“The case is settled now, looks like. So maybe I can talk without getting in hot water. That evidence you found in the closet cracked it wide open. It was the kind of evidence they were hoping for.”
“You don’t need to repeat his, but . . . it was Koko who found it! First, he discovered how to get into the secret closet.”
“What did I tell you? I told you we could use him on the force.”
“I never did buy the Chipmunk theory, and when I opened the attaché case, I knew it was an inside job. I figured that David had killed Harley, rifled the safe, and stashed the money and jewels and murder weapon in the closet, intending to pick it up later. That was a lot of cash for a banker to have in the house.”
Brodie nodded. “The bank examiners are in town. They’ll find a few shortages, I’ll bet.”
“I didn’t know who it was when he attacked me in the dark storage room, but I knew I was fighting for my life. He had killed twice, and I had found the evidence. After I stunned him with his grandfather’s bugle, I began to collect my wits, and I thought, Why would David kill his twin? What possible motive? At that moment Koko walked over to him, purring like a helicopter. When he sniffed the guy’s moustache, I said to myself, That’s not David on the floor; that’s Harley.” Qwilleran paused and caressed his moustache with satisfaction. “Koko could smell the spirit gum! The moustache was false—glued on the guy’s upper lip.”
“YOW!” came a stentorian cheer from down the hall.
“He knows we’re talking about him,” said Qwilleran.
Brodie said, “So you think you know the motive now?”
“I’m pretty sure. From what I’ve heard on the Pickax grapevine I’ve constructed a scenario. See if you think it’ll play:
“Scene 1: Margaret Fitch, a manipulative mother, encourages David to marry Harley’s girl, while Harley is serving time in prison for criminally negligent homicide.
“Scene 2: Harley returns home and marries a tramp to spite David, Jill, and his meddlesome parent.
“Scene 3: Harley is still carrying the torch for Jill, however, and she realizes she’s still in love with him. They can’t afford to divorce their mates because Margaret dominates them with an iron fiscal policy. She gives them a taste for luxuries but keeps them poor.
“Scene 4: Jill plots the embezzlement of bank funds, the murders, and Harley’s exchange of identities with his twin.
“Scene 5: On the night of the murder David and Jill arrive at Harley’s house at 6:30 as usual. Harley has already shot Belle, and he turns the gun on his brother. Then he exchanges their jewelry and wallets—and shaves off David’s moustache. Meanwhile, Jill is staging the ransacking of the library and bedroom, packing the attaché case with money, jewels, and the murder weapon.
“Scene 6: Despite Harley’s acting talent and his false moustache, his parents know he isn’t David. His mother has a fatal stroke, and his father can’t face the choice he has to make—either to inform the police that his son has been murdered by his twin brother, or to become an accessory after the fact and live with a heinous secret.
“Scene 7: Harley and Jill plan to disappear in South America, but their getaway is foiled.”
The chief grinned and shook his head. “Even Lieutenant Hames won’t believe the one about the cat and the glued-on moustache.”
When the news of the showdown at the Fitch mansion leaked out, the Pickax grapevine worked overtime, and Qwilleran’s phone rang all evening.
Arch Riker said, “We’re remaking page one for tomorrow’s paper, but there’s one statement from Edd Smith that won’t wash. He says you were hit on the head with a club and it shattered. We all know you’re a hardhead, Qwill, but even your skull isn’t hard enough to shatter a club.”
“It wasn’t a club, Arch. It looked like the thighbone of a camel. It was one of the bizarre relics on display in the library. There we were—in a dark closet—lunging at each other like Hamlet and Laertes, only those guys had rapiers, and all we had was a bone and a brass bugle. We must have looked like a couple of baggy-pants comics. When I whacked the bone with the bugle, it crumbled, and I realized it was made of plaster. Amanda says they have a lot of fakes in that place.”
When Amanda herself called, she growled, “This whole stink wouldn’t have happened if that family hadn’t been so damned stingy with their money—and so phony about everything! Mr. and Mrs. Perfect, they thought they were! And they conned the whole county into believing it.”
Gary Pratt also telephoned. “Jeez! I’m glad it’s over. I probably knew more about Harley than anybody else did, sailing with him all the time. When he came home from his year in the clink, he was full of hate. He couldn’t forgive David for stealing his woman.”
Pete Parrott’s message was brief. “I hope that SOB gets what he deserves!”
Roger MacGillivray, who had written the breaking story on the murder, said, “You know, Qwill, if it’s true that Jill planned it all, she had a neat script—almost too neat. The plumbing emergency . . . the vehicle going fast down the dirt road and throwing up a cloud of dust . . . all those convincing details!”
Polly Duncan was the last to call. “Your phone has been busy all evening, Qwill. Are the rumors true? How did you know it was Harley and not David?”
“It started at my birthday party, Polly. Koko took an instant liking to Harley, Edd Smith, and Wally Toddwhistle—and later, my paperhanger. This theory may sound farfetched, but . . . they were all men who regularly worked with adhesives, and Koko is a fiend for glue. When he saw Harley’s model ships, he pranced on his hind legs like the Mackintosh cat. And at the Fitch library, when he showed such an avid interest in the man on the floor, I knew it wasn’t David.”
Late that night, when the freight train whistled at crossings north of town, Qwilleran sprawled on the sofa and reviewed the events of the last two weeks. Yum Yum was asleep on his chest, and Koko was balancing on the back of the sofa.
“Why were you so interested in sea stories all of a sudden?” Qwilleran asked him. “Why did you keep tilting the gunboat picture? Did you sense the identity of the murderer? Were you trying to steer my attention to a sailor and builder of model ships?”
Koko opened his mouth in a wide yawn, all teeth and pink gullet. It was, after all, 2:30 A.M., and he had had a hard day.
“Was it a coincidence that you and Yum Yum started acting like bookends? Or were you pointing a paw at the twins?”
Koko squeezed his eyes sleepily. He was sitting tall but swaying slightly. He almost toppled off the sofa back.
“You rogue! You pretend you haven’t the slightest idea what I’m talking about,” Qwilleran said. “We’ll try it once more . . . Would you like some turkey?”
Koko’s eyes popped open, and Yum Yum raised her head abruptly. With one accord the two of them jumped to the floor, yikking and squealing as they raced to the refrigerator, where Qwilleran found them arranged in identical poses, like twins, as they stared up at the door handle.
EPILOGUE
The prosecutor is seeking a change of venue for the trial of Harley and Jill, arguing that it will be impossible to seat an objective jury in Moose County, where the citizenry is still under the spell of the Fitch mystique.
According to Jill, who is cooperating with investigators to save her own neck, they staged the vandalism at the dental clinic to destroy the twins’ dental records.
Qwilleran no longer employs the services of Francesca Brodie, and Yum Yum has reverted to her fastidious habits in the commode.
The Siamese, using their own built-in deodorant applied with long pink tongues, have dispelled the memory of the black-and-white kitty on Ittibittiwassee Road.
Qwilleran is reading Moby-Dick aloud to the cats and spending weekends at Polly Duncan’s cozy house in the country.
The Klingenschoen Theatre will open with an original revue written by Qwilleran and Hixie Rice. The hit number is sure to be “I Left My Heart in Pickax City.”
Koko is learning ho
w to turn the television off.
FINAL CURTAIN
The Cat Who Sniffed Glue Page 18