Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 10 Who Talked to Ghosts

I "This will be her son calling from St. Louis," Qwilleran said as he picked up the receiver, but he winced at the first words he heard.

"Say! This is Vince Boswell!" It was a loud piercing voice with a nasal twang. "I called to see about Iris. Something happen to her? The wife and me, we were sort of watching a video, and we saw the ambulance lights."

Qwilleran replied coolly, "I regret to say that Mrs. Cobb I has had a fatal attack."

"No kidding! That's a damn shame!" said the ear-shattering voice, adding with muffled volume as he turned away from the mouthpiece, "Some guy says Iris had a fatal attack, honey!" Then he shouted into the phone, "We liked Iris a helluva lot, my wife and me. Anything we can do?"

Qwilleran was holding the receiver six inches from his ear. "I don't believe so, but thanks for calling."

"We're right close by if you need any help at the museum, understand? Glad to pitch in at a time like this."

"That's kind of you. Good night, Mr. Bosworth."

"Boswell," the man corrected him. "We're staying in the cottage up at the comer, the wife and me. Larry Lanspeak is a friend of ours."

"I see. Well, good night, Mr. Boswell. We appreciate your concern."

Qwilleran hung up and said to Larry, "Who's Boswell?"

"Haven't you met Vince and Verona? She's one of our volunteers, and Vince is cataloguing the antique printing presses in the barn. He's writing a book on the history of printing."

Qwilleran thought, Does the world need another book on the history of printing? "Where did you find this guy, Larry?"

"He came up here from Pittsburgh."

Must have been a coach for the Steelers, Qwilleran thought.

Larry went on, "Vince offered to do the job gratis, so we let him live in the hired man's cottage rent-free. Now that Iris is gone we should have someone living on the premises for security reasons. I'm thinking the Boswells might fill in temporarily."

"I'll be willing to move in until you locate a permanent resident," Qwilleran said.

"That's a kind offer, Qwill, but it would be an imposition."

"Not at all. I've been wanting to spend some time at the museum - especially in the document collection-digging up material for my column."

"If you're serious, Qwill, it would solve our problem, and you wouldn't have to be involved with the museum operation. It's a separate telephone line, and the volunteers come and go with their own key. No one would bother you."

"I'd have the cats with me, of course," Qwilleran pointed out. "Koko is a self-appointed security officer, and Yum Yum once distinguished herself by catching a museum mouse. Iris used to invite them over here once in a while, and they never did any damage."

"I'm not worried about that," Larry said. "I know they're well-behaved, and they could have a ball, socializing with the barncats and stuffing themselves with fieldmice."

"They're indoor cats," Qwilleran quickly corrected him. "I'm very careful not to let them out."

The telephone rang again, and this time it was Dennis. "We've talked it over, Mr. Qwilleran, and Cheryl and I think the funeral and burial should be up there, where Mother had so many friends. I'll fly up today as I originally planned, and in the meantime you can make whatever decisions have to be made. She always wrote about you in her letters. You were very good to her."

"I'm glad you're coming up, Dennis. I'll meet your plane at the airport and make a reservation for you at the Pickax Hotel, but I don't have your last name."

"It's H-o-u-g-h, pronounced Huff."

"Are you catching the five o'clock shuttle out of Minneapolis?"

"That's right... and Mr. Qwilleran, there's something I want to tell you when I arrive, something that was happening to my mother in the last week or so. It had to do with the museum. She was greatly disturbed."

Qwilleran touched his moustache tentatively. "I certainly want to hear about it."

"Thanks for everything, Mr. Q. Isn't that what Mother always called you?"

"Most people call me Qwill. You do the same, Dennis."

As he slowly hung up the phone, questions about Iris Cobb's mental state raced through his mind. It had to be the medication!

"What's the decision?" Larry asked.

"The arrangements are all up to us. Funeral and burial here. Her son will arrive this evening. I'll have the Klingenschoen Fund cover expenses, and I want everything done right."

"I agree. We'll use the Dingleberry funeral home and have the service at the Old Stone Church."

"Would you be good enough to make a couple of phone calls while I rustle up some instant coffee?" Qwilleran asked. "We should line up Dingleberry and inform the hospital. If they need to know the next of kin, it's Dennis H- o-u-g-h, pronounced Huff. Then I'll call WPKX and the night desk at the paper. They can run a bulletin on page one, and I'll write an obituary for Tuesday."

Larry said, "Tell them the museum will be closed for the entire week."