The Cat Who Talked to Ghosts

-14-

AT APPROXIMATELY EIGHT o'clock Monday evening Qwilleran was preparing for his guests, chilling the cider, finding paper napkins, piling a plate with doughnuts enough for ten, and laying a fire in each of the two fireplaces. Without warning Koko came racing into the kitchen from nowhere and hopped onto the windowsill that faced the barn. To Qwilleran's eye the window was nothing but a reflective black rectangle after dark, but Koko saw something that excited him.

Qwilleran cupped his eyes and peered into the blackness. Two lights were bobbing in the barnyard, and his mind flashed back to the bobbing lights on the hats of Homer's ghostly miners. But these lights were different; they darted erratically and swung in wide arcs. As they came closer he could distinguish two faces, and then he recognized Kristi and Mitch. They had walked from the Fugtree farm with flashlights - walked along the Willoway - and were approaching the museum property from the rear.

Qwilleran met them at the entrance, accompanied by the chief security officer.

Kristi said, "It's such a nice night that we decided to walk. The trail alongside the creek is a shortcut but kind of scary at night. Mitch ought to take the kids down there for the Halloween ghost stories this year." She gave Qwilleran an enthusiastic hug and a plastic tub of goat cheese. "I've been high," she said, "ever since you told me about the Klingenschoen offer."

The men shook hands, and Qwilleran said, "You have a fine old Scottish name. My mother was a Mackintosh."

"Yes, the Ogilvie clan goes back to the twelfth century," said Mitch with obvious pride. "My family came here from Scotland in 1861."

"And I happen to know that your grandfather won all the spelling bees with his eyes closed."

"You've been talking to Homer. That old guy has some memory!"

Kristi said to Qwilleran, "I'll weave you a scarf in the Mackintosh tartan as soon as I dig out my loom from under my mother's junk... Oooooh! What a beautiful cat! Is he friendly?"

"Especially to persons who come bearing goat cheese. Where would you like to sit? In the parlor or around the big table in the kitchen? In either place we can have a fire."

They elected the kitchen. While Qwilleran poured the cider, Mitch put a match to the kindling in the fireplace and Kristi lighted the pink candles that Mrs. Cobb had left on the table. "This is so cozy," she said. "Iris used to invite us over for lemonade and cookies. Mitch, wouldn't you love to live here?"

"Sure would! I'm living over the Pickax drug store right now, " he explained to Qwilleran. "I wonder if they've had many applications for Iris's job."

"What are your qualifications, Mitch?"

"Well, I've belonged to the Historical Society ever since high school, and I've read a lot about antiques, and I'm on Homer's committee, supervising the kids who do the yardwork. Plus I have some ideas for special events I could stage if I lived here full time."

" And he gets along with everybody," Kristi said. "Even Amanda Goodwinter. Even Adam Dingleberry."

Mitch said, "Old Adam won't be around much longer. He's moved into the Senior Care Facility, but his mind is still sharp."

"And he still gropes girls," Kristi said.

"You should interview him for your column, Mr. Qwilleran, before it's too late."

"Call me Qwill, Mitch. Does Adam have any ghost stories to tell?"

"Everyone around here has had at least one supernatural experience," he said, looking pointedly at Kristi, but she ignored the hint.

"Unfortunately I haven't joined the club as yet," said Qwilleran. "How about the stories you tell the kids on Halloween? Are they classics? Or do you invent them?"

"They're all true, based on events in Moose County and Scottish history. Naturally I add a few hair-raising details."

"Have you ever seen the thirty-two miners?"

Mitch nodded. "About three years ago. I was coming back from a party in Mooseville, and I stopped at the side of the road for a minute, you know. It was near the Goodwinter hill - the old slag pile - and I saw them."

"What did they look like?"

"Just shadows of men, slogging along. I knew they were miners because they had lights on their hats."

"Did you count them?"

"I didn't think of it until some of them had disappeared over the hill, but here's something funny: It was May thirteenth, the anniversary of the explosion."

"Did you say you were coming home from a party?"

"That had nothing to do with it, I swear."

"Okay, I'll square with you. I've always been skeptical of these stories. I always thought there was some logical explanation. I still do, in the back of my mind, but I'm beginning to be skeptical of my own skepticism. Let me tell you what's been happening here."

He told them about Iris Cobb's terrified call in the middle of the night, about the knocking in the basement and the moaning in the walls, and about her "seeing something" just before her death. He said, "I've been told that Senior Goodwinter just before he died - saw Ephraim walking through a wall. I'm trying to sort out the evidence, you understand."

Kristi said, "There are lots of rumors about Ephraim. They say he stashed away a lot of gold coins in case he wanted to make a quick getaway, but he died suddenly and now he comes back looking for them."

"The old miser!" said Mitch. "He never gives up!"

"One of my cats," Qwilleran said, "has been acting strangely since we moved here. He talks to himself and stares out the window where Iris saw the thing that frightened her."

"Cats are always doing crazy things," Kristi said.

"Koko," said Qwilleran, "is not your ordinary cat. He always has a damned good reason for doing what he does."

Hearing his name, the cat walked into the kitchen, looking elegant and vain.

"God! He's a beautiful animal," said Mitch.

"He looks so intelligent," Kristi added.

"Koko is not only intelligent but remarkably intuitive. I won't say that he's psychic, but he senses when something is out in left field, and if Ephraim's ghost is prowling around here, Koko is going to find him!"

All three turned to look at the remarkable cat. Unfortunately Koko had taken that moment to attend to the base of his tail.

Qwilleran said quickly, "Would you like to see the basement where Iris first heard the knocking? It's just a junkroom for the museum. Do you know the one I mean?"

"I know about it, but I've never been down there. I'd like to see it," Mitch said.

"I'll take Koko along. He can hear earthworms crawling and butterflies pollenating, and if there's anything irregular down there, he'll sniff it out. I'll put him on a leash so that I have a little control."

He strapped the cat into a blue leather harness and coiled a few yards of nylon cord that served as the leash, and the four of them went to the basement, Koko quite willingly.

In the storeroom a few bare lightbulbs threw garish light over the broken furniture, rusty tools, moldy books, cracked crockery, and cobwebs.

"My mother would love this!" Kristi said.

"This is what Homer calls the magpie nest," said Qwilleran. "Iris was looking for a broken bed warmer when she first heard the knocking in the wall. Here's the potato masher she used to reply." He picked up the small wooden club and rapped the Morse code for SOS on the plastered wall - the only skill he remembered from his year in the Boy Scouts - and followed it with the burlesque tattoo, "shave and a haircut, two bits." Neither message called forth a response, but the plaster cracked a little more.

Meanwhile Koko was snapping at cobwebs instead of investigating.

"Cats never cooperate," Qwilleran explained. "The trick is to ignore him for a while. Let's find something to sit on."

Kristi found a platform rocker that no longer rocked; Mitch perched on a barrel; Qwilleran sat on a kitchen chair with three rungs missing, all the while keeping a furtive eye on Koko, who was beginning to move around stealthily.

"I hear rumbling," Kristi said.

"That's thunder," Mitch told her, "but it's a long way off. It's not supposed to rain tonight."

Koko sniffed a wicker baby buggy without wheels. "Some kid cannibalized it to make a go-cart," Mitch guessed.

When the cat sniffed the potato masher, Qwilleran said, "We're getting warm. He knows Iris handled it. Now watch him!"

Koko was making his way to the cracked plaster wall, hopping over a coal skuttle, slinking under a three-legged chair, climbing up on the monstrous sideboard that stood against the plaster wall. It was a hodgepodge of shelves, mirrors, and carved ornament.

"My mother bought two of those dumb things," Kristi said. "Listen! Thunder again! It's coming closer!" Koko was standing on his hind legs and stretching to see the wall behind the sideboard.

"He senses something," Qwilleran whispered. Mitch said, "I think he sees a spider walking up the wall."

"I hate spiders," said Kristi. With one swift movement Koko jumped up, swatted the insect, brought it down in the cup of his paw, and chomped on it with satisfaction.

"Ugh!" she said.

"Let's go," said Qwilleran, grabbing the cat. "He's not in good form tonight."

"We should think about leaving," Mitch said as they emerged from the basement and saw the sky illuminated with blue lightning.

"I'll drive you home," Qwilleran offered, "so have another glass of cider before you go." The four paraded back to the kitchen.

"This is good stuff," said Mitch. "Did it come from Trevelyan's cider mill? They throw in bruised apples, windfalls, worms and everything. My grandfather insisted on using perfect apples, and it was the flattest cider anybody ever tasted."

The two men talked about leaf raking, the hotel business, and Scottish history, but Kristi was quiet and introspective. Finally she said softly, "Emmaline will walk tonight."

The men glanced at each other and then at her. She said, "Qwill, would you like to see Emmaline? Mitch has seen her twice."

"Yes, I would," he said. The downpour had started. They collected their jackets and ran for the steel barn. As they drove up Black Creek Lane torrents of water slapped the windshield. As they turned into the Fugtree drive, flashes of lightning silhouetted the Victorian house against an electric blue sky. No one spoke. They dashed for the side door and arrived in the kitchen wet. Still there was no conversation. Wordlessly Kristi draped their wet jackets over kitchen chairbacks. She turned on no lights, but she beamed a flashlight at the floor to lead them into the foyer. Groping through the incredible clutter they found their way to the massive staircase and sat on the stairs to wait in the dark, smelling the mustiness of the house, feeling the vibration from thunderclaps overhead, hearing the rain slap against the tall narrow windows, seeing the panes glow blue with each lightning flash. They waited.

"She's coming!" Kristi whispered. No one dared to breathe.

The men stared in rapt silence. Kristi shuddered and gasped.

Qwilleran found his blood running cold. The minutes ticked away.

Then Kristi broke into tears. "Wasn't she beautiful?" she sighed.

"Beautiful!" Mitch said in a half-whisper.

"Incredible!" Qwilleran said under his breath.

The three sat quietly for a while, each with private thoughts. The rain relented; the tumult subsided; and Qwilleran brought himself to murmur, "What can I say?... Thank you... Good night." He squeezed Kristi's hand, touched Mitch's shoulder, and found his way out of the house. "My God!" he said aloud, sitting in the driver's seat, reluctant to turn on the ignition.

At home he dropped into his wing chair and fell into a reverie so deep that he didn't hear the vehicle pulling up to the door. The brass knocker startled him. He jumped up and opened the door, saying, "Mitch! Did you forget something?"

"Just wanted to talk for a minute - without Kristi."

"Come into the kitchen and get that wet jacket off. Do you want a cup of coffee before you drive home?"

"It might be a good idea."

"Put another log on the fire while I make the coffee." "Sorry to come back so late."

"Forget it! What's on your mind?"

Mitch gave him a searching look. "Tell me honestly, Qwill. Did you see Emmaline?"

"Did you?" Qwilleran asked, returning the intent gaze.

"I've never seen her," the young man confessed.

"To tell the truth," Qwilleran said, "I didn't see her either, but I felt a chill. I sensed an invisible presence. Perhaps I was reacting to Kristi's emotion. Whatever, it was a memorable experience."

They drank coffee for a while without talking. Then Qwilleran said, "Have a doughnut." He pushed the plate across the table.

"Thanks. These are pretty good doughnuts."

"Kristi's an interesting young woman," Qwilleran said. "I worry about her - with Brent still at large."

"Is he dangerous?"

"Worse still, he's stupid! He was okay until they went Down Below and he started doing drugs. He fell apart. Used to be a good-looking guy, too. At least, Kristi thought so, I guess."

"If he's that far gone," Qwilleran speculated, "it won't take the police long to track him down. It takes a modicum of intelligence and some animal instinct to be a fugitive."

"You're right!" Mitch pushed the plate back across the table. "Doughnut?"

"Yes. They're not bad."

"Up front, Qwill, do you think I stand a chance of getting the museum job?"

"I'm on your side, Mitch, but it's in the hands of the museum board."

"I've been doing some lobbying, and most of them pledged their support, but Larry and Susan are dragging their feet - that's what it seems like."

"I'll see what I can do on your behalf."

"Sure appreciate it." Mitch stared into his coffee cup and fidgeted.

"Another doughnut, Mitch?" The plate went back across the table.

"Thanks."

Qwilleran read the signals. "Is there something else on your mind?"

"Well, when you were telling us about Iris hearing the noises, I thought of something I should tell you, something I heard recently from one of the old-timers. He got the story from an old blacksmith who used to shoe the Goodwinter horses... You know about the big funeral they had for Ephraim?"

"I certainly do! Thirty-seven carriages, fifty-two buggies, or was it the other way around?"

"This blacksmith told the old-timer that Ephraim wasn't in the coffin!"

"Why? Did he know why?"

"The family of the old miser was afraid he'd be dug up - by his enemies, you know - so they went through the motions of burying him in the cemetery, but actually he was secretly buried, here on the farm."

"Where? Do you know?"

"Under the house!"

"Now I've heard everything, Mitch. Do you believe that story?"

"I'm only telling you what I heard, Qwill, on account of what you said about Iris, and the way your cat is acting."

"Hmmm," Qwilleran said, stroking his moustache. "How about another cup of coffee?"

"Thanks, but I've got to be going. I'm on the day shift this week."

Qwilleran and Koko walked their guest to the door and watched the blue pickup drive away. The rain had stopped, but the trees were still dripping, and the night was dark. Koko was sniffing and peering into the blackness, and Qwilleran made a lunge for the cat before he could cross the threshold and disappear into the night.