The Cat Who Could Read Backwards by Lilian Jackson Braun

in."
     
     
"Did you notice anything amiss on the ground floor?"
     
     
"No. The lights were out. I went right up the spiral staircase. As soon as I walked into the workroom, I sensed something wrong. It was deadly quiet. I was almost afraid to go into the office." She was remembering it painfully. "But I did. First I saw - papers and everything allover the floor. And then - " She put her face in her hands, and there was silence in the room.
     
     
After a while Qwilleran said gently, "Would you like me to notify Mountclemens in New York? I know he thought highly of you both."
     
     
"If you wish."
     
     
"Have the funeral plans been made?"
     
     
Butchy said, "There won't be a funeral. Zoe doesn't approve of funerals."
     
     
Qwilleran stood up. "We'll be going now, but please let me know - Mrs. Lambreth - if there's anything I can do. Sometimes it helps just to talk."
     
     
Butchy said, "I'm here. I'm looking after her." Qwilleran thought the woman sounded possessive. He said, "Just one more thing, Mrs. Lambreth. Do you have a good photograph of your husband?"
     
     
"No. Just a portrait I painted last year. It's in my studio. Butchy will show you. I think I'll go upstairs."
     
     
She walked from the room without further ceremony, and Butchy led the newsmen to the studio at the rear of the house.
     
     
There on the wall was Earl Lambreth - cold, haughty, supercilious-painted without love.
     
     
"Perfect likeness," said Butchy with pride. "She really captured his personality."
     
     
Almost inaudible was the click of Odd Bunsen's camera.
     
     
-8-
     
     
When Qwilleran and Odd Bunsen drove away from the Lambreth house, they shivered in silence until the heater in Odd's car gave out the first promising puff.
     
     
Then Odd said, "The Lambreths seem to be doing all right at that art racket. Wish I could live like that. I'll bet that sofa was worth a thousand bucks. Who was that big bruiser?"
     
     
"Butchy Bolton. Teaches sculpture at Penniman School of Fine Art."
     
     
"She really thought she was running the show. Enjoying it, too."
     
     
Qwilleran agreed. "Butchy didn't strike me as being exactly grief-stricken over the loss of Earl Lambreth. I wonder where she fits into the picture. Friend of the family, I suppose."
     
     
"If you ask me," said Odd, "I don't think that doll Zoe was taking it too hard, either."
     
     
"She's a calm, intelligent woman," Qwilleran. said, "even if she is a doll. She's not the type to collapse."
     
     
"If my wife ever finds me lying in a pool of blood, I want her to collapse and collapse good! I don't want her running home and fixing her lipstick and putting on a sharp outfit to receive callers. Imagine a dame not remembering whether she telephoned her husband or not, and not remembering whether the gallery door was locked!"
     
     
"It was the shock. It leaves blanks in the memory. She'll remember tomorrow - or the next day. What did you think of the portrait she painted of her husband?"
     
     
"Perfect! He's a cold fish. I couldn't have taken a photograph that was any better."
     
     
Qwilleran said, "I used to think these modern artists painted drips and blots because they couldn't draw, but now I'm not so sure. Zoe is really talented."
     
     
"If she's so talented, why does she waste her time painting that modern garbage?"
     
     
"Probably because it sells. By the way, I'd like to meet out police reporter."
     
     
"Lodge Kendall? Haven't you met him yet? He's over at the Press Club just about every day for lunch."
     
     
"I'd like to have a talk with him."
     
     
"Want me to line it up for tomorrow?" Odd said.
     
     
"Okay.... Where are you headed now?"
     
     
"Back to the Lab."
     
     
"If it isn't out of your way, would you drop me at my apartment?"
     
     
"No sweat."
     
     
Qwilleran looked at his wristwatch in the glow from the instrument panel. "It's ten-thirty!" he said. "And I forgot to feed the cat."
     
     
"A-hah! A-hah!" said Odd. "I told