Meanwhile Koko was snapping at cobwebs instead of investigating.
"Cats never cooperate," Qwilleran explained. "The trick is to ignore him for a while. Let's find something to sit on."
Kristi found a platform rocker that no longer rocked; Mitch perched on a barrel; Qwilleran sat on a kitchen chair with three rungs missing, all the while keeping a furtive eye on Koko, who was beginning to move around stealthily.
"I hear rumbling," Kristi said.
"That's thunder," Mitch told her, "but it's a long way off. It's not supposed to rain tonight."
Koko sniffed a wicker baby buggy without wheels. "Some kid cannibalized it to make a go-cart," Mitch guessed.
When the cat sniffed the potato masher, Qwilleran said, "We're getting warm. He knows Iris handled it. Now watch him!"
Koko was making his way to the cracked plaster wall, hopping over a coal skuttle, slinking under a three-legged chair, climbing up on the monstrous sideboard that stood against the plaster wall. It was a hodgepodge of shelves, mirrors, and carved ornament.
"My mother bought two of those dumb things," Kristi said. "Listen! Thunder again! It's coming closer!" Koko was standing on his hind legs and stretching to see the wall behind the sideboard.
"He senses something," Qwilleran whispered. Mitch said, "I think he sees a spider walking up the wall."
"I hate spiders," said Kristi. With one swift movement Koko jumped up, swatted the insect, brought it down in the cup of his paw, and chomped on it with satisfaction.
"Ugh!" she said.
"Let's go," said Qwilleran, grabbing the cat. "He's not in good form tonight."
"We should think about leaving," Mitch said as they emerged from the basement and saw the sky illuminated with blue lightning.
"I'll drive you home," Qwilleran offered, "so have another glass of cider before you go." The four paraded back to the kitchen.
"This is good stuff," said Mitch. "Did it come from Trevelyan's cider mill? They throw in bruised apples, windfalls, worms and everything. My grandfather insisted on using perfect apples, and it was the flattest cider anybody ever tasted."
The two men talked about leaf raking, the hotel business, and Scottish history, but Kristi was quiet and introspective. Finally she said softly, "Emmaline will walk tonight."
The men glanced at each other and then at her. She said, "Qwill, would you like to see Emmaline? Mitch has seen her twice."
"Yes, I would," he said. The downpour had started. They collected their jackets and ran for the steel barn. As they drove up Black Creek Lane torrents of water slapped the windshield. As they turned into the Fugtree drive, flashes of lightning silhouetted the Victorian house against an electric blue sky. No one spoke. They dashed for the side door and arrived in the kitchen wet. Still there was no conversation. Wordlessly Kristi draped their wet jackets over kitchen chairbacks. She turned on no lights, but she beamed a flashlight at the floor to lead them into the foyer. Groping through the incredible clutter they found their way to the massive staircase and sat on the stairs to wait in the dark, smelling the mustiness of the house, feeling the vibration from thunderclaps overhead, hearing the rain slap against the tall narrow windows, seeing the panes glow blue with each lightning flash. They waited.
"She's coming!" Kristi whispered. No one dared to breathe.
The men stared in rapt silence. Kristi shuddered and gasped.
Qwilleran found his blood running cold. The minutes ticked away.
Then Kristi broke into tears. "Wasn't she beautiful?" she sighed.
"Beautiful!" Mitch said in a half-whisper.
"Incredible!" Qwilleran said under his breath.
The three sat quietly for a while, each with private thoughts. The rain relented; the tumult subsided; and Qwilleran brought himself to murmur, "What can I say?... Thank you... Good night." He squeezed Kristi's hand, touched Mitch's shoulder, and found his way out of the house. "My God!" he said aloud, sitting in the driver's seat, reluctant to turn on the ignition.
At home he dropped into his wing chair and fell into a reverie so deep that he didn't hear the vehicle pulling up to the door. The brass knocker startled him. He jumped up and opened the door, saying, "Mitch! Did you forget something?"
"Just wanted to talk for a minute - without Kristi."
"Come into the kitchen and get that wet jacket off. Do you want a cup of coffee before you drive home?"
"It might be a good idea."
"Put another log on the fire while I make the coffee." "Sorry to come back so late."
"Forget it! What's on your mind?"
Mitch gave him a searching look. "Tell me honestly, Qwill. Did you see Emmaline?"
"Did you?" Qwilleran asked, returning the intent gaze.
"I've never seen her," the young man confessed.
"To tell the truth," Qwilleran said, "I didn't see her either, but I felt a chill. I sensed an invisible presence. Perhaps I was reacting to Kristi's emotion. Whatever, it was a memorable experience."
They drank coffee for a while without talking. Then Qwilleran said, "Have a doughnut." He pushed the plate across the table.
"Thanks. These are pretty good doughnuts."
"Kristi's an interesting young woman," Qwilleran said. "I worry about her - with Brent still at large."
"Is he dangerous?"
"Worse still, he's stupid! He was okay until they went Down Below and he started doing drugs. He fell apart. Used to be a good-looking guy, too. At least, Kristi thought so, I guess."
"If he's that far gone," Qwilleran speculated, "it won't take the police long to track him down. It takes a modicum of intelligence and some animal instinct to be a fugitive."
"You're right!" Mitch pushed the plate back across the table. "Doughnut?"
"Yes. They're not bad."
"Up front, Qwill, do you think I stand a chance of getting the museum job?"
"I'm on your side, Mitch, but it's in the hands of the museum board."
"I've been doing some lobbying, and most of them pledged their support, but Larry and Susan are dragging their feet - that's what it seems like."
"I'll see what I can do on your behalf."
"Sure appreciate it." Mitch stared into his coffee cup and fidgeted.
"Another doughnut, Mitch?" The plate went back across the table.
"Thanks."
Qwilleran read the signals. "Is there something else on your mind?"
"Well, when you were telling us about Iris hearing the noises, I thought of something I should tell you, something I heard recently from one of the old-timers. He got the story from an old blacksmith who used to shoe the Goodwinter horses... You know about the big funeral they had for Ephraim?"
"I certainly do! Thirty-seven carriages, fifty-two buggies, or was it the other way around?"
"This blacksmith told the old-timer that Ephraim wasn't in the coffin!"
"Why? Did he know why?"
"The family of the old miser was afraid he'd be dug up - by his enemies, you know - so they went through the motions of burying him in the cemetery, but actually he was secretly buried, here on the farm."
"Where? Do you know?"
"Under the house!"
"Now I've heard everything, Mitch. Do you believe that story?"
"I'm only telling you what I heard, Qwill, on account of what you said about Iris, and the way your cat is acting."
"Hmmm," Qwilleran said, stroking his moustache. "How about another cup of coffee?"
"Thanks, but I've got to be going. I'm on the day shift this week."
Qwilleran and Koko walked their guest to the door and watched the blue pickup drive away. The rain had stopped, but the trees were still dripping, and the night was dark. Koko was sniffing and peering into the blackness, and Qwilleran made a lunge for the cat before he could cross the threshold and disappear into the night.