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The New York Times-bestselling author Lilian Jackson Braun lives in North Carolina with her two Siamese cats.

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installment in the bestselling Cat Who... mystery series Qwilleran and his brilliant Siamese put their whisker-twitching crime solving talents to task to find a killer.

The residents of Pickax are delighted that the old bombed-out Pickax Hotel is reopening with a whole new look. With new furnishings, a new chef, and even a new name, what could be more thrilling? Everyone is thrown into a topspin when one of the hotel's first guests, a jeweler who has come to town to buy heirloom jewelry from some of Pickax's oldest families, winds up the victim of murder. Who could have committed such a horrible crime? Could it be the hotel clerk, a recent winner of a gold medal for the caber toss at Highland Games?

Qwilleran and his snooping Siamese are willing to go to any length to find the killer and set the town at ease. But first they'll have to contend with a highjacked bookmobile, an attempted bank robbery... and a few of the cat's preoccupations. Koko has a newfound fond

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installment in the bestselling Cat Who... mystery series Qwilleran and his brilliant Siamese put their whisker-twitching crime solving talents to task to find a killer.

The residents of Pickax are delighted that the old bombed-out Pickax Hotel is reopening with a whole new look. With new furnishings, a new chef, and even a new name, what could be more thrilling? Everyone is thrown into a topspin when one of the hotel's first guests, a jeweler who has come to town to buy heirloom jewelry from some of Pickax's oldest families, winds up the victim of murder. Who could have committed such a horrible crime? Could it be the hotel clerk, a recent winner of a gold medal for the caber toss at Highland Games?

Qwilleran and his snooping Siamese are willing to go to any length to find the killer and set the town at ease. But first they'll have to contend with a highjacked bookmobile, an attempted bank robbery... and a few of the cat's preoccupations. Koko has a newfound fond

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The Cat Who Robbed a Bank

Random House Large Print Publishing

Chapter One

    It was a September to remember! In MooseCounty, 400 miles north of everywhere, planswere rife and hopes were high.

    First, the historic hotel in Pickax City, the countyseat, was finally restored after the bombing of the previousyear, and it would reopen with a new name, a newchef, and a gala reception.

    Then, a famous American (who may or may not haveslept there in 1895) was about to be honored with thecity's first annual Mark Twain Festival.

    Next, a distinguished personage from Chicago had reservedthe presidential suite and would arrive on LaborDay, setting female hearts aflutter.

    To top it off, the tri-county Scottish Gathering andHighland Games would be held at the fairgrounds: bagpipesskirling, strong men in kilts tossing the caber, andpretty young women dancing the Highland Fling on theballs of their feet.

    The one unexpected happening was the homicide onthe Pickax police blotter, but that was a long story, startingtwenty-odd years before.

    As September approached, the good folk of Pickax(population 3,000) were quoting Mark Twain aboutthe weather, suggesting ribald names for the hotel, andgossiping endlessly about a man named Delacamp; fewwould ever meet him, but all had something to say abouthim.

    Jim Qwilleran, columnist for the Moose County Something,felt an air of anticipation when he made his roundsof downtown Pickax. When he went to the bank to casha check, the young woman who counted out his fiftiessaid, "Isn't it exciting? Mr. Delacamp is coming again,and he always comes into the bank. I hope he comes tomy window, but the manager usually handles his transactions.Anyway, it's all so thrilling!"

    "If you say so," Qwilleran said. After a long career as anewspaperman he was seldom excited and certainlynever thrilled.

    At the florist shop where he went to order a floweringplant for a sick friend, the wide-eyed assistant saidbreathlessly, "Did you hear? Mr. Delacamp is coming! Healways has to have fresh flowers in his hotel room, and hesends roses to his customers."

    "Good!" said Qwilleran. "Anything that helps thelocal economy has my approval."

    While picking up a New York Times at the drugstore heheard a woman customer saying she had received an engravedinvitation to Mr. Delacamp's afternoon tea, andshe wondered what kind of perfume to wear. The pharmacist'swife said, "They say he likes French perfumes.We don't carry anything like that. Try the departmentstore. They can special-order."

    Qwilleran crossed the street to the department store,his newshound instincts scenting a good story with humaninterest and a touch of humor. Lanspeak's was a largefourth-generation store with new-fashioned merchandisebut old-fashioned ideas about customer service. He foundthe two owners in their cramped office on the mainfloor.

    "Hi, Qwill! Come on in!" said Larry Lanspeak.

    "Have a cup of coffee," said his wife, Carol.

    Qwilleran took a chair. "No coffee, thanks, but pleasetell me something. Explain the Delacamp mystique." Heknew the couple were official hosts for the man's visit."Why all the excitement?"

    Larry looked at his wife, and she made a helpless gesture."What can I say? He's an older man, but he's handsome—elegant—gallant!He sends women roses!"

    "And kisses their hands," said Larry with raised eyebrows.

    "He pays lavish compliments!"

    "And kisses hands," Larry repeated derisively.

    "Everything is very formal. Women have to wear hatsto his Tuesday afternoon tea, and we've sold out ofmillinery. We sell the basic felt that women wear tochurch, but our daughter said we should gussy them upwith feathers and flowers and huge ribbon bows. So wedid! Diane is a sober, dedicated M.D., but she has a madstreak."

    "Takes after her mother," Larry said.

    "The results are really wild! Sorry you can't write it up,Qwill, but everything is private, invitational, and exclusive.No publicity!"

    "Okay. I'll forget it. No story," Qwilleran acquiesced."But he sounds like an interesting character ... You twogo back to work."

    Larry accompanied him out of the office and towardthe front door, down the main aisle between cases ofmen's shirts and ties and women's scarves and earrings."Old Campo is harmless, although a trifle phony," hesaid. "Still, his visits every four or five years are good for acertain element in our community—and good public relationsfor the store. It's Carol's project, actually. I stayout of it."

    The facts were that Delacamp was a dealer whobought and sold estate jewelry, making periodicvisits to remote areas with a history of affluence. In suchcommunities the descendants of old moneyed familiesmight be willing to part with an heirloom necklace of rubiesand emeralds, or a diamond tiara, in order to financea new car or a college education or an extravagant cruise.Artisans in Delacamp's Chicago firm could break up suchoutdated items and re-mount them in rings, pendants,earrings, and so forth for sale to a new generation—as aninvestment or status symbol.

    Moose County fitted the picture, and Delacamp apparentlyhad found his visits worthwhile. It had been therichest county in the state in the nineteenth century,when natural resources were being exploited and therewas no income tax to pay. The old mining tycoons andlumber barons had built themselves mansions with largevaults in the basement. They had sent their offspring toeastern colleges and had taken their wives to Paris,where they bought them jewels that would appreciate invalue. When the mines closed in the early twentiethcentury, the economy collapsed and most families fled tothe big cities. Others elected to stay and live quietly ontheir private means, going into business or the professions—oreven bootlegging during Prohibition.

    All of this convinced Qwilleran that Old Campo hada good thing going, and he enjoyed listening to gossip inthe coffee shops. Blue-collar and white-collar opinionswere freely expressed:

    "He'll be puttin' on the dog and gettin' the old gals allhet up."

    "They say he drinks nothin' but tea, but ten to one heputs a little somethin' in it."

    "Yeah, I was night porter at the hotel a few years ago,and he used to send out for rum. He was a big tipper, I'llsay that for him."

    "I know a guy—his wife drew ten thousand from theirjoint account and bought a diamond pin."

    "I'm glad my wife's not on his list. Women go to thattea party of his and they're pushovers!"

    "He always brings a female assistant, and she alwayshappens to be young and sexy. She's supposed to be hiscousin or niece or something, but you never notice anyfamily resemblance, if you know what I mean."

    Gossip was the mainstay of Moose County culture, althoughit was called "caring and sharing." Men had theircoffee shops; women had their afternoon...