The Cat Who Knew a Cardinal - Lilian Jackson Braun, ebook
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THE CAT WHO KNEW A CARDINALLILIAN JACKSON BRAUN-1-September promised to be a quiet monthin Moose County, that summer vacationparadise 400 miles north of everywhere.After labor Day the tourists returned tourban turmoil in the cities Down Below;the black fly season ended; children wentreluctantly back to school; and everydaylife cranked down to its normal, sleepypace. This year the siesta was short-lived, however. Within a week thecommunity was jolted by news of theOrchard Incident, as it was headlined bythe local newspaper.Prior to the Orchard Incident therewas only one item of scandal on thegossip circuit in Pickax City, the countyseat (population 3,000). Jim Qwilleran,semi-retired journalist and heir to thevast Klingenschoen fortune, was living ina barn! An apple barn! Oh, well, thetownfolk conceded with shrugs and waggingheads, Mr. Q was entitled to a feweccentricities, being the richest man inthe county and a free-wheelingphilanthropist."Apple barn's better'n a pig barn,"they chortled over coffee mugs in thecafes. After four years they had becomeaccustomed to the sight of Mr. Q'soversize moustache with its melancholydroop. They no longer questioned theunorthodox W in the spelling ofQwilleran. And most of them now acceptedthe fact that the middle-aged divorcedbachelor chose to live alone - with twocat.Actually the facts were these: Aftertwenty-five years of chasing the news inthe capitals of the United States andEurope, Qwilleran had succumbed to theattractions of rural living, and he wascaptivated by barns, particularly anoctagonal structure on the Klingenschoenproperty. The hundred-year-old fieldstonefoundation was still intact, and itsshingled siding was weathered to asilvery gray. Rising majestically as highas a four-story building, it overlooked afield of grotesque skeletons - thetortured remains of what was once athriving apple orchard. Now it was ofinterest only to birds, including onethat whistled an inquisitive who-it? who-it? who-it?Qwilleran had first discovered thebarn during his rambles about theKlingenschoen estate, which extended fromthe main thoroughfare of Pickax toTrevelyan Road, almost a half miledistant. The mansion of the notoriousKlingenschoens, facing Main Street, hadbeen converted into a theatre for stageproductions, with the extensive gardensin the rear paved for parking. Beyond wasa high, ornamental fence of wrought iron.Then came a dense patch of woods thatconcealed the barn and the orchard. Afterthat, the lane leading to Trevelyan Roadwas hardly more than a dirt trail,winding through overgrown pastureland andpast the foundations of old cottages onceoccupied by tenant farmers. If anyoneremembered the lane at all, it was knownas Trevelyan Trail. At the end of it anoutsize, rural mailbox on a post wasidentified with the letter Q.Originally the barn had been used forstoring apples, pressing cider, andmaking apple butter. In recent years, allthat remained was a wealth of empty spacerising cathedral-like to the octagonalroof. Drastic renovation was required tomake it habitable, but after Mr. Q movedin he was pleased to learn that theinterior - on a warm and humid day -still exuded the aroma of Winesaps andJonathans.On a certain warm and humid day inSeptember - the tenth of the month, to beexact - Qwilleran;s housematescontinually raised noses to sniff a scentthey could not identify. They were a pairof Siamese-strictly indoor cats - and itwas partly for their benefit that thebarn had been converted to its presentdesign. With ramps and cat-walksspiraling upward around the interiorwalls, with balconies floating on threelevels, and with a system of massivebeams radiating under the roof, thedesign allowed this acrobatic couple torace wildly, leap recklessly, and wrestleprecariously on timbers thirty or fortyfeet overhead. For their quiet momentsthere were window-walls through whichthey could watch the flight of a bird,the fall of a leaf, and the ballet ofwind-swept grasses in the orchard.Qwilleran himself, having lived fortwo years in an apartment above theKlingenschoen garage, was awed by thespatial magnificence of his newresidence. He was a big man in hiscomfort-loving fifties, with wideshoulders and long legs, and nature hadnot intended him to live in crampedquarters. On that warm and humid Saturdayevening he strode about his domainenjoying the feeling of spaciousness andthe dramatic perspectives, all the whilestroking his bushy salt-and-peppermoustache with satisfaction. The lastrays of the sunset slanted into theinterior through high triangular windows,so shaped to preserve the symmetry ofbeams and braces."This time we got it right," he saidto the cats, who were following him,strutting elegantly on long slender legs."This is where we belong!" The three ofthem had lived at several addresses -sometimes happily, sometimesdisastrously. "This is the last timewe're going to move, you'll be glad tohear.""Yow!" was the male cat's reply in aminor key; one could almost detect a noteof skepticism.Qwilleran made it a policy to conversewith the Siamese, and the male respondedas if he understood human speech. "Wehave Dennis to thank for all of this," hewent on. "I only wish Mrs. Cobb could seeit."Chuckling over a private reminiscence,he added, "She'd be tickled pink,wouldn't she?""Yow," said Koko in a soft, regretfultone as if he remembered Mrs. Cobb'ssuperlative meatloaf.The renovation had been designed andengineered by the son of Qwilleran'sformer housekeeper. Dennis Hough was hisname, pronounced Huff, and his arrival inPickax from St. Louis had created a stirfor three reasons: The barn project was asensation; the young builder had givenhis construction firm a whimsical namethat delighted the locals; and the manhimself had a mesmerizing effect on thewomen of Moose County. It was Qwilleranwho had urged Dennis Hough to relocate,giving him the barn as his firstcommission and arranging Klingenschoenfunds to back his new venture.On this quiet Saturday evening thethree barn dwellers were on a loftycatwalk high under the roof, andQwilleran was reveling in the bird's-eyeview of the comfortably furnished mainfloor when a piercingly loud demand fromYum Yum, the female, told him she caredmore about food than architecture."Sorry," he apologized with a swiftglance at his watch. "We're running alittle late. Let's go down and see whatwe can find in the freezer."The Siamese turned and scampered downthe ramp, shoulder to shoulder, untilthey reached the lower balcony. Fromthere they swooped down to the main floorlike flying squirrels, landing in a deep-cushioned chair with two soft thuds - ashortcut they had been swift to discover.Qwilleran took a more conventional routedown a circular metal stairway to thekitchen.Although he had been a bachelor formany years, he had never learned to cookeven the simplest survival food forhimself. His culinary skills were limitedto thawing and coffeemaking. Now hedropped two frozen Alaska king crablegsinto boiling water, then carefullyremoved the meat from the shells, dicedit, and placed a plateful on the floor.The Siamese responded by circling thedish dubiously, first clockwise and thencounterclockwise, before consenting tonibble."I suppose you'd prefer breast ofpheasant tonight," Qwilleran said.If he indulged them it was becausethey were an important two-thirds of hislife. He had no other family. Yum Yum wasa lovable pet who liked to sit on his lapand reach out a paw to touch hismoustache wonderingly; Koko was aremarkably intelligent animal in whom thenatural feline instincts were developedto a supranormal degree. Yum Yum knewwhen Qwilleran wore something new orserved the food on a different plate, butKoko's twitching nose and bristlingwhiskers could sense danger and uncoverhidden truths. Yum Yum had a larcenouspaw that pilfered small objects ofsignificance, but Qwilleran was convincedthat Koko craftily planted the idea inher head. Together they were a wily pairof accomplices."Those devils!" he had recentlyremarked to his friend Polly. "I believethey have the Mungojerry-Rumpelteazerfranchise for Moose County."Tonight, as the cats nosed their waythrough the crab-meat without enthusiasm,the man observed the disapproving postureof the fawn-furred bodies, the criticaltilt of the brown ears, and thereproachful contour of the brown tails.He was beginning to read their bodylanguage - especially their taillanguage. His concentration wasinterrupted when the telephone rang andthere was no one on the line. Thinkingnothing of it, he proceeded to thaw apouch of beef stew for his own dinner.Ordinarily, Saturday evening wouldhave found him dining at the Old StoneMill with Polly Duncan, the chieflibrarian in Pickax and the chief womanin his life. She was out of town,however, and he gulped down the beef stewwithout tasting it, after which heretired to his studio to write his"Straight from the Qwill Pen" column forthe local newspaper. His upbeat topic wasthe success of an unusual experiment inPickax. On that very even...
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