Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 10 Who Talked to Ghosts

Qwilleran said, "The time has come to install a lock on the connecting door between the museum and the manager's apartment. Iris had a large collection of valuable collectibles - small items, easy to pick up. People who wouldn't steal from the living think it's okay to steal from the dead. It's a primitive custom, practiced for centuries."

"Yes, but not around here," said Susan.

"How do you know? The dead never report it to the police. Moose County may have computers and camcorders and private planes, but there are plenty of primitive beliefs. Ghosts, for example. I keep hearing that Ephraim walks through the walls occasionally."

Larry smiled. "That's a popular joke, Qwill, just something to talk about over the coffee cups." He reached for the phone, at the same time glancing at his watch. "I'll call Homer about the lock. I hope he's still up. It's only five-thirty, but his bedtime keeps getting earlier and earlier."

"His new bride will change his habits," Qwilleran said. "She's a live one!"

"Yes," Larry said with a chuckle, "they'll be sitting up watching television until eight o'clock at night... Why are we laughing? When we're Homer's age, we won't even be here!" He completed the call and reported that Homer would round up a locksmith first thing in the morning.

Qwilleran said, "I have another suggestion to make, apropos of locks and valuables. Iris had a lot of private papers in her desk in the parlor. They should be bundled up, sealed, and turned over to her son."

"I'll be happy to do that," said Susan. "I'll be seeing Dennis this week."

Qwilleran gave her an expressionless stare and then turned to Larry.

The president said, "I propose we do it right now. Susan, you and Qwill and I can take care of it. How big a box will we need?"

The three of them trooped to the west wing, carrying a carton, sealing tape, and a felt marker. Koko and Yum Yum met them at the door.

"Hello, cats," said Larry jovially.

The Siamese followed them into the parlor, where the desk occupied a place of prominence.

"This is the ugliest desk I've ever seen," Qwilleran commented. It was basically a flat box with one drawer and a pull-out writing surface, perched on tall legs and topped with a cupboard.

"This is an original handmade Dingleberry, about 1890," Larry informed him. "Iris bought it at the Goodwinter auction. I was bidding against her, but I dropped out when the bidding reached four figures."

Behind the doors of the cupboard were shoeboxes labeled in large block letters with a felt marker: Bills, Letters, Financial, Medical, Insurance, and Personal. In the drawer were the usual pens, scissors, paper clips, rubber bands, memo pads, and a magnifying glass.

Qwilleran said, "She had magnifying glasses allover the house. She even wore one on a chain around her neck."

"Okay," said Larry. "Let's lock this stuff up in the museum office and have Dennis sign for it when he comes."

"Good idea," said Qwilleran.

Susan had nothing to say. She seemed to be sulking. As they were leaving the parlor she almost tripped over a rug.

Qwilleran caught her. "Sorry," he said. "There's a cat under the rug. This is the second time he's crawled under an Oriental."

"He has good taste," Larry said. "These are all antiques and museum-quality."

"Do you have any more booby traps around?" Susan said testily as she followed Larry back to the museum.

Qwilleran thawed some chicken a la king for the Siamese, who devoured it hungrily, carefully avoiding the pimento and the slivered almonds. He watched the fascinating ritual absently, thinking about the missing sheet, the misplaced pillow, the purloined cookbook, and Susan's eagerness to handle Iris Cobb's private papers.

Something had happened to Susan Exbridge after her husband divorced her for another woman. While she was the wife of a successful developer she had been an active clubwoman, serving on the board of every organization and working diligently for the common good. Since that blow to her ego she had concentrated on working for Susan Exbridge. In a way she was justified. According to the Pickax grapevine, her ex-husband had so maneuvered the divorce settlement that Susan was rich on paper but short of cash, and if she liquidated the securities, she would be liable for a large tax bite.

Rumor also had it that ninety percent of the Exbridge & Cobb venture was financed by Iris. If that were true, Qwilleran pondered, Susan's inheritance would be substantial. Granted, the two women were good friends as well as business partners, but that was a situation that aroused Qwilleran's suspicion. A more unlikely pair of chums could hardly be found. Iris was neither chic nor sophisticated nor glib, yet Susan had engulfed her with friendship, and Iris was flattered to be taken up by a woman so distinguished in manner, dress, and social connections.