Mickelsson's Ghosts by John Gardner (guided reading books .TXT) 📕

couch, he in the rocking chair across from her—and she’d taken her first sip, raising the saucer and cup together, using both hands, “never a dull minute in Seskehenna!”

He waited, encouraging her with a look. Tim, losing interest in the keys, went over to stand at the door of the new diningroom, thoughtfully puffing at his pipe, looking in.

“That whole tragic business about the Spragues, I mean,” the doc said. She sighed, giving a little wave with her left hand, and took another sip of tea.

Mickelsson nodded, then glanced at her, reconsidering. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Why, you know,” she said, “three or four years ago they were the nicest people you could imagine, except for one or two oddities—but we all have our oddities.” She smiled, inviting agreement. “But then one thing after another stahrted happening, and the Spragues just changed overnight till you wouldn’t’ve known them. Broke off with all their friends; pretty soon even the relatives wouldn’t visit. …” She leaned forward. “And then those really odd things stahrted happening, the un-explainable mutilations. That awful business about Tommy Sprague’s body, it’s nothing new, you know.” She leaned forward more, confidential, her eyes oddly merry and full of light, though her expression was one of concern. “The same thing happened to the Spragues’ pigs three years ago.”

“Wait now,” Mickelsson said, “what awful business?”

“You didn’t hear?” she asked, brightening more. “Why, the body was all cut up, just as if someone had attacked it with a switch, or maybe a torch, or some kind of animal had got to it. No more clue to what did it than there was with the pigs.”

“You mean to say—” he broke in, not quite registering, trying to slow her down. He looked toward Tim for help, but the young man’s broad-shouldered back told him nothing.

Dr. Bauer nodded emphatically. “He was all cut to ribbons, big slash across his throat. That’s what killed him, you know. At first they thought the poor man froze to death and then gaht mauled by the snow-plow, but it wasn’t so. No sir. Something gaht to him. I suppose it must’ve been a bear, though heaven only knows. There were odd little cuts on him, anyway, especially the face. It was a friend of mine down at the hospital that examined the body. They’re expecting to do a full autopsy day after tomorrow, or maybe Wensdee. But they won’t learn a thing, you know, and though they question people till Doomsday, they’ll never get a clue.”

Tim turned, smiling with what looked like simple sociability, the pipe in his hand, and came over to sit on the end of the couch not far from Dr. Bauer. He looked from one to the other of them as if enjoying the conversation but thinking it not his place to take part in it—as if he were a boy among adults, or just the doc’s chauffeur.

“But what’s the explanation?” Mickelsson asked almost crossly. “Are you saying it’s witchcraft?” He gave a sudden ironic laugh. “UFOs you think?”

“Maybe there is no explanation.” She smiled, delighted that it might be so.

“There’s always some explanation,” he said. He glanced over at Tim, who smiled.

“Well, you’re the philahsapher,” Dr. Bauer said. “I suppose you must be right. Maybe he fell in the brush or, as I say, a bear gaht to him. But my own opinion is … well, you know, the world’s what you make of it.” She shook her head. “Ever since the tragedy—I guess you know abowt that, how his daughter passed away, one of those freak anesthesia reactions—” She paused, apparently losing her thread. She covered by taking a sip of her tea. “What I was saying,” she said at last, brightening again, very gently setting down the cup and saucer, “Tommy changed all at once, and somehow or another …”

Mickelsson was thrown, then remembered that “Tommy” was her name for old Sprague. “The world changed to suit his view of it?” he suggested.

“Well, no,” she said, and blinked. “Heaven knows,” she said then, eager to dismiss the whole business, out of her depth. “I don’t really believe in such silliness, of course.”

Tim said, “There’s a laht of strange things in this world, though—more strange things than naht!” He laughed. She too laughed and gave a helpless little gesture, admitting it might well be so, not caring to pursue it.

But Mickelsson wasn’t quite ready to move on. “I’ve been wondering”—he cleared his throat—“what was it that frightened you, the last time you were here?”

Her whole face lifted, almost sparkled, prepared to hear marvels. “Frightened me?”

“You nearly killed me,” he said. He smiled and made a feeble pass with his pipe to show he bore no grudge. “You remember almost having an accident, just down the road?” He pointed.

“Was that you, Prafessor?” she cried, almost joyful. “Good gracious, I’m so sorry!”

“Oh, it’s all right,” he said, faintly annoyed at her reaction, but again waved it away. He drew his pipe back to his lips and found that it was out. “The thing is,” he said, “I know you were up there at Spragues’, and I know about the lawsuit, of course—”

“Yes, I see!” She looked trapped, though not displeased by the fact. She went on merrily smiling, brighter than sunlight on ice. He wished suddenly that Jessie were here—for many reasons, among others because she could check his perceptions and because it seemed that the mystery was about to be solved. Without her, the pleasure of the detective game paled. The thought of her brought other thoughts less pleasant. As if the ground had opened up.

“Well, that’s over,” the doctor said, almost regretful, it seemed to Mickelsson. “He never had a chance with that suit of his, you know—the whole thing was downright insane, really; it’s a wonder he found a lawyer. But now that poor Tom’s gone …” She shook her head once more, smiling with what seemed pity except for the sparkle in her eyes. She turned to include Tim