picked up his friend's luggage. In the terminal he called Fran Brodie, the interior designer. "Fran! Have I got a client for you! She's loaded! She's young! She wants to live in Pickax! . . . Don't ask questions. Just listen. She's checking into the Pickax Hotel in half an hour, and I want you to take her under your wing and see that she gets a good apartment, furniture, a car, knives and forks, everything! Her name is Elizabeth Cage. Call her early tomorrow, or even tonight, before she does something impulsive. I've gotta hang up. I'm at the airport. I'm meeting a plane."

When the shuttle taxied to the terminal, eight passengers deplaned, and Qwilleran—in a state of preoccupation—greeted Polly with less enthusiasm than she probably expected. He took her carry-on tote and a long roll of something, saying, "You have one other bag to claim, don't you?"

"That and two cartons. I bought a few things."

While trundling the luggage cart to the curb, he said casually, "I have a hitchhiker who wants to be dropped at the Pickax Hotel."

"Really? I thought you never picked up hitchhikers, Qwill."

"This one is different. I'll explain later."

He introduced Ms. Cage to Mrs. Duncan, and Polly looked at the Gauguin hat and said a stiff how-do-you-do. She was automatically jealous of any woman younger and thinner than she. To his relief, the younger woman had the good manners to relinquish her seat. "Let me sit with the cats," she said.

Polly requested, "When you put my impedimenta in the trunk, Qwill, be careful with that long roll." It looked as if it might be a wall map of the United States.

"I'm sorry, but all your luggage will have to go inside the car," he explained. "The trunk is jam-packed."

As they drove away from the airport, Polly half-turned and asked the other passenger politely, "Did you fly in?"

"No," said Liz in her ingenuous way, "Qwill and I came over on a boat from Grand Island. We were trapped in a strange inn during the hurricane—with no windows or lights or water. It was quite an adventure!"

"Really?" Polly looked at Qwilleran questioningly. "I'm not familiar with Grand Island."

"How was your flight?" he asked forcefully. "Tolerable. Were you covering the hurricane for the paper?"

"Not officially. Did you see any puffin birds in Oregon?"

On the way into town the conversation struggled through a quagmire of bewilderment, evasion, awkwardness, and non sequiturs until they reached Goodwinter Boulevard. Then Qwilleran said, "If you don't mind, Polly, I'll drop you off first. We have a luggage problem to contend with in the trunk, and I know you're tired and want to get home."

Her second-floor apartment occupied a carriage house behind an old mansion, and she rushed upstairs to hug Bootsie, her adored animal companion, while Qwilleran brought up her luggage. Then she turned to him and said crisply, "Who is she?"

"It's a long story, but I'll make it brief," he said, talking fast and inventing half-truths. "After you left, the paper sent me to Breakfast Island on assignment . . . and I stayed at the Bambas" B-and-B ... and I happened to meet a wealthy family from Chicago . . . whose daughter is relocating in Pickax. She's a friend of Fran Brodie's. I think she has some interest in the new college."

"Well!" Polly seemed unconvinced.

"And may I ask the nature of the important decision mentioned on your postcard?"

"That's a long story, too. We can talk about it later."

Downstairs, Liz had moved into the front seat again and was enthusing about the neighborhood. "I'd love to live here," she said.

"All these buildings are part of the new college campus," he explained, as he turned back onto Main Street.

At Park Circle he pointed out the courthouse, the public library, and the K Theater, originally a mansion that was gutted by fire. Fire! His mind did a flashback to Breakfast Island: the fire in Five Pips, the death of June Halliburton, the revelation that she was the caretaker's daughter . . . Liz had known her . . . Liz had heard something upsetting in connection with the fire and was about to relate it when the power failed.

Qwilleran turned the wheel quickly and stopped the car in a parking lot. "Just before the lights went out, Liz, you were about to tell me something you overheard in the stable."

"Yes ... yes ..." she said moodily. "It haunts me, but I don't know whether I should talk about it or not."

"Tell it. You'll feel better."

"I'm afraid it's incriminating."

"If it's the truth, it should be told."

At that moment their conversation was interrupted by a tap on the car window, driver's side. "Hi, Mr. Q! Are you back?"

Qwilleran lowered the window but replied curtly. "Yes, I'm back."

An incredibly tall young man peered into the car, regarding the passenger with interest. "I've got my job back at the Old Stone Mill," he said.

"Good for you!"

The fellow was looking speculatively at Liz, and she leaned forward with a half-smile that gave Qwilleran a brilliant idea. He said, "Liz, this is Derek Cuttlebrink— you saw him in the Corsair Room—a prominent man-about-Pickax ... Derek, Elizabeth Cage is a newcomer from Chicago."

"Hi! I like your crazy hat!" he said with uninhibited honesty.

Qwilleran added congenially, "We'll have to get her interested in the theater club, won't we?"

"Sure will!" Derek said with enthusiasm.

A scenario of the young man's future unreeled in Qwilleran's mind . .. Exit: the ecologist with camping equipment. Enter: the amateur botanist with trust fund. Botanist and ex-pirate enroll in the new college.

Derek ambled away, and Liz repeated what she had said in the hotel lobby: "He's so tall!" Her eyes were lively with admiration.

"Nice young man," Qwilleran said. "Good personality. Lots of talent ... Now, where were we? You overheard your brother arguing with the steward in the stable."

"Yes, I was in the stall with Skip, and they were in the tack room and didn't see me. I couldn't believe my ears! The steward accused Jack of starting the fire that killed his daughter! Elijah said, "You were married to two women, and you had to get rid of one! You're a murderer! I'm going to the sheriff!" And Jack said, "You stupid peasant! No one will believe you! And don't forget, I've got the goods on you—enough to put you away for life. You say one word to anyone, and I'll tell them about the explosion . . . and the shooting .. . and the poisoning! That's enough to hang you twice!" Then Elijah screamed at him, "You're the one told me to do it! You murderer!" And in between they were shouting obscenities that I couldn't repeat ... Just then, Skip whinnied! There was sudden silence. I almost died!"