Qwilleran parked at the curb and hurried to the lighted veranda. As he climbed the crumbling brick steps, the front door opened, and a ghost of a man stood there, his shoulders drooping, his face almost as white as his hair, and his eyes unfocused.
"Thanks for turning on the lights," Qwilleran said, following the shuffling feet into the front hall. A single dim lightbulb burned in the branched chandelier. The door to the gun cabinet was open. "Look here, Big Boy," he said. "Let's go somewhere and have a good talk, friend-to-friend. Let's get away from this gloomy place.
Everything will turn out all right. Don't worry. You 'need to talk to someone who understands, when you're feeling down. Come on. Let's go. Turn out the lights. Lock the door."
Aubrey needed someone to take charge. He did as he was told, moving slowly as if in a trance. Then Qwilleran took him by the elbow and piloted him down the steps and into the car.
He could write a thousand words for his column with the greatest of ease, but he had to work hard to fill the silence that amplified the rumble of the motor as they drove to Pickax. "It's a nice night. Crisp but not chilly. Just what you expect in early October. Soon it will be Halloween - then Thanksgiving, before we know it. We haven't had Indian summer as yet, though. After that. anything can happen. Dark, isn't it? No moon tonight. You can see the glow on the horizon from the Pickax streetlights. Not much traffic tonight. No one goes out on Wednesday night... There's the Dimsdale Diner. They stay open all night. You never see any trucks in the parking lot, though. I think the cook sleeps behind the counter. His pancakes are the worst I've ever eaten. I wonder what he does to them. They say Lois is going to open her lunchroom again."
While he talked about everything and nothing, his passenger slumped in a stupor. Qwilleran hoped that his planned shock treatment would work. They turned off Park Circle, crossed the theatre parking lot, and plunged into the woods. As they emerged from the dark stand of evergreens. Qwilleran reached for the remote control, and instantaneous floodlights turned the towering barn into something unreal. Aubrey sat up and stared.
"An old apple barn," Qwilleran told him. "Built more than a hundred years ago. Wait till you see the inside."
As they walked through the kitchen door, he pressed a single switch that illuminated balconies, ramps, beams, and the giant fireplace cube. Two cats who had been sleeping on the sofa rose, arched their backs, stretched, and jumped down to inspect the visitor. They circled him inquisitively, sniffing his field boots and finding them quite fascinating.
"What are they?" Aubrey asked.
"Siamese cats. Very friendly. You can see they're attracted to you. They know you like animals. The little female is
Yum Yum; the male is Koko. Talk to them. Tell them your name."
"Aubrey," the man said hesitantly.
"Yow!" Koko replied in his piercing Siamese baritone.
Qwilleran said, "See? He's pleased to meet you. Take off your jacket and sit down in that comfortable chair. Would you like some cheese and crackers? What do you drink? Coffee? Beer? Wine? Ginger ale?"
"Beer," Aubrey said in a daze as he sank into the deep-cushioned chair. He could not take his eyes from the cats, who were milling about gracefully, striking poses, gazing at him, doing all the right things, as if they had been assigned to patient therapy.
Yum Yum made a half-hearted pass at the laces of the field boots before jumping into Aubrey's lap and kneading in the crook of his elbow, purring loudly. Then she looked up at him with soulful eyes.
Qwilleran thought, She's a witch!
"Big eyes," Aubrey said. "Why's she lookin' at me like that?"
"She wants to play Blink. She stares at you, you stare at her, and the first one who blinks loses the game." He put a can of beer and a plate of cheese at Aubrey's elbow.
Then it was Koko's turn to do his mesmerizing act. He jumped to the arm of the big chair and sniffed Aubrey's sleeve. Then the cold wet nose traveled up his sleeve and sniffed his ear.
"It tickles," he said, almost smiling. "Do you know that cats have twenty-four whiskers on each side? They're all guaranteed to tickle. Count them and see if I'm right."
Aubrey turned his head and met the hypnotic gaze, eyeball to eyeball.
Qwilleran thought, They know he's troubled. Cats have a natural aptitude for care-giving. He said, "Give Koko a taste of cheese, and he'll be your friend for life."
The man followed orders and was pleased when both cats took crumbs of cheese from his fingers. "Just like a dog I used to have," he said. "His name was Spot - black and white - mixed breed. On'y way he'd eat was from my hand. I never saw cats like these... You let 'em in the house!" he added in surprise.
"This is where they live. They never go outdoors."
Aubrey stroked their silky fur constantly while he talked.
Qwilleran thought, It's a miracle; he's talking!
Aubrey went on, as though some healing flow of energy was passing from the cats to the man. "When Spot was killed, I di'n't want another dog. I joined the Navy. I was gonna learn electronics. I like that stuff. But I had an accident. I hadda come home."
Cautiously and with all the kindliness he could muster, Qwilleran asked, "What kind of accident?"
"I come near drownin'. When I come to, I thought I was dead. I felt different. But I wasn't dead. I was in sick bay. The medics said lowed my life to my buddy. Vic, his name was. He jumped in after me. They said there was sharks all around."
"Frightening experience."
"When somebody saves your life, you owe 'im one. That's what they say."
"Do you still keep in touch with... Vic?"
Aubrey turned a horrified face to Qwilleran. "That was him in the cabin!" He broke down in a fit of sobbing, covering his large face with his hands.
"That's all right," Qwilleran said soothingly. "It's good to let go. Get it off your chest."
The Siamese were alarmed but stayed nearby--each a silent but sympathetic presence. When the sobbing finally subsided and Aubrey started wiping his face on his sleeve, Qwilleran offered handfuls of tissues. The man clutched at them.
"Now you'll feel better," Qwilleran said.
He was right. Aubrey relaxed into dazed tranquility. "Perhaps you're ready for something to eat now - a meatloaf sandwich?"
"Yeah. I'm hungry."
"Let's go and sit at the bar. We'll take the cheese with us, so the cats don't get it."
Aubrey hunched over the bar and devoured cheese and crackers and drank beer while Qwilleran threw together sandwiches with Celia's meatloaf, mustard, and dill pickle. Then, after two sandwiches and three cans of beer, Aubrey wanted to talk. Words poured forth in a torrent of disconnected thoughts and naive remarks.
Qwilleran listened attentively. Suddenly he said, "Excuse me a moment. I'll be right back." He spiraled up the circular staircase that led from the kitchen to his studio and made a phone call. At the first gruff hello, he thundered, "Where's Koko's turkey? He wants his turkey!"
"It's at the lab," Brodie said, sounding grumpy. "Buy him another one. You can afford it. Is that all you called about?"
"Not by a long shot. Seriously, Andy, I hate to bother you again, but I think you should haul your bagpipe over here on the double. It's important. I want you to meet someone."
"What the hell kind of invitation is that?" the chief demanded. He sounded as if his favorite TV program had been interrupted.
"Trust me. You won't be sorry."
"Business or pleasure?"
"Tonight it's just a friendly get-together. You're off-duty. You just happen to drop in for a drink... But tomorrow it may be police business. Tonight it's off-the-record, off-the-cuff, and off-the-wall."