Лилиан Браун - Cat Who Talked To Ghosts

Wal, now, his desk-it were such a good seller, he hired fellas to build 'em and tables and beds and coffins-whatall folks wanted. So Paw opened a furniture store. Gave free funerals to folks that bought coffins. He had a fancy black hearse and black horses with black feathers. Funerals were a sight in them days! When me and my brothers come along - they're all dead now - we opened a reg'lar funeral parlor, all proper and dignified but not high-fallutin', see? Got rid o' the horses when automobiles come in. Folks hated to see 'em go. Then my sons took over, and my grandsons. They went away to school. I never finished.

Do you remember the Ephraim Goodwinter funeral?

(Long pause.) Wal, now, I were a young lad, but my folks talked about it.

Was his death a suicide or a lynching?

(Long pause.) All I know, he were strung up.

Do you know who cut down the body?

Yup. My paw and Ephraim's son, Titus. They had a preacher there, too. Forget his name.

Mr. Crawbanks?

That's him!

How do you know all this?

(Long pause.) I warn't supposed to be there. My paw told me to stay to home, but I hid in the wagon. The preacher, he said some prayers, and Paw and Titus took off their hats. I crossed myself. I knew I'd get a whuppin' when we got home.

Did you see the corpse? Were the hands tied or not?

Couldn't see. It were near daybreak - not much light.

Did anyone have a camera?

Yup. Titus, he took a picture. Don't know what for.

How was the corpse dressed?

That were a long time ago, and I were too bug-eyed to pay attention. They throwed a blanket over him.

A suicide would have to stand on a box or something and then kick it away. Do you remember seeing anything like that?

(Long pause.) Musta sat on a horse and give it a kick. Horse went home all by itself. Empty saddle. That's when they come lookin' for the old man. That's what Titus said.

Did you believe that?

I were a young boy then. Didn't stop to figger it out.

Did your father ever talk about it?

(Long pause.) Nope. Not then. (Long pause.) What d'you want to know all this for?

Our readers enjoy the memoirs of old-timers. I've interviewed Euphonia Gage, Emma Huggins Wimsey, Homer Tibbitt...

Homer, eh? I could tell you some things he don't know. But don't put it in the paper.

I'll turn off my tape recorder.

Qwilleran flipped the button on the machine and placed it on the floor.

"I want a drink of water," the old man demanded in his shrill voice. As the canary hurried from the room, he said to Qwilleran. "Don't want her to hear this." With a leer he added, "What d'you think of her?"

"She's an attractive woman."

"Too young for me."

When the canary returned with the glass of water, Qwilleran took her aside and said, "May I have a few minutes alone with Mr. Dingleberry? He has some personal matters to discuss."

"Certainly," she said. "I'll wait outside."

Nervously Adam said, "Where'd she go?"

"Right outside the door. What did you want. to tell me, Mr. Dingleberry?"

"You won't print it in the paper?"

"I won't print it in the paper."

"Never tell a living soul?"

"I promise," said Qwilleran, raising his right hand.

"My paw told me afore he died. Made me promise not to tell. If folks found out, he said, we'd both be strung up. But he's gone now, and I'll be goin' soon. No percentage in takin' it to the grave."

"Shouldn't you be passing this secret along to your sons?"

"Nope. Don't trust them whippersnappers. Too goldurn'ed cocky. You've got an honest face."

Qwilleran groomed his moustache with a show of modesty. Strangers had always been eager to confide in him. Looking intensely interested and sincere, he said, "What did your father reveal to you?"

"Wal, now, it were about Ephraim's funeral," old Adam said in his reedy voice. "Longest funeral procession in the history of Pickax! Six black horses 'stead of four. Two come all the way from Lockmaster. They was followed by a thirty- seven carriages and fifty-two buggies, but... it were all a joke!" He finished with a cackling laugh that turned into a coughing spell, and Qwilleran handed him the glass of water.

"What was the joke?" he asked when the spasm had subsided.

Adam cackled with glee. "Ephraim warn't in the coffin!"

Qwilleran thought, So Mitch's story is true. He's buried under the house! To Adam he said, "You say Ephraim's body wasn't in the coffin. Where was it?"

"Wal, now, the truth were..." Adam took a sip of water, which went down the wrong throat, and the coughing resumed so violently that Qwilleran feared the old man would choke. He called for help, and a nurse and two canaries rushed to his aid.

When it was over and Adam was calm enough to leer at the nurse, Qwilleran thanked the staffers and bowed them out of the room. Then he repeated his question. "Where was Ephraim's body?"

Cackling a laugh that was almost a yodel, the mortician said, "Ephraim wam't dead!"

Qwilleran stared at the old man in the wheelchair. There was a possibility that he might be senile, yet the rest of his conversation had been plausible - that is, plausible by Moose County's contrary standards. "How do you explain that bit of deception?" he asked.

"Wal, now, Ephraim knowed folks hated his guts and they was hell-bent on revenge, so he fooled 'em. He sailed off to Yerp. Went to Switzerland. Used another name. Let folks think he were dead." Adam started to cackle.

Qwilleran handed him the glass of water in anticipation of another attack of convulsive mirth. "Take a sip, Mr. Dingleberry. Be careful how you swallow... What about the rest of the Goodwinter family?"

"Wal, now, Ephraim's wife moved back east - that were the story they told - but she followed him to Yerp. In them days folks could disappear without no fuss. Damn gover'ment warn't buttin' in all the time. Way it turned out, though, the joke were on Ephraim. When he writ that suicide note, he never knowed his enemies would take credit for lynchin' him!"

"What about his sons?"

"Titus and Samson, the two of 'em lived in the farmhouse and run the business - run it into the ground mostly."

His voice soared into a falsetto and ended with a shriek of hilarity.

"If your father participated in this hoax, I hope he was amply rewarded."

"Two thousand dollars," said Adam. "That were big money in them days - mighty big! And five hun'erd every quarter, so long as Paw kep' his lip buttoned. Paw were a religious man, and he wouldn'ta done it but he were in debt to Ephraim's bank. He were afraid of losin' his store."

"How long did the quarterly payments continue?"

"Till Ephraim kicked the bucket in 1935. Paw always told me it were an investment he made, payin' off. He were on his deathbed when he told the truth and warned me not to tell. He said folks would be madder'n hell and might burn down the furniture store for makin' fools of 'em."

Adam's chin sank on his chest. The half hour was almost up.

"That's a thought-provoking story with interesting ramifications," Qwilleran said. "Thank you for taking me into your confidence."

The old man showed another spurt of energy. "There were somethin' else on Paw's conscience. He buried the Goodwinters' hired man, and they paid for the funeral - paid plenty, considerin' it were a plain coffin."

Qwilleran was instantly alerted. "What was the hired man's name?"

"I forget now."

"Luther Bosworth? Thirty years old? Left a wife and four kids?"

"That's him!"

"What happened to Luther?"

"One o' the Goodwinter horses went berserk. Trampled him to death - so bad they had a closed coffin."

"When did this happen?"

"Right after Ephraim left. Titus said he shot the horse."

There was a tap on the door, and the canary opened it an inch or two. "Visiting time almost up, sir."