Free The Cat Who Played Brahms by Lilian Jackson Braun

home-recording. Side A was inscribed 1930
    Favorites in what appeared to be Aunt Fanny's handwriting. Side B was labeled More 1930
    Favorites. There was no dust on the clear plastic case.
    Qwilleran took the cassette to the stereo and removed the Brahms concerto that had been in the player ever since he arrived. "Wait a minute," he said aloud. "This is not the way I left it." The cassette had been reversed, and the flip side, offering Beethoven, was faceup.
    Koko's trophy produced bouncy music: renditions of My Blue Heaven, Exactly Like You, and others of the period, all with the dubious fidelity of old 78s. It was a strange collection to hide behind a moose head.
    Qwilleran finished listening to Side A and then flipped it over. There was more of the same. Then half- way through Little White Lies a voice interrupted—an unprofessional voice—an ordinary man's voice, but forceful. After a brief and surprising message, the music resumed. He rewound the cassette and played it again.
    The demanding voice cut in: "Now hear this, my friend. You get busy or you'll be sorry! You know what I'll do! You gotta bring up more stuff. I can't payoff if you don't come up with the loot. And we've gotta make some changes. Things are gettin' hot. You come and see me Saturday, you hear? I'll be at the boat dock after supper."
    The tape had been used recently. It was only the day before that Koko had stepped on the buttons and played the Brahms. Someone had been there in the meantime and had either taped the message or listened to it, afterwards replacing the Brahms concerto upside-down. Someone had also stolen a gold watch and a gold pen, but that had happened earlier.
    Unidentified visitors were walking in and out of the cabin in the casual way that Aunt Fanny found so neighborly.
    Someone had undoubtedly climbed on a bar stool to reach the moose head, and Qwilleran checked the four pine stools for footprints, but the varnished surfaces were clean.
    Koko was watching intently as Qwilleran tucked the cassette into a dresser drawer.
    "Koko," the man said, I don’t like this open-door policy. People are using the place like a bus terminal. We've got to find a locksmith. . . And if you are ever in danger, or if Yum Yum is in danger you know what to do."
    Koko blinked his eyes slowly and wisely.
     

-6-
    Mooseville, Friday Dear Arch,
    I'm too tight to buy you an anniversary card, but here's wishing you and your beautiful bride a happy twenty-fourth and many more to come. It seems only yesterday that you dropped the wedding ring and I lost your honeymoon tickets.
    Well, since coming to Mooseville I've discovered that all civilization is divided into two parts: Up Here and Down Below. We have friendly people up here who read the Fluxion—also mysterious incidents that they try to cover up.
    Yesterday I went fishing and hooked something that looked like a human body.
    When I reported it to the sheriff's office, no one seemed particularly concerned. I know it wasn't an accidental drowning. I have reason to believe it was homicide—manslaughter at least. I keep wondering: Who was that guy in the lake? Why was he there? Who tossed him in?
    I got into some poison ivy, but I'm okay now. And early this morning I thought someone was stealing my tires, but it was a seagull making a noise like a car-jack.
    The eateries up here are so-so. For a restaurant reviewer it's like being sent to Siberia.
    Qwill P.S. Koko has some new tricks-answering the phone and playing the stereo. In a few years he'll be working for NASA.
     
    The fog was lifting. From the windows of the cabin it was possible to see nearby trees and the burial place of the septic tank. Although Old Sam had filled the depression and leveled it neatly, the cats had resumed their previous occupation of staring in that direction.
    When the telephone rang on Friday morning Koko leaped from the windowsill and raced to the bar. Qwilleran was close behind but not fast enough to prevent him from