The Cat Who Talked to Ghosts by Lilian Jackson Braun Read Free Book Online Page B

suit is handy to have in the closet in case you suddenly want to get married."
    Qwilleran made a selection reluctantly, considering all the suits overpriced.
    As the tailor checked the fit, hoisting here and tugging there, Scottie said, "So you're stayin' at the Goodwinter farmhouse, are you? Have you seen a dead man sittin' on a keg of gold coins?"
    "So far I've been denied that pleasure," Qwilleran replied. "Is he supposed to be a regular visitor?"
    "Old Ephraim Goodwinter was a miser, you know, and they say he still comes back to count his money. How do you want to pay for this suit? Cash? Credit card? Ten dollars a week?"
    From the men's store Qwilleran drove to the Pickax industrial park, where the Moose County Something occupied a new building. Designed to house editorial and business offices as well as a modem printing plant, the building was a costly project made possible by an interest-free loan from the Klingenschoen Fund. The daily masthead on page four listed the following:
    ARCH RIKER, editor and publisher
    JUNIOR GOODWINTER, managing editor
    WILLIAM ALLEN, general manager
    Qwilleran first walked into the managing editor's office, which was dominated by a large, old-fashioned rolltop desk that dwarfed the young man sitting in front of it. The desk had belonged to his great-grandfather, the miserly Ephraim.
    Junior Goodwinter had a boyish face and a boyish build and was growing a beard in an attempt to look older than fifteen. "Hey! Pull up a chair! Put your feet up!" he greeted Qwilleran. "That was a swell piece you wrote about Iris Cobb. I hear you're house-sitting at my old homestead.”
    "For a while, until they find a new manager. I hope to do some research while I'm there. How's the ancestral desk working out?"
    "Not so swift. All those pigeonholes and small drawers look like a good idea, but you file something away and never find it again. I like the idea of the rolltop, though. I can stuff my unfinished work in there, roll the top down, and go home with a clear conscience."
    "Have you discovered any secret compartments? I imagine Ephraim had a few secrets he wanted to hide."
    "Golly, I wouldn't know where to start looking for secret compartments. Why don't you bring Koko down here and let him sniff around. He's good at that."
    "He's been doing a lot of sniffing since we moved into the farmhouse. He remembers Iris and wonders why she's not there. By the way, just before she died she talked about hearing unearthly noises. Did you ever have any supernatural adventures when you lived there?"
    "No," said Junior. "I was too busy riding horses and scrapping with my six-foot-four brother."
    "You never told me you were an equestrian, Junior."
    "Oh, sure. Didn't you know that? I wanted to be a jockey, but my parents objected. The alternatives were a bell-hop or a hundred-ten-pound journalist."
    "How's the new baby?" Qwilleran asked, never able to remember the name or sex of his young friends' offspring.
    “Incredible kid! This morning he grabbed my finger so hard I couldn't pull away. And only four weeks old! Four weeks and three days!"
    Tight-fisted like his great-great-grandfather, Qwilleran thought. Then he pointed toward the door. "Who's that? Is that William Allen?" A large white cat had walked into the office with a managerial swagger.
    "That's him in person—not a reincarnation," Junior said. "He escaped from the fire in the old building, miraculously. Probably incurred a little smoke damage, but he cleaned it up without making an insurance claim. We found him a month ago, ten months after the fire. Guess where he was! Sitting in front of the State Unemployment Office!”
    Next Qwilleran visited the office of the publisher. Arch Riker was sitting in a high backed executive chair in front of a curved walnut slab supported by two marble monoliths.
    "How do you like working in this spiffy environment?" Qwilleran asked. "I detect the fine hand of Amanda's Design Studio."
    "It cramps my style. I'm afraid to put