"Clever kids, those students of Burgess's," said Wetherby. "They get you coming or going - or both. I donate my grandpappy's moustache cup - then go to the auction and bid on some other grandpappy's shaving mug."
Polly said, "I'm not in the market for any more objects but I'm donating a lot of my in-laws' collection."
Clarissa said she would attend for the thrill of bidding on something. "The only item I have to donate is nothing that anyone could possibly want. I hang onto it only because my grandmother acquired it when she was young."
"What is it?" everyone asked at once.
"I've brought it to show you. Tell me what you think."
There was silence as she reached for her large handbag and withdrew a roll of something like a diploma. Tied with ribbon, it was about three inches in diameter and a foot long. When unrolled, it proved to be a three-foot advertisement for a breakfast cereal.
Sheepishly she said, "A poster from a Detroit trolley car." She waited, and when there was no comment, said, "It's really sort of pretty and in good condition. It's been rolled up for sixty years. When my grandmother was young, she used to ride to work on the trolley car, which was so crowded that passengers had to stand in the aisles and hang onto leather straps, and stare at the ads that filled the space above the windows. . . . I don't know how Grandma happened to acquire this one. I suppose it was a souvenir of many hours of straphanging."
Qwilleran said, "You should donate it, Clarissa, and Joe and I will bid against each other for it - have a little fun. I'll bid the highest and take it home to hang in the cats' apartment. It'll go with their twistle-twig rocker."
Wetherby said, "The poster would make a better presentation if framed. I know a guy in Horseradish who'll frame it for nothing - just to go along with a gag!"
The others were laughing and cheering them on and Judd said he'd make a few bids for it himself. "Is this what they call shill bidding? Is it ethical?"
"In this case, it's just a stunt," Qwilleran said, "and the proceeds go to a good cause. We'll get Foxy Fred to make it the first item on the block. It'll wake up the audience. Get them in the spirit of the occasion. . . . The trick will be, Joe, to decide how high to go. To make it a sensation, it should be an outrageous figure, which the K Fund will cover, of course."
During the evening there was plenty of conversation about cats. Jet Stream swaggered among the guests and accepted compliments and crumbs of cheese. Clarissa showed her snapshot of Jerome, the only British Shorthair in the county, she thought. Dr. Connie, newly divorced, had acquired a marmalade, related to Dundee, the bibliocat at the bookstore.
Polly said that Brutus and Catta had made friends with a wild rabbit, who came out of the woods daily to commune with them through the window wall.
Qwilleran told them that Koko and Yum Yum were studying crows aiming for a degree in corvidology. He refrained from reporting Koko's death howl in the case of the missing rabbit hunter.
Before the evening was over, Wetherby played Mendelssohn's Presto Agitato, which required incredible nimbleness of fingering. Judd, the engineer, insisted that the music required a pianist to play a thousand notes a minute. Clarissa, the journalist, checked to see if Wetherby had six fingers on each hand.
Polly said, "Joe, why aren't you on the concert stage?"
"I'm not good enough," he said. "And I believe if you can't be good, be fast."
The party broke up early. Before leaving with Judd, Clarissa whispered to Qwilleran that she wanted to talk with him about the Ledfields. "Anytime!" he said. Wetherby took her streetcar poster and promised to have it framed overnight.
Back at the barn, Qwilleran phoned the police chief at home. "Andy, are you interested in talking about rabbit hunters over a thimbleful of Scotch?"
"I'll talk about anything over a wee dram!"
Andrew Brodie lived in the neighbourhood and drove into the barnyard within minutes. The Siamese rushed to the kitchen window, either recognizing the sound of the chief's motor or reading Qwilleran's mind. They knew the burly Scotsman with the loud voice. Over the years he had progressed from suspicious stranger to admiring friend, calling them "that smart Koko" and "my little sweetheart." Yum Yum was not only allowed to untie his shoelaces but was expected to do so.
Brodie made himself at home, sitting at the snack bar, pouring a large "thimbleful" of Scotch and cutting a slice of cheese.
He said, "M' wife and some ladies from the church saw your show this afternoon. She said they all had a good cry. It's not the first time they've seen it. How does it feel to give it in the opera house?"
"Better than church basements, school gyms, and county parks."
Brodie commented on the tastiness of the cheese, a Manchego from Spain. He said he'd never heard of it but it was good!
Finally Qwilleran said, "I hear there was a disturbance in North Middle Hummock yesterday."
"What do you know about it?"
"I was there to cover the Ogilvie-Fugtree family reunion, but by the time I got home, there was a message on my phone, canceling the story. I phoned the paper and learned someone from the party had been killed while hunting rabbits."
The chief took a swig of his drink before saying, "Off the record, it looks like homicide. A member of the party was arrested on suspicions. That's all I'm tellin'."
Qwilleran said, "That smart Koko, who's gobbling crumbs of cheese that you ?accidentally' drop, probably knows more than the sheriff does." He referred to the cat's death howl at five-fifteen, the day the hunter was reported missing.
"What else does that smart cat know?"
"That's all I'm tellin', Andy."
Chapter 11
On Monday morning, while feeding the cats, Qwilleran received a phone call from Mitch Ogilvie. "Qwill, I owe you an apology!" "About what?"
"You wasted a whole afternoon of your valuable time."
"My time is never wasted, Mitch. Everything is fodder for the ?Qwill Pen' or even for a future novel! Who knows? However, I'm curious to know what actually happened Saturday afternoon."
Mitch said, "I'm going to town for supplies. Could you meet me somewhere?"
"How about coming to the barn? You know where it is."
In half an hour the goat farmer's van pulled into the barnyard, and Qwilleran went out to welcome his longtime friend.
Mitch handed him a foil-wrapped package. "Some goat cheese. They say it's good for allergies and digestion."
Indoors, coffee was served in the living area, where two sumptuously cushioned sofas right-angled around a large square coffee table, facing the fireplace cube.
"I don't mind telling you," Mitch said, "it's good to get away from the celebrating crowd - or what's left of it. A lot of them went home early because of the . . . incident. Did you meet the two young fellows who went rabbit hunting, Qwill? I still can't believe what happened."
"Who were the two rabbit hunters? Where were they from?"
"Well, it's quite a story. They're cousins, Max and Theo. Both living in Texas. They have a rich uncle, who has named them his sole heirs because other branches of the family have all the money they need."
"Did the rich uncle come to the reunion?"
"No. Uncle Morry is an invalid and never travels. . . . Now Theo is dead, and Max is suspected. The police say it was homicide - not an accident - and they must have reasons."
Qwilleran asked, "Were they both good hunters?"
"Well, I don't know. It was Max's idea, and Theo seemed to go along."
"How much do you know for a fact?"
"Well, Max says they decided to split up in the woods, one on each side of the creek. They invented a code for keeping in touch. Two whistles meant got-a-rabbit. Three whistles quitting-returning-to-farm. Max never heard any signals from Theo, although he heard a lot of shotgun fire on the other side of the creek."