Read Online The Cat Who Talked to Ghosts by Lilian Jackson Braun - Free Book Online
Authors: Lilian Jackson Braun
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will. They've asked Larry and me to attend. I wonder why. I'm getting nervous."
Qwilleran said, "Perhaps Iris left you her General Grant bed."
A new group of visitors arrived, and Susan excused herself to return to her greeting post in the foyer. Qwilleran sought out the chief mourner, who was eager to see him.
"Did you read her letters?" Dennis asked.
Qwilleran nodded dolefully. "Her decline was very rapid. It was a damn shame."
"I asked Doctor Halifax if the noises she heard could be the result of taking medication. He wouldn't say yes and wouldn't say no, but I saw the results of her tests, and she had really let herself get in bad shape. He said she had a 'crippling fear' of surgery. I knew that. She had been resisting eye surgery, although her vision was beginning to impair her driving."
"When would you like to see the farmhouse?"
"How about tomorrow after the funeral? I'm curious about—"
Dennis was interrupted by a loud voice at the entrance, and he looked toward the foyer. Everyone turned toward the foyer. The Boswells had arrived and were headed toward the bier, the man carrying their small child. For the first time Qwilleran noticed that he walked with a pronounced limp.
"Look, Baby," he was saying in the voice of a sideshow barker. "This is the nice lady who used to give you cookies. She's gone to live in heaven, and we came to say goodbye."
"Say goodbye to Mrs. Cobb, Baby," said the mother's soft voice.
"Bye-bye," said Baby, curling her fingers in a childish gesture.
"Iris looks so... pretty? Doesn't she, Baby?"
"Why is she in a box?" For a child of her age she was remarkably articulate, Qwilleran thought.
The father set her down and turned to see Qwilleran watching them. "They've got a good turnout here tonight. Parking lot was all parked up," he said in a voice that could be heard throughout the Slumber Room and adjoining areas. "Biggest visitation I ever went to! Will you take a look at those flowers! She was one popular lady! She didn't act like she had much on the ball, but people liked her. You can tell by the big crowd."
Mrs. Boswell, who was clasping her daughter's hand, said, "Baby, this is the nice man who's living at... the museum? Say hi to Mr. Qwilleran."
"Hi!" said Baby
Qwilleran looked down at the creature four feet below his eye level, pathetically puny in her short blue velvet coat and hat and wrinkled white tights. The outfit had obviously been homemade in a hurry. Before he could reply with a stiff "How do you do," the parents had spotted the Lanspeaks and descended on them, leaving him with Baby.
She looked up in wonder at his moustache and said in her clear, precise speech, "What's that thing on your face?"
"That's my nose," said Qwilleran. "Doesn't your father have a nose?"
"Yes, he has a nose."
"How about your mother? Does she have a nose?"
"Everybody has a nose," said Baby with disdain, as if dealing with a dolt.
"Then you should recognize a nose when you see one." Baby was not fazed by his evasive logic. "Where do you work?" she asked.
"I don't work. Where do you work?"
"I'm too little. My daddy works."
"Where does he work?"
"In the barn."
"What does he do in the barn?"
Baby scuffed the toe of her doll-size shoe. "I don't know. I don't go to the barn."
"Why not?"
"I'll get dirty."
"A likely story," said Qwilleran, glancing around and hoping to be rescued soon.
"They have kitties in the barn," Baby volunteered.
"If you don't go to the barn, how do you know they have kitties?”
This animated dialogue had attracted the rapt attention of surrounding groups, and Mrs. Boswell swooped in and snatched her daughter away. "Don't pester Mr. Qwilleran," she scolded softly.
It was a relief for him to circulate among the adults. The guest register was a who's who of Pickax: civic leaders, wealthy antique collectors, politicians running for office, and members of the Historical and Genealogical societies—the two most important organizations in a county that took
Qwilleran said, "Perhaps Iris left you her General Grant bed."
A new group of visitors arrived, and Susan excused herself to return to her greeting post in the foyer. Qwilleran sought out the chief mourner, who was eager to see him.
"Did you read her letters?" Dennis asked.
Qwilleran nodded dolefully. "Her decline was very rapid. It was a damn shame."
"I asked Doctor Halifax if the noises she heard could be the result of taking medication. He wouldn't say yes and wouldn't say no, but I saw the results of her tests, and she had really let herself get in bad shape. He said she had a 'crippling fear' of surgery. I knew that. She had been resisting eye surgery, although her vision was beginning to impair her driving."
"When would you like to see the farmhouse?"
"How about tomorrow after the funeral? I'm curious about—"
Dennis was interrupted by a loud voice at the entrance, and he looked toward the foyer. Everyone turned toward the foyer. The Boswells had arrived and were headed toward the bier, the man carrying their small child. For the first time Qwilleran noticed that he walked with a pronounced limp.
"Look, Baby," he was saying in the voice of a sideshow barker. "This is the nice lady who used to give you cookies. She's gone to live in heaven, and we came to say goodbye."
"Say goodbye to Mrs. Cobb, Baby," said the mother's soft voice.
"Bye-bye," said Baby, curling her fingers in a childish gesture.
"Iris looks so... pretty? Doesn't she, Baby?"
"Why is she in a box?" For a child of her age she was remarkably articulate, Qwilleran thought.
The father set her down and turned to see Qwilleran watching them. "They've got a good turnout here tonight. Parking lot was all parked up," he said in a voice that could be heard throughout the Slumber Room and adjoining areas. "Biggest visitation I ever went to! Will you take a look at those flowers! She was one popular lady! She didn't act like she had much on the ball, but people liked her. You can tell by the big crowd."
Mrs. Boswell, who was clasping her daughter's hand, said, "Baby, this is the nice man who's living at... the museum? Say hi to Mr. Qwilleran."
"Hi!" said Baby
Qwilleran looked down at the creature four feet below his eye level, pathetically puny in her short blue velvet coat and hat and wrinkled white tights. The outfit had obviously been homemade in a hurry. Before he could reply with a stiff "How do you do," the parents had spotted the Lanspeaks and descended on them, leaving him with Baby.
She looked up in wonder at his moustache and said in her clear, precise speech, "What's that thing on your face?"
"That's my nose," said Qwilleran. "Doesn't your father have a nose?"
"Yes, he has a nose."
"How about your mother? Does she have a nose?"
"Everybody has a nose," said Baby with disdain, as if dealing with a dolt.
"Then you should recognize a nose when you see one." Baby was not fazed by his evasive logic. "Where do you work?" she asked.
"I don't work. Where do you work?"
"I'm too little. My daddy works."
"Where does he work?"
"In the barn."
"What does he do in the barn?"
Baby scuffed the toe of her doll-size shoe. "I don't know. I don't go to the barn."
"Why not?"
"I'll get dirty."
"A likely story," said Qwilleran, glancing around and hoping to be rescued soon.
"They have kitties in the barn," Baby volunteered.
"If you don't go to the barn, how do you know they have kitties?”
This animated dialogue had attracted the rapt attention of surrounding groups, and Mrs. Boswell swooped in and snatched her daughter away. "Don't pester Mr. Qwilleran," she scolded softly.
It was a relief for him to circulate among the adults. The guest register was a who's who of Pickax: civic leaders, wealthy antique collectors, politicians running for office, and members of the Historical and Genealogical societies—the two most important organizations in a county that took
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