The Cat Who Came To Breakfast

She paused to recollect the crucial moment, and Qwilleran urged her to continue.

"The arguing stopped then, and I heard Jack leave the stable, still shouting nasty names at the old man who had been like an uncle to him when we were all growing up. After that, Elijah banged things around in the tack room for a while, and then he left, too. When it was safe, I slipped out the back door and walked all around the poolhouse and croquet court before going home. That's when I discovered that Mother was giving evacuation orders. She said it was going to be the storm of the century. But I think it was Jack's idea to—"

"Leave the scene of the crime?" Qwilleran suggested.

"If it's true what Elijah said."

"Elijah Kale? Is that his name?" Mentally Qwilleran spelled it: 5-12-9-10-1-8 and then 11-1-12-5. "Were you aware that Jack had married his daughter?"

"Well, when we were young we spent summers together at The Pines, you know, and she always had a crush on Jack. Mother didn't like him to go sailing with the steward's daughter, but he always got his own way. Then June went away to school, and that was the end of it—until last summer. She spent the whole season on the island, playing the piano at the club, and Jack spent all his time there. Mother had William investigate, and it was true: June was Wife Number Four! William told me. Mother never tells me anything."

"Did you have any suspicion of a Wife Number Five?"

"William says Jack met a French woman in Florida and wanted Mother to settle with June, but the steward's daughter didn't want money; she wanted Jack Appel-hardt." Liz said it with scorn.

As soon as Liz was safely registered at the Pickax Hotel, Qwilleran took the shortcut to his apple barn— through the theater parking lot and the dense patch of woods that separated his orchard from urban Pickax. He unloaded the Siamese, put fresh water in their bowl, and unpacked only enough to find his record of the domino games.

The last entry included 4-4, 5-6, 6-6, 2-3, 3-6, 5-5, 0-1, and 3-5—pips that he had translated into H, K, L, E, I, J, A, and another H. He had been trying to unscramble them when Liz knocked on his door, wearing a caftan and carrying an oil lamp like a vestal of Roman myth.

Now the letters fell into place. Discarding the K and one H, he spelled Elijah. In that same game Koko had produced dominoes that spelled Jack and Kale. (Although Qwilleran had thought it was lake or leak.) Reviewing that final game, he pounded his forehead with his fist and muttered, "Dumb! Dumb!"

Koko, he admitted once again, was amazing. He couldn't spell; neither could he add or subtract. He bypassed the three Rs because he knew everything instinctively. He was psychic! Qwilleran often asked himself, How did I happen to adopt the only psychic cat in captivity? It never occurred to him that Koko may have made it happen, just as he had engineered Qwilleran's presence on the nature trail at a vital moment.

Without further unpacking, Qwilleran phoned the police chief at home. "Andy, I got your phone message, and now I have some information—"

"Where are you?"

"Back at the apple barn, but I was on the island during the storm."

"How was it?"

"Halfway between terrifying and boring. Want to run over for a confidential chat and a nip of the good stuff?"

"Be there in three minutes."

Galloping paws were thundering up the ramps, around the balconies, across the beams, back down to the mezzanine level, from which they swooped to a cushioned chair on the main floor. After two weeks of confinement, they had rediscovered SPACE. Qwilleran said to them, "I swear never to subject you guys to that ordeal again!"

While waiting for Brodie he took another look at the note from Dwight Somers:

Didn't want to give you this dope over the phone (I used Watergate tactics to get it) and I'm leaving the island on the next ferry. I quit this crummy job! Have an appointment with a firm in Lockmaster—sounds good. Noisette's last name is duLac. Permanent residence: Lake Worth FL. Hope this helps.

Almost immediately a vehicle could be seen weaving through the woods and bouncing on the rutted road. It was an occurrence that always excited Koko. "It's the law!" Qwilleran warned him. "Please, no catfits!"

Andy parked at the back door and came blustering through the kitchen. "This had better be good! You pulled me away from a TV special on Edinburgh."

"If it isn't good enough to take to the prosecutor, I'll buy you and your wife dinner at the Old Stone Mill."

Andy's Scotch was ready—with a little water and no ice—and the two men took their glasses into the lounge, where the chief sank into the cushions of an oversize chair. "I hear the hotel got hit bad, just as I predicted."

"The ancient gods of the island have had a curse on the Pear Island resort from the beginning."

"You can't fight nature ... any more than you can fight City Hall. So what have you got? Hard evidence or soft clues?"

"I've got a hack saw blade, some signals from Koko (who's never wrong), and enough two-and-two to put together and make a case of sabotage, bigamy, arson, murder, and several counts of attempted murder. Everyone tried to explain them away as accidents, but I maintain they were the result of two criminal plots, both masterminded by the black sheep of a wealthy family from Chicago. Finding himself married to June Halliburton and Noisette duLac at the same time, he got rid of one wife and helped the other wife to get rid of her husband. I'd guess that both murders were accomplished by drugging the drinks of the victims. Then June's mattress was set afire, and George duLac fell into the hotel pool, probably with a gentle assist.

"Both of these incidents," Qwilleran pointed out, "made unfavorable publicity for the resort but were actually subplots. The major campaign to harass the resort and undermine its tourist business was engineered by the bigamist and an employee at his family's estate. I'll name names when I talk to the prosecutor."

"How much of this is guesswork on your part?" the chief asked.

"You can call it what you like, but it's deduction based on observation, reports from witnesses, and tips from Koko." Qwilleran went into a few details regarding the gumbo poisoning, the finding of the hack saw blade, anc the argument in the stable. He thought it best not to men tion the dominoes. Brodie's admiration for Koko's occult talents had its limits. "Freshen your drink, Andy?"

"Just a wee dram."

On Saturday all three of them—the man and his two animal companions—found themselves in a post-vaca tion, post-hurricane lethargy. The Siamese curled up ii their old familiar places; Qwilleran lolled around and re fused to answer the telephone. Later, when he checked his answering machine, there were these messages:

From Fran Brodie: "Thanks for sending me Ms. Cage I'm doing an apartment for her at Indian Village."

From Polly Duncan: "Sorry I was snippy last night. I was travel-weary. I'm dying to tell you about my big decision."

From Mildred Riker: "If you'll invite us for drinks tomorrow, I'll bring a casserole and a salad. Want to hear about the hurricane and Polly's vacation."

On Sunday evening the Rikers arrived with food and bad news. The high winds had damaged the new addition to their beach house. Polly arrived with her roll of papers and good news. "When I told my friend in Oregon that I intended to keep my carriage house apartment in the new college complex, she convinced me I should own my own home. She's an architect, and we spent the whole time planning a house—two stories high, so Bootsie can run up and down stairs. All I need to do is find a piece of land that's not too remote and not too expensive." She unrolled the architect's sketches and spread them on the coffee table.

Riker applauded. Mildred was thrilled. Qwilleran felt much relieved. He said, "There are two acres at the far end of the orchard, where the Trevelyan farmhouse used to be. I'll sell them for a dollar." Then everyone applauded.