The Cat Who Smelled a Rat_txt

“They’re well rid of the connection, if you ask me. Cass Young is a nice young man; Dr. Zoller is a nice older man. He gave up his dental practice because he couldn’t bear to hurt his patients. Besides, he was better at playing the stock market than filling teeth, and he had family money to play with. … Is it true that you’ve moved to the Village for the winter? You and Polly must attend the rally in the clubhouse-to support Amanda’s candidacy, you know. Bring that new neighbor of yours. I’d like to meet a rare-book dealer. What’s his name?”

“Kirtwell Nightingale.”

“I like him already. I have a new neighbor, too-an older woman from Baltimore, recently retired. She has some fabulous eighteenth-century Americana that I’d like to buy.”

“What is she doing 400 miles north of everywhere?” Qwilleran inquired.

“She lost her husband, and her son thought she should come here.”

Qwilleran said, “I hope she likes snowshoeing and ice fishing. What did she do before she retired?”

“Accounting, but her hobby is astrology-serious astrology. She’s highly regarded on the East Coast, according to her son, and I’d like to see her get established here.

She’s giving a lecture at the clubhouse, and I’ve commissioned her to do my natal chart.”

Qwilleran thought, The woman probably owns a priceless Hepplewhite sideboard that Susan wants to take to the New York show.

Susan suggested, “Why don’t you have Mrs. Young do your chart, Qwill?”

“You mean, my horoscope?”

“I’m not talking about the silly things your paper prints to fill space on the comic page, darling! Simply provide the place, date, and hour of your birth, and Mrs. Young will chart the effect of the planets on your past, present, and future.”

Qwilleran huffed into his moustache. He knew his past and present and preferred not to know his future. On impulse he asked, “Who’s her son?”

“The Y in XYZ Enterprises, but he’s going out on his own. Do you happen to know the hour of your birth, Qwill? Not too many persons do.”

“Seven minutes after eleven P.M.-a lucky number, my mother said.”

“I’d say you were lucky, darling.”

“Off and on. Could I have my … chart done anonymously?”

“You can use an assumed name, and I won’t reveal anything about you. That way, the chart will be a demonstration of the integrity of the science-and Mrs. Young’s skill.”

He wrote down the data required and the name Ronald Frobnitz. “How much is this little charade going to cost?”

“No more than you can afford … another cup?”

“No thanks, but it’s good! What brand of instant decaf do you buy?”

“Get out!” she screamed.

He started to wander out through the empty store. “Customers aren’t breaking down your doors today.”

“It’s Monday.”

He sauntered past Chippendale, Queen Anne, chi-noiserie, then stopped before a framed piece of needlework. The embroidery threads were faded, and the linen was dark with age. Alphabet blocks were stitched to make a border, and in the center was a boy jumping over a lighted candlestick. The inscription read: Jack be nimble … Jack be quick.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“A sampler, late nineteenth century,” Susan said. “Not what I usually have in my shop, but it came in a box of quite good engravings.”

“I wish I had a buck for every time that nursery rhyme was recited to me. In our house the rule was: Be quick but never in a hurry. The last time I was in a hurry, I was rushing out to play baseball with the kids, and I fell down some concrete steps. Had twelve stitches taken in my upper lip.” He patted his moustache.

“Your mother must have been a saint, Qwill, to make a responsible adult out of a brat like you. I’m sure you were a brat.”

“Yes, but a decent one. How much for the sampler?”

“Take it!” she said. “I’ll never sell it.”

On the way home Qwilleran tuned in to WPKX on his car radio to catch the hourly news and heard Derek Cuttlebrink singing in his country western twang, “I found my puppy in Pickax….” That rogue, he thought, has been to the station and taped it, and they’ll play it ad nauseam until Christmas! A lot of puppies and kittens might be adopted, but it’ll drive the radio audience up the wall!

The broadcast news was merely a condensation of that day’s Moose County Something, with the exception of a bulletin: “Moose County is in dire crisis! Tune in to WPKX tonight at eight o’clock as civic leaders confront the threat of widespread fire throughout the countryside, forests and small villages. Drastic action is needed! Every citizen should tune in tonight at eight. Alert your friends and neighbors!”