Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 10 Who Talked to Ghosts

"Really? That's most unusual! The cookbook I can understand, but why the sheet? The young people used to flit about the countryside in white sheets around Halloween, trying to frighten people, until the county outlawed it with what they call the pork-and-beans ordinance."

"And what might that be?"

"It was the result of an incident near Mooseville. A woman sent her teenage son to buy groceries at a crossroads store, and he was walking home on a country road after dark. As he approached the bridge over the Ittibittiwassee, a white-sheeted figure rose out of the dark riverbed and started moaning and screaming. The intrepid youth kept on walking until he was a few yards from the ghost. Then he reached into his grocery sack and hurled a can of beans at the spectre - right between the eye holes. It was a young woman under the sheet, and she went to the hospital with a concussion."

"And I presume the youth went to the majors," Qwilleran said.

Just then the doorbell sounded, and Polly thought it prudent to retire to the bathroom to fix her hair. A tall lanky busboy arrived with Polly's salad and Qwilleran's lambchop - plus two servings of pumpkin chiffon pie with the compliments of the chef.

"Where are the cats?" the busboy asked.

"On vacation," Qwilleran said as he handed him a tip. "Thanks, Derek."

"They've got it made. I never get to go anywhere."

"I thought you were going away to college this fall." Derek shrugged. "Well, you see, I got this good role in the next play at the theatre, and I met this girl from Lockmaster who's a blast, so I decided to work another year."

"Thanks again, Derek," said Qwilleran, ushering him to the door. "I'll look forward to seeing you in the November play. Don't tell me anything about your role; it's bad luck. The Siamese send you their regards. Give my thanks to the chef. Watch your step with that girl from Lockmaster. Don't trip on the stairs." In slow stages he maneuvered the gregarious Derek Cuttlebrink from the apartment.

Polly emerged from the bathroom, looking not much different. "He's a nice boy, but he hasn't found himself yet," she said.

"He's looking in the wrong place," Qwilleran muttered. They dined at the travertine table, and Polly inquired how he liked the Othello recording.

"A stunning opera! Even the cats have enjoyed it. I've played it several times." Not all the way through, but he withheld that detail.

"How did you like Iago's Credo?"

"Unforgettable!"

"And don't you agree with me that Dio! mi potevi is gorgeous?"

"My word for it exactly!... And what did you think of the disaster exhibit?" he asked, changing the subject deftly.

"The girls accomplished a miracle! That was a difficult subject to dramatize. And the balloting idea was very clever."

"In my opinion they missed the boat. They should have honored the thirty-two victims by name, and I said so in my column."

"No one knows who they were, except for an occasional family recollection," Polly informed him. "There is no official list. We have old copies of the Picayune on microfilm, but the issues of May thirteenth to eighteenth are missing, oddly enough."

"Where did you get this film?"

"Junior Goodwinter turned everything over to us when the Picayune ceased publication. We also checked the county courthouse files, but death records prior to 1905 were destroyed in a fire that year."

"It would be interesting to know who threw the match," Qwilleran said. "It's doubtful that all the records were destroyed accidentally. Who would want the victims' names forgotten? The Goodwinters? Or would their names give a clue to the identity of the lynch mob? There were probably thirty-two in the gang, one to avenge each victim. A ritualistic touch, don't you think? They were draped in sheets so no one would know the identity of the actual hangman. I imagine they drew straws for the privilege."

"An interesting deduction," Polly said, "assuming that the lynching story is true."

"If Ephraim committed suicide, why would he do it in a: public place? He had a big barn. He could have jumped off the haymow. Actually, does anyone really care - at this late date - about the exact fate of the old scoundrel? Why do the Noble Sons of the Noose persist generation after generation?"

"Because Ephraim Goodwinter is the only villain Moose County ever had," said Polly, "and people love to have a bˆte noire to hate."

She declined the pumpkin pie, and Qwilleran had no difficulty in consuming both pieces. Then he said, "What do you know about Vince and Verona?"

"Not much," Polly said. "They suddenly appeared a month ago and proposed a deal, which the museum board was delighted to accept. Vince offered to catalogue the presses, in return for which they gave him the cottage rent-free. Those presses were a white elephant, so Vince's arrival on the scene was considered a blessing from heaven."

"Don't you consider his offer unusually generous?"