The Cat Who Tailed a Thief Read Free

make the flecks of mica sparkle in the stone facades of store and office buildings, and garlands of greens festooned from rooftops and looped across the street between lightpoles. The babble of voices and rumble of slow-moving vehicles were hushed by the tons of snow piled everywhere and packed hard between the curbs. (Roadways were not salted in Moose County.) Yet, strangely, the acoustical phenomenon emphasized the bursts of Christmas music, the occasional jingle of sleigh bells, and the brassy clang of Santa’s handbell on the street corner.
    First Qwilleran went to Lanspeaks’ Department Store to buy something for Polly Duncan, the main name on his gift list. Carol Lanspeak herself waited on him. She and her husband were an admirable pair: good business heads, civic leaders, and major talents in the Pickax Theatre Club. If they had not come home to Pickax to run the family business, Qwilleran believed, Larry and Carol could have been another Cronyn and Tandy, or Lunt and Fontanne.
    Carol said to him with a touch of fond rebuke, “I knew you’d pop in at the last minute, so I set aside a suit in Polly’s size, a lovely suede in terra-cotta. She’s down to a size fourteen since her surgery. What did those cardiovascular people do to her?”
    “They convinced her to go for two-mile walks and give up all my favorite foods.”
    “Well, she looks wonderful! And she’s drifting away from those dreary grays and blues.”
    Qwilleran gave the suit a single glance and said, “I’ll take it.”
    “There’s also a silk blouse with a lot of zing that’ll—”
    “I’ll take that, too.” The blouse was patterned in an overscaled houndstooth check in terra-cotta and British white.
    “Polly will swoon over it!” Carol promised.
    “Polly doesn’t swoon easily,” he said. She was a charming woman of his own age, with a soft and musical voice, but there was an iron hand in the velvet glove that ran the public library.
    “Where are you two spending Christmas day, Qwill?”
    “With the Rikers. Do you and Larry have big plans?”
    “We’ll have our daughter and her current friend, of course, and we’ve invited the Carmichaels and their houseguest. Do you see much of Willard and Danielle?”
    Not if I can help it, Qwilleran thought. Politely he said, “Our paths don’t seem to cross very often.” It was the Lanspeaks who had introduced him to the new banker and his flashy young wife. Her frank flirtiness, sidelong glances, raucous voice, and breathy stares at his moustache annoyed him.
    “I’m afraid,” Carol said regretfully, “that Danielle isn’t adjusting well to small-town life. She’s always comparing Pickax to Detroit and Baltimore, where they have malls ! Willard says she’s homesick. That’s why they invited her cousin from Down Below to spend the holidays.” She lowered her voice. “Step into my office, Qwill.”
    He followed her to the cluttered cubicle adjoining the women’s department.
    “Sit down,” she said. “I feel sorry for Danielle. People are saying unkind things, but she’s asking for it. She looks so freaky! By Pickax standards, at any rate. Skirts too short, heels too high, everything too tight, pounds of makeup, hair like a rat’s nest!. . . It may be fashionable Down Below, but when in Rome—”
    “She needs a mentor,” Qwilleran interrupted. “Couldn’t Fran Brodie drop a few hints? She’s glamorous and yet has class, and she’s helping Danielle with her house.”
    “Fran’s been dropping hints, Qwill, but. . . ” Carol shrugged. “You’d think her husband would say something. He’s an intelligent man, and he’s fitting right into the community. Willard has joined the chamber of commerce and the Boosters Club and is helping to organize a gourmet club. Yet, when Larry submitted his name to the country club for membership, nothing happened. They never sent the Carmichaels an invitation! We all know why. Danielle’s flamboyant manner of dress and grooming and