The Cat Who Sang for the Birds - Lilian Jackson Braun, ebook
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THE CAT WHO SANG FOR THE BIRDSLILIAN JACKSON BRAUN-1-Following an unseasonable thaw anddisastrous flooding, spring came early toMoose County, 400 miles north ofeverywhere. In Pickax City, the countyseat, flowerboxes on Main Street wereblooming in April, birds were singing inPark Circle, mosquitoes were hatching inthe bogs, and strangers were beginning toappear in the campgrounds and on thestreets of downtown.One afternoon in late May, a brown vanpulled into a parking lot alongside asmall green sedan, and a man wearing ablack jersey slipped out of the driver'sseat. He glanced furtively to the leftand right, and, leaving the motorrunning, he opened the tailgate. Then heunlocked the trunk of the sedan andquickly transferred something from hisvehicle to the other, after which he lostno time in driving away. An out-of-towner, witnessing the surreptitiousmaneuver, might have described him as aCaucasian male, middle-aged, about sixfeet two, with slightly graying hair andan enormous pepper-and-salt moustache. Onthe other hand, any resident of Pickax(population 3,000) would have recognizedhim immediately. He was James MackintoshQwilleran, columnist for the Moose CountySomething and-by a fluke of fate-therichest man in northeast central UnitedStates. He had reason to be furtive aboutthe parking-lot caper. In Pickax,everyone knew everyone's business anddiscussed it freely on the phone, onstreet corners, and in the coffee shops.Individuals would say:"It's nice that Polly Duncan gotherself such a rich boyfriend. She's beena widow for a heck of a long time.""That green sedan she drives - he gaveit to her for a birthday present. Wonderwhat she gave him.""He does her grocery shopping atToodle's Market while she's at work, andputs the stuff in her car.""Makes you wonder why they don't getmarried. Then she could quit her job atthe library." The sidewalk gossips knewit all. They knew that Qwilleran had beenan important crime reporter Down Below,as they called the mega-cities south ofthe Forty- Ninth Parallel. They knew thatsomething sinister had wrecked hiscareer. They would say:"Then he come up here, by golly, andfell kerplunk into all them millions!Talk about luck!""More like billions, if you ask me,but he deserves it. Nice fella. Friendly.Nothin' highfalutin about Mr. Q!""You can say that again! Pumps his owngas. Lives in a barn with two cats.""And danged if he don't give most ofhis dough away!"The truth was that Qwilleran was boredwith high finance, and he had establishedthe Klingenschoen Foundation todistribute his wealth for the bettermentof the community. This generosity, plushis genial personality, had made him alocal hero. For his part, he wascontented with small-town life and hisrelationship with the director of thelibrary. Still, his brooding gaze carrieda burden of sadness that made the goodfolk of Moose County ask each otherquestions.One Thursday in May he went to thenewspaper office to hand in copy for hiscolumn, "Straight from the Qwill Pen."Then he stopped at the used bookstore andbrowsed for a while, buying a 1939 copyof Nathanael West's book, The Day of theLocust. At Toodle's Market he askedGrandma Toodle to help him select fruitand vegetables for Polly. These hetransferred to her car on the libraryparking lot, hoping to avoid notice bythe ubiquitous busybodies.That touchy business completed, he wasdriving home when he heard sirens and sawflashing lights heading south on MainStreet. With a journalist's instinct hefollowed the emergency vans, at the sametime calling the city desk on the carphone."Thanks, Qwill," the city editor said,"but we were tipped off earlier, andRoger's already on his way there."The speeding vehicles, includingRoger's gray van, turned into the streetleading to the high school. By the timeQwilleran arrived on the scene, thereporter was snapping newsphotos of agruesome accident in front of the school.Scattered about were the remains oftwo wrecked cars, victims covered withblood, broken glass everywhere. Onepassenger appeared to be trapped insidethe worst wreck. Horrified studentscrowded the school lawn, restrained by ayellow cordon of police tape. Ambulancecrews were in action. A drunk driver washustled to a patrol car. Stretcherbearers rushed one serious case to amedical helicopter that had landed on theschool parking lot. Meanwhile, groans andcries rose from the shocked onlookers asthey recognized their bloodiedclassmates. Finally the rescue squad'smetal cutters sliced through the car bodyto reach the trapped victim, who wastaken away in a body bag.At that point the principal's voice onthe public address system ordered allstudents to return to the building atonce and report to the auditorium.Qwilleran, watching the rescue withmounting wonder, stroked his moustache inperplexity and beckoned to the reporter,who had started packing his photo gear.Roger looked up. "Hey! I like thatblack shirt, Qwill. Where'd you get it?""Never mind the shirt! What goes onhere?""You don't know?" The reporter glancedaround before saying in a confidentialtone, "Mock accident. To discourageunderage drinking. Tomorrow night's theSpring Fling.""Do you think it will work?""It should give them a jolt. Studentsgot a sudden order to leave the buildingimmediately because of contamination inthe ventilating system. I got a littlequeasy myself when I saw all the blood. .. and I knew it was fake!"Qwilleran huffed into his moustache."To tell the truth, Roger, it would havefooled me if your deskman hadn't said thepaper was tipped off earlier. What did hemean by that?""We got a release on the story aboutan hour ago. The whole thing was afantastic job of planning and secrecy.""Got time for a cup of coffee atLois's?""Sure. There's another assignment attwo-thirty, but it's only a kids' artshow. I can be late." Roger headed forhis van. "Meet you there."Lois's Luncheonette, just off MainStreet, was a shabby eatery that had beenfeeding downtown workers and shoppers forthirty years. Lois Inchpot - the loud,bossy, hard"working proprietor - servedlarge portions of moderately pricedcomfort food to loyal customers whoconsidered her a civic treasure. Therestaurant was empty when the two newsmenarrived."What'll you guys have?" Lois yelledthrough the kitchen pass-through. "Thelunch specials are off! And we're low onsoup!""Just coffee," Qwilleran called toher, "unless you have any apple pieleft.""One piece, is all. Flip a coin."Roger said, "You take it, Qwill. I'djust as soon have lemon."He was a pale young man with a neatlytrimmed beard, stark black against hisunusually white complexion. A formerhistory teacher, he had switched tojournalism when the Moose CountySomething was launched. He was married tothe daughter of the second wife of thepublisher. Nepotism in Moose County wasnot only ethically acceptable butenthusiastically practiced."So!" Qwilleran began. "How come Ididn't know about this melodrama at theschool?" More than anything else hedisliked being uninformed and taken bysurprise. "Who dreamed it up, anyway?""Probably the insurance companies.What's so amazing, they were able to keepit under wraps in spite of all thedifferent organizations and personnelinvolved.""And in spite of our three thousandnosey Nellies and congenital gossips,"Qwilleran added. "All of Pickax knowsI've started doing Polly's groceryshopping, even though I slink around likea footpad.""That's the price you pay for livingin a crime-free, unpolluted paradise,"the younger man said. "What did you thinkof the kids who did the playacting?They're all students who've been affectedin some way by drunk drivers. What didyou think of their bloody makeup? It wasdone by paramedics from EMS.""They all did a convincing job, andI'll bet they actually enjoyed it, butwill their efforts accomplish anything?""I hope so. Everyone's being asked tosign a pledge not to drink at schoolparties."Lois interrupted with two plates ofpie in one hand, two mugs of coffee inthe other, and forks and spoons in herapron pocket. "If you guys spill anythin', clean it up!" she ordered withswaggering authority. "I just finishedsettin' up for supper, and my help don'tcome on till four-thirty.""Yes, ma'am," Qwilleran said with ashow of meekness. To Roger he put theusual question: "Anything new at thepaper?""Well, there was some vandalism lastnight that would have made a sensationalstory, but - ""So much for your crime-freeparadise," Qwilleran interrupted."Yeah. . . well. . .At the editorialmeeting this morning there was the usualgo-round. I know you newsguys from DownBelow are hipped on the public's right toknow, but we have different ideas uphere, If we repo...
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