Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 10 Who Talked to Ghosts

"Not as yet. There's a light fixture that flashes on and off mysteriously, but that's the only spooky occurrence."

Polly said, "I've heard stories about Ephraim's ghost but considered them nonsense. This is a terrible development, Qwill! Why should it happen to that dear woman?"

"There's a possibility that her medication made her susceptible to certain influences in the house that would not disturb anyone else - or even Iris if her health had been normal."

"Should anything be done about it?"

"I don't see how we can act without more evidence," Qwilleran said. "Give me time. After all, it happened only three days ago."

Polly's brow was creased in puzzlement and concern. Not once had she mentioned Bootsie nor glanced in the direction of the bedroom door. With an agreeable feeling of satisfaction Qwilleran made excuses for leaving early.

Driving home to North Middle Hummock he did some serious thinking about Polly and the way she fussed over that kitten. He himself admired and respected his cats - and God knows he indulged them - but he was not sentimental, he told himself. Polly's fatuous prattle was entirely out of character for a sensible woman. Reviewing the course of their friendship he recalled that it was her intelligence that first attracted him. On certain subjects she was quite erudite. After getting off to a slow start, because of her inherent reserve, their relationship had blossomed. Then, with familiarity she became possessive and slightly officious and sometimes jealous. All of this he could understand, and he could handle it, but her gushing over the kitten was more than he could stomach. There would be no more relaxing country weekends at Polly's cottage with just the two of them - reading Shakespeare aloud and playing music - not while Bootsie diffused her attention. Bootsie! It was a vile name for a Siamese, Qwilleran insisted. Considering her passion for Shakespeare, why didn't she name him Puck?

The reading of Iris Cobb's will took place in the office of Hasselrich, Bennett and Barter on Thursday morning in the presence of Dennis Hough, Larry Lanspeak, Susan Exbridge, and Qwilleran, who attended reluctantly. The senior partner was noted for his affability and buoyant optimism. He was the kind of attorney, Qwilleran had once said, who made it a pleasure to be sued, or divorced, or found guilty - an elderly, balding man with quivering jowls and a slight stoop.

When all were assembled Hasselrich remarked, "I well remember the day Iris Cobb Hackpole came to me to draft her last will and testament. This was three months before her health started to decline. There was nothing morbid about the occasion. She was happy in the knowledge that her possessions would go to those she loved and respected, and to causes she embraced."

He opened cabinet doors behind his desk, rolled out a video screen and touched a remote control. There on the screen was Iris Cobb in her pink suede suit and rhinestone-studded eyeglasses. She was smiling. Her round face was glowing. A hush fell on the viewers.

From the speaker came the cheerful voice: "I, Iris Cobb Hackpole, a single woman of Pickax City in Moose County, being of sound mind and memory but mindful of the un- certainties of life, do hereby declare this instrument to be my last will and testament, hereby revoking any and all wills made by me at any time heretofore."

Swift looks passed between the listeners as she went on to bequeath her extensive financial holdings to her son and his family. To Susan Exbridge she left her share of the assets of Exbridge & Cobb. She wished the Historical Society to liquidate her antique collection, her car, and her personal belongings, the proceeds to benefit the museum. Excluded were only two items: She wished James Qwilleran to have the Pennsylvania German Schrank - for reasons he would understand - and her personal recipe book.

The image on the screen faded, and there was a moment of silence followed by appropriate exclamations and some murmured platitudes from Hasselrich.

Susan said to Qwilleran, "I'll make a deal. You give me the cookbook, and you can have Exbridge and Cobb." To Dennis she said, "Now you can move up here and take over the Fitch property."

"I like the idea," he said, and Qwilleran observed a meaningful stare lingering between them.

When a clerk appeared with a silver tray, Hasselrich himself poured coffee and passed the cups, pointing out proudly that they were his maternal grandmother's Wedgwood.

Larry said to Qwilleran, "I didn't know you were a cook."

"I know as much about cooking as I do about black holes in the universe," he replied, "but Iris had a sly sense of humor. The joke is that no one can read her handwriting. As for the Schrank, I'm glad she left me that and not the General Grant bed."

"How's everything at the farmhouse?"