"The Goodwinter reputation would be intact, and Alexander would run for Congress. He'd marry Ilya Smfska and produce another generation of supersnobs." "And the murderer and his accomplices would live happily ever after." "Penelope would eventually make an emotional adjustment," Qwilleran said, "and Alexander would keep on paying for Birch Tree's boats and trucks and motorcycles, but he could afford it." "And no one would care that Daisy was buried in the Three Pines mineshaft," Melinda said.
After the tossed salad on a chilled plate with a chilled fork, and after the Ribier grapes with homemade cheese, and after coffee served with Stephanie's own cream, Qwilleran and Melinda walked back to her father's house.
Dr. Halifax met them at the door. "Prepare for some jolting news," he said. "Just heard it on the radio. A private plane crashed fifty miles south of the airport, and the pilot has just been identified." "Alexander," Qwilleran said quietly, as his moustache bristled.
Back at the mansion he was greeted by a prancing Siamese. Koko knew it was time for the nightly house check, and he led the way to the solarium.
"Case solved," Qwilleran said to him, "but I'd like to know the real reason why you pushed those things around the kitchen. Were you trying to tell me to get that cold stone floor carpeted?" He finished locking the French doors, and Koko preceded him to the breakfast room. While the man checked the Staffordshire figurines and German regimental steins, the cat checked for stray crumbs under the table.
"Tell me something," Qwilleran said to him. "When you found Daisy's diary, were you just chasing a fly? And if so, how come it happened to be crawling about Sandy Goodwinter's initials?" Koko bounded ahead to the library, where he pawed a leather-bound copy of The Physiology of Taste. In the dining room he sniffed the carved rabbits and pheasants on the sideboard. Then he marched into the drawing room, zigzagging across the Aubusson rug to avoid the roses in the pattern. While Qwilleran gave the bronzes and porcelains a security check, Koko headed for the antique piano.
Leaping lightly to the cushioned bench, he reached up with his right paw in an indecisive way, then withdrew it. After a few tentative passes with his left paw, he planted it firmly on G and then C. He seemed pleased with the sound made by the keys. More confidently he hit the D with his right paw and finally touched the E.
Qwilleran shook his head. "No one would believe it!" He switched off the lights and strode to the kitchen, humming the tune Koko had played: "How Dry I Am!" Yum Yum was asleep on her blue cushion, and Qwilleran stroked her fur before opening the refrigerator. He splashed a jigger of white grape juice in a saucer, placed it on the floor, and watched Koko lap it up with lightning-fast tongue, his tail curled high in ecstasy.
"I'll never figure you out," Qwilleran said. "You're all cat, and yet you sense the most incredible secrets. You were fascinated by Penelope, and it wasn't just her French perfume. You howled at the exact hour when she died." Koko licked the saucer dry and started to wash up. "Did you know she was going to be murdered?" Koko interrupted his ablutions to give Qwilleran a penetrating stare, and the man slapped his forehead as the truth struck him. "It wasn't a homicide set up to look like a suicide. She framed those guys! It was suicide planned to look like murder!" Koko finished his chore, with great care to wash behind his ears, between his toes, and all along his whip of a brown tail.
The End
