"Great idea!" Qwilleran said. "Is the program still going?"
"I'm afraid not," Carol said. "It was the pet project of Agatha Burns, one of your ?Late Greats.'
"But one of the Happy Endings is that Diane has grown up and become a physician and has ?adopted' Doris and Nathan, who enjoy the luxury of receiving house calls."
"Beautiful story," Qwilleran said.
Following the visit with Carol and Larry, Qwilleran wrote a note to their daughter, drove to Indian Village, and dropped it in her mailbox:
Thursday
Dear Diane,
Were your ears burning this morning? Your parents were telling me about Agatha Burns's idea for Sunday school - and how your adopted "aunt" became a lifelong friend.
The reason I'm writing: A mutual friend has been trying to get in touch with Doris and is told repeatedly that she is unwell. She's concerned.
Qwill
In early evening, Diane phoned. "I know you're busy, and I appreciate your taking the time to notify me. I checked her condition this afternoon and found it wise to consult an allergy specialist in Lockmaster. We both think we should have an environmental investigation. Those old houses are terribly damp. Thank you for the tip."
When Qwilleran phoned Polly at eleven o'clock, she was effervescing with news. "Clarissa returned Doris's diamond ring, as you suggested, and today Doris sent it back to Clarissa with a touching note. It said, ?I think of you as the daughter I never had!' Clarissa is keeping the ring in a safety box at the bank, but first she had it appraised by a jeweler in Lockmaster."
"Did she say what it's worth?"
"No. And I didn't ask, dear!" Polly said archly.
"I admire your restraint," he replied, equally arch.
Having enjoyed that bit of badinage, they settled down to their usual exchange of news.
"Wetherby's giving a pizza party for Clarissa's guest," Polly said.
"That comes as no surprise," replied Qwilleran.
"Do you want to go to the cat auction, Qwill?"
"It's one event I can afford to skip, although I'm curious to know how Foxy Fred is going to handle those kittens without terrifying them."
"Peggy says it's going to be filmed."
"Good! Sign me up for two videos."
"Well, à bientôt, dear."
"À bientôt!"
Before he could call "treat" to the cats, the phone rang again. Obviously, Polly had an afterthought. He picked it up.
"On second thought, I'll take three videos," he said.
"What? What? . . . Qwill. Is this Qwill?" came a distraught voice. It was Maggie Sprenkle.
"Sorry. I thought it was someone else. Is this Maggie? What's wrong. This is Qwill."
"Oh, Qwill! Have you heard the bad news?" Panic was added to the aging voice.
"No! What's the trouble?"
"There's been a terrible accident! Foxy Fred fell out of a tree. His back is broken." She stopped to wail in anguish!
Qwilleran was silent with shock and what it would mean.
"Did you hear me, Qwill?"
"This is terrible! What was he doing in the tree?"
"Cutting off a branch that had tent worms, they say. Lost his footing on the ladder."
"What will this do to the auction plans?" After he had said it, he knew it was a stupid question.
"You'll have to come to the rescue, Qwill! You're the only one who can do it. People are coming from all over the state. TV crews, too."
"What can I say, Maggie? Will you let me think about it?"
"You can't! You can't! No one else can do it!" She was still sobbing, and he began to worry about her having a stroke.
"All right. All right. Calm down, Maggie. Have a cup of tea, and don't worry about a thing. I'll do it. We'll talk about it in the morning. No problem. . . . Do you hear?"
Stunned, he returned to the kitchen to give the cats a treat, then conducted them wordlessly to their sleeping quarters on the third level and watched them hop into their respective baskets. Their door was left open, so they could roam during the night, observing who-knows-what feline rituals. Qwilleran always closed his own door.
On this occasion he retired fearing he would not sleep, and he was right. He had entertained doubts about the kitty auction when it was Foxy Fred's responsibility; now he envisioned a new problem. The kittens had been rehearsing, but not in a strange building before a large - and probably overexcited - audience.
One o'clock. Two o'clock. At two-thirty he became aware of a scratching at his door and a rattling of his door handle.
He jumped out of bed, and there they were - a couple of cool cats. Koko looked around as if saying, "Here we are!"
"You rascals!" Qwilleran said, as he sprawled in his thinking chair. The cats joined him - Yum Yum cozily on his lap and Koko on the arm of the chair, from which he stared at the man's forehead. A calm invaded the room. Qwilleran thought, Anyone who can play the lead in King Lear at the age of fifteen and direct a high school production of Life with Father at the age of sixteen should be able to handle a cat auction. . . . Think of it as show-biz . . . with a cast of forty scene stealers! . . . An audience of cat lovers will be a pushover! . . . We'll not only get their money, we'll show them a good time!
He shooed the cats out of the room and went to bed.
"Wanna wanna wanna wanna . . . bidda bidda bidda bidda."
He mesmerized himself to sleep.
Chapter 15
The Siamese sensed something was queer on Friday morning. Their breakfast had been served at seven AM, and his and her plates had been accidentally reversed under the kitchen table.
As for Qwilleran, he was having a Continental breakfast at the animal shelter with the two chairpersons of the kitty auction, both of them residents of Winston Park. Peggy Marsh was the young computer programmer who went to The Pirate's Chest twice a day to feed Dundee and "tidy up" his private domain. Judd Amhurst was the retiree who divided his time between the bookstore (managing special events) and the animal shelter (bathing the scruffy abandoned dogs brought to the shelter by rescue officers).
At the shelter the forty kittens occupied group cages but were transferred to their personal "limousines" for the rehearsal. One by one Qwilleran lifted them out of their baskets for fondling and sweet talk. They were hypnotized by the resonance of his voice and fascinated by his moustache.
Peggy said, "At the community hall tomorrow there'll be an audience of hundreds, according to the advance ticket sales, but the kittens will be mildly sedated."
"The main problem," said Qwilleran, remembering Koko's disastrous stage debut, "will be to keep the audience from shouting and screaming."
Judd said they could arrange to print some signs in a hurry: QUIET ! KITTENS ASLEEP ! "They could have an artist do some sketches of them; folks could take them home for a donation."
The rehearsal ended with coffee and sweet rolls from Lois's Luncheonette.
Judd said, "Did you know that her son is starting a lunchwagon, to be parked at special events? It'll be in the parking lot tomorrow."
Peggy said, "We're printing souvenir programs for the auction, listing kittens' formal names, nicknames, and markings."
Finally, Judd said, "If this auction is a success, we'll try one with puppies, and I'd buy one if they permitted dogs at Winston Park."
Qwilleran said, "Why not take the plunge tomorrow, Judd? I was a dog man myself until I came under the spell of you-know-who."
You-know-who were waiting on Qwilleran with what he considered a lack of enthusiasm. He took a shower and put his clothes in the washer. His housemates still greeted him as if his morning had been spent in illegal or immoral activity.