“You’ve handled everything very well, Janice.”
“Yes, but after the doctor had been at the house, I looked in Thelma’s handbag, although I felt I was doing something wrong. She was a very private person, you know. . . . It was full of money! Bundles of currency! And the little handgun that Mr. Simmons insisted on giving her for our cross-country trip. She wanted to give it back to him when he was here, but he wouldn’t take it. . . . So then I went looking for the pocket tape-recorder he brought her as a gift. It was in the top drawer of her dresser.”
“Had she used it?”
“Yes,” Janice said with a frightened stare.
“Did you listen to what was recorded?”
“Yes. And that’s why I’m here—to ask you what to do with these things of Thelma’s.”
“Before I can advise you,” Qwilleran said solemnly, “I’d better hear the tape.”
“Why, Auntie! What are you doing here at this hour? You should be home, getting your beauty sleep—not that you need it! You’re beautiful—for your age!”
“Wipe that oily smile off your face, Dickie Bird, and explain who gave you permission to turn Thelma’s Film Club into a gambling casino and porno gallery. Next, you’ll be renting rooms by the hour!”
“Why, Auntie—!”
“Where’s the silver tray you used to have here?”
“I never had a silver tray.”
“You’re a liar as well as a thief! How much of that money you’re counting goes in the club account and how much into your pocket? You’re fired! As of now! I want you off the premises in half an hour. And my guest room is no longer at your disposal! You’ll find your belongings in a box on the back porch.”
“You’ve got me all wrong!”
“Then tell me what you did with a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of jewels that you took from your kidnapping accomplice after killing him on a country road in Bixby. And tell me what happened to your muddy hiking boots that you wore when you pushed your father over the cliff? Your own father who loved you so much and gave you everything you wanted! You had the unmitigated callousness to go home and notify the police that he hadn’t come home to lunch! He was my brother! And I’m the only one who cares! . . . You . . . are a monster!”
“You’re cracking up, Auntie!”
“Then you came out to Hollywood and put on your loving-nephew act until I changed my will and made you my sole heir. . . . Well, I’m going to change it again! And you’re not getting a penny!”
“You selfish old woman! You’re not going to live long enough to change your will—”
“And you’re not going to live long enough to inherit!”
(Two gunshots.)
(Click.)
When the tape ended, Qwilleran said firmly, “Show everything to Mavis Adams as soon as possible. She knows the law, and Thelma was her client.”
“Did I do right, Qwill?”
“Yes, but you don’t need to tell anyone that you brought it over here. Show everything to Mavis . . . and don’t worry. May I freshen your drink?”
“No, thanks. This is a big load off my mind. Now I want to go home and . . . maybe try sitting in Thelma’s Pyramid.”
“One question, Janice. Did Thelma have a chance to sign her new will?”
“Yes. She’d been working on it with Mavis, and was due to sign it Saturday morning. Mavis brought it to the house. Thelma left everything to a foundation that will reestablish the Thackeray Clinic as a memorial to her dear Bud.”
There were two thumps in the kitchen, as Koko jumped down from the top of the refrigerator.
Qwilleran thought, He’s been listening to this whole scenario! . . . Did he recognize Dick’s voice on the tape? NO! He’s never met Smiley; he’s just sensed his evil presence.
Koko stared pointedly at his empty plate under the kitchen table, and Qwilleran gave him a little something. Qwilleran himself had a dish of ice cream. Then he sprawled in his big chair to think. He could imagine Simmons’s reaction to the drama. The tape recorder had been an inspired idea.
When Thelma confronted her nephew and he said she wouldn’t live long enough to change her will, she knew there was a gun in the desk drawer and she had told Simmons about it.
Did Thelma know all along that Dick was no good? It was too bad that Simmons had to leave so soon. Qwilleran would have enjoyed telling him of Koko’s investigative exploits.
It was a curious fact that lawmen were the only ones who accepted Koko’s peculiar talents. There had been Lieutenant Hames, Down Below, and there was Brodie, the Pickax police chief. Qwilleran had a hunch that Simmons would have been a third. Too late now.
Koko knew the man was thinking about him. The cat was sitting on a nearby lamp table, squeezing his eyes. He also rubbed his chin on the bottom edge of the lampshade. It was a gesture that seemed to give him a catly thrill. Knocking books off a shelf was another of Koko’s quirks, although it sometimes appeared as if there might be a method in his madness.
In the last two or three weeks he had shown a fondness for books with “Richard” in the title. And he had exhibited a sudden interest in Robert Louis Stevenson. In quick succession he had dislodged Treasure Island and Travels with a Donkey and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Now, Qwilleran felt a prickling sensation on his upper lip. He thought, Could it be that Koko was looking for Kidnapped? It was the only Stevenson favorite not on the shelf. The notion, of course, was preposterous. And yet . . .
Qwilleran thought, If the kidnapping connection is preposterous, how about the catfit he staged when we played The Gambler? We thought it was Prokofiev’s music he didn’t like. More likely he was trying to tell us something about Thelma’s nephew. . . . Koko knows a skunk when he smells one!
“Yoww-ow-ow!” Koko declaimed impatiently and rubbed the lampshade once more.
It was then that Qwilleran noticed an envelope on the table addressed simply to “Qwill.” It was large and square and ivory colored, and Qwilleran was not surprised to find the initials “T.T.” embossed on the flap. Obviously, Janice had left it there.
Inside there was a sheet of blank white paper.
Dubiously and reluctantly and even furtively, Qwilleran removed the lampshade and passed the paper back and forth over the hot lamp bulbs.
Gradually the message materialized printed in large block letters: THANKS, DUCKY, FOR EVERYTHING.
And where had Koko gone? He was under the kitchen table staring at his empty plate—the one on the right.
Yum Yum sat huddled on her brisket, guarding her one-and-only treasure, her silver thimble.
Cat Who Brought Down the House, the Unabridged Audio Page 18
