Elaine Faber

In 1943, elderly sleuth, Agnes Odboddy, carries a 'package' to Pres. Roosevelt cross country by train, expecting Nazi spies to try and steal her package....

Agnes hurried down the train aisle before anyone else could beat her to the washroom. After brushing her teeth, washing her face, and smearing cold cream across her face, Agnes glanced into the mirror. She chuckled, noting that the cold cream made her face resemble a clown. Mid-chuckle, her smile faded. My purse! She’d left it in her berth, with the secret documents for President Roosevelt inside!

Agnes threw open the bathroom door and plunged down the aisle, cold cream still smeared over her face. What had she done? Oh, Lord above. Protect this idiot from her foolish ways.

The empty berth shrieked condemnation for her carelessness and neglect. Her purse was gone.

Oh, nooooo! Where was the porter who was supposed to be on guard, watching their belongings?

Agnes raced toward the far end of the car and found the porter, his head lolled to the side, his chair tipped back against the wall, sound asleep.

“Porter! Wake up!”

The young man jerked. The legs of his chair slammed to the floor. He jumped to his feet, his eyes blinking. “Yes, ma’am?” He touched his cap, his eyes wild, scanning from left to right. As he came to full wakefulness, he peered at Agnes, her cold-creamed face contorted in rage. His eyes looked like black marbles floating in pools of milk. He stepped back, his trembling hands outstretched. “I’s sorry. I won’t do it again!”

“Porter! Did you see someone getting into my berth? I’m the second one from the end.” Agnes pointed down the aisle.

The porter’s face turned several shades lighter. “No, ma’am. Sorry ma’am. I…I… I’m afraid I fell asleep.” He hung his head. “Are you going to tell my boss?” He lifted his head. “Is you a ghost?”

Agnes reached up and touched her cheek. “Oh, my goodness!” I didn’t even wash my face. No wonder I scared the living daylights out of him. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped at her cheeks. “I left the bathroom in such a hurry… But, then I discovered my purse missing from my berth!” Her heart raced as she uttered the dreadful words. And vanity clouded my good judgment! I’m such a fool.

His mouth trembled. Was he more concerned about her purse or getting caught sleeping on the job? “Missing? You’re sure you didn’t misplace it?” He hurried down the aisle toward her berth.

Agnes followed on his heels.

The porter yanked back Agnes’s curtain and glanced around her bed. Only the Bible lay on her pillow–.

The porter slid the suitcases from side to side and tossed the pillow to the other end of the bed. “Have you checked in your suitcase?”

“Don’t you think I’d remember if I put it in my suitcase?” Agnes huffed. What kind of an idiot does he think I am? On the other hand, what kind of an idiot was she to leave her purse sitting on the bed with secret documents inside and run around the train with cold cream smeared on her face? Chill bumps raced up her arms as the realization of the loss hit home. She had failed the President of the United States of America on the first day out the door. She blinked to hold back tears as the porter rifled through both of her suitcases.

“Can you describe it, ma’am? What was inside?”

Agnes shrugged. “It was black…um…well, never mind what it contained. It had my wallet and my money and…and…my train ticket and passport.” Tears trickled down her cheeks.

“I’ll question the passengers before report it to the conductor.” The porter’s face contorted again.

Weren’t they two of a kind? Both brought low by their own carelessness. “I’ll finish up in the washroom while you look.”

The porter nodded and hurried off, leaving Agnes to return to her interrupted ablutions.

Agnes washed the cold cream from her face and stared into the washroom mirror. The wrinkles in her forehead had deepened over the past few minutes and the sparkle that folks said she carried in her eyes seemed to have abandoned ship.

Agnes straightened her shoulders and forced a smile. She gave her hair a final pat and stepped out the washroom door, climbed into her bunk and pulled the curtain. She laid her head back on the pillow, clutched the Bible to her chest and began to pray.

See entire novel at Amazon  http://tinyurl.com/jn5bzwb   EBOOK - $3.99

This is an edited excerpt from Black Cat and the Secret in Dewey’s Diary. (Following an auto accident, Black Cat and Angel were found and taken to a veterinary office for treatment.)

The faint cry of cats filled the room. The technician set his carrier onto a table. Black Cat’s head throbbed. After a thorough examination of his eyes, ears, and mouth, the man washed a cut on Black Cat’s head and applied ointment. “There, there, now. You’re fine.” The doctor placed him back in a cage and snapped the latch

Black Cat crouched in the corner. Things didn’t look promising, and time wasn’t on his side. The doctor hadn’t said a word about Angel. Does that mean…? No. I won’t even consider that.

The room smelled of other cats, litter pans, and medicines. An overhead fan and air fresheners failed to neutralize the truth. This was a place where cats fought for their lives following injury or surgery, and many failed. His stomach churned at the scent of the sick and dying.

In the cage beside him, a grey tabby with tubes extending from his mouth and bandages around his torso, lost his fight with death and crossed the Rainbow Bridge. The faint aura of his spirit still hovered overhead. The cats in nearby cages grew still to honor the sacred moment. Perhaps they sensed the instant that the tabby peeked beyond the Bridge, and seeing a place of health, happiness and bliss beyond, willingly stepped over.

Safe journey, my friend. 

With a heavy heart, Black Cat put his head on his front paws. The door opened and a young woman entered. He couldn’t watch as she placed the tabby cat’s body into a cardboard box. He didn’t want to hear the sound of the litter pan scraping the metal floor as it was pulled from the cage. He couldn’t listen to the squish squish of the disinfectant bottle, as she wiped the cage clean of the tabby’s scent and readied it for its next inhabitant.

If Angel returned from where doctors labored and cats struggled between life and death, would she be placed in the disinfected cage? It was good that he was on the other side of the wire where he could add his healing thoughts and prayers when she awoke. Or was that empty cage the inevitable gateway to the Rainbow Bridge, and the wire wall would keep him from reaching her or kissing her good-bye as she crossed over?

Would he ever see her again? With the future uncertain, he squeezed his eyes tighter. Concentrate on the now. That’s what cats do. Accept the inevitable and dismiss the pain from his memory. He assessed the scents and sounds in the room. Furry toes scratched kitty litter… The click and whish of a machine administering oxygen to a seriously ill cat… The occasional whine of pain...

How many times had he scorned the inferior humans, laughed at their inability to forgive or work out their differences without violence? How often had he assured Angel of cats’ superiority and rejoiced that he was not human. But, at this moment, he would give eight of his nine lives for opposable thumbs that could undo the latch and search for Angel. What would he give for two human arms to carry her away?

***

Black Cat and the Secret in Dewey’s Diary is available at Amazon (ebook $ 3.99) https://tinyurl.com/vgyp89s

Thumper, the cat in the Black Cat Mysteries, is best described as having human emotions, thoughts, ideas, and knowledge but only the capabilities of a cat.

Black Cat’s Legacy, Thumper has waited at the lodge for someone to return to solve the 25- year- old cold case murder. With the aid of his ancestors’ memories, he points out clues to help Kimberlee and her associates solve the mystery. Of course, someone stands in the way and creates chaos. Throw in a bit of romance and intrigue, a touch of espionage and a smidgen of fantasy and you have a real page turner.

Thumper plays a bigger POV role in the sequel, Black Cat and the Lethal Lawyer. By meeting his soul-mate, Noe-Noe, a cream tabby with eyes the color or mustard and stripes the color of marigolds, he has opportunity for more POV scenes and humorous conversations. Set on a Texas horse ranch, Thumper must stop a killer bent on harming Grandmother, even though she has her own wicked agenda.

In the novel, Black Cat and the Accidental Angel Thumper and Noe-Noe are left behind following an MVA. Thumper suffers a head injury and memory loss. For whatever reason, Noe-Noe says, “Call me Angel. I’m here to take care of you,” refusing to share their previous life or either of their real names. What follows is a journey where Thumper, now called Black Cat in their new home on an Emu farm, experiences a spiritual journey of human emotions that include fear, loss, grief, shame, faith, jealousy, despair and joy as he learns, with the assist of divine intervention, that there are more important things than knowing your own name. (yes…there is an angel)

Black Cat and the Secret in Dewey’s Diary  . This is a dual story with Black Cat and Angel facing difficulties back in their hometown, and an unsolved murder affecting one of the main characters. Meanwhile, Kimberlee and Dorian follow clues found in a WWII soldier’s diary, sending them to Austria to search for a missing treasure in stolen gold coins. Of course, someone is determined to beat them to the prize, putting Kimberlee in danger.

The fourth Black Cat mystery is on the drawing board, TBP probably in 2025. Back to Eagle Pass, Texas, the illegal border issues creates murder and havoc involving a kidnapped immigrant child, illegal drugs, and a disputed inheritance over  Grandma's will! Oh my!

The Story Behind the Story of Black Cat and the Secret in Dewey’s Diary

In 1987, my daughter, Londa Faber, and I went to Austria and Germany. While there, we experienced a number of peculiar events and heard an odd tale of folklore that inspired me to write a poem…

The key to the treasure is in Hopfgarten.

Touch the feet of the babe that lies beneath the king,

In the place where the storm clouds…

Are frightened away by the ring.

Over the years, I wrote three fictionalized short stories based on the sights, sounds, scenery, feelings and insights we experienced in Austria. Black Cat and the Secret in Dewey’s Diary includes true elements of our experiences mixed with the fictional story in this full-length cozy mystery novel. The poem I wrote that sleepless night became the catalyst for the story of the secret in Dewey's diary.

Black Cat and The Secret in Dewey’s Diary is a dual tale, with half of the story taking place in Fern Lake where Black Cat and Angel face challenges aplenty, and the other half of the story in Austria and Germany as Dorian and Kimberlee follow the clues in a WWII soldier’s diary, searching for a treasure in gold coins, missing since short after the end of WWII.

Amazon e-book $3.99

https://tinyurl.com/vgyp89s

Elaine’s Website –http://www.mindcandymysteries.com

Email your questions or comments to Elaine.Faber@mindcandymysteries.com

Amazon reviews are welcomed.

Mrs. Odboddy Hometown Patriot is FREE at AMAZON from today, 05-25-24 through 05-29-24. Below is an edited excerpt from Mrs. Odboddy's encounter with a Japanese air balloon while she stands duty at an ocean watchtower.  Download the novel for free at  http://tinyurl.com/hdbvzsv (Reg. price $3.99 ebook).

Agnes put binoculars to her eyes again. An air balloon? Round and white, not like the popular passenger air balloons she’d seen at the county fair. Maybe a weather balloon, blown off course?

Closer now.

Long ropes connected a conglomeration of tangled thing-a-ma-bobs hanging from a wheel-shaped device beneath the balloon. Two small sandbags dislodged from the device and plummeted into the ocean. With their release, the balloon made a sharp ascent, veered slightly and then dipped again—its descent now on a direct trajectory toward the watch tower.

She grabbed the microphone. “Station thirty-two, coast watch. Over.” Hurry, hurry! Answer, hang it!

“Station thirty-two. Go ahead. Over.”

“I’ve sighted what appears to be a giant white air balloon, descending slowly, about 700 feet elevation, approximately one-quarter mile off shore. At this  rate, it will likely reach shore fairly close to my location within two or three minutes. Umm…over!”

“An air balloon? Are you sure? hold on.” Excited broken words crackled in the background. “Explosives…government…black-out…ocean…”

“Station thirty-two. Keep an eye on it. We’re sending troops ASAP. Over.”

“But, what is it? What—?”

“Sorry, ma’am. Top-secret. I’m not at liberty to discuss…. If it lands, give us a—”

“What do you mean you can’t discuss it? How can it be top secret? I’m staring at it with my two bald eyes. It’s less than a quarter of a mile away, headed directly toward the watch tower. What should I—”

“If it lands on the beach anywhere near you, get out of there. It may explode on impact.”

“Explode? Thanks a bunch.” The giant contraption still descended, fifteen feet wide and over seventy feet tall, including the ropes and the device below. A bomb hung beneath the circular device. Agnes’s heart pummeled. If she left the watch tower, she could reach her car and drive away before the thing landed. Desert her post? Not on your tin-type! No way would she let the enemy steal her car and sneak into town to raise havoc. If there was a Japanese gunman on board, she’d have to deal with him. But, how?

What would Ellery Queen do? She drew herself up to her full five foot, one and three-eighths inches and glared through the binoculars.

The air balloon was closer now, its outline and features clearly visible. The radio technician said explosive—that it might explode on impact. The air current was blowing it directly toward the watch tower!

Agnes grabbed the microphone. “Station thirty-two. Abandoning post! Over and out!”

Enjoy an edited excerpt from Mrs. Odboddy And Then There was a Tiger.

A stringent odor stirred Agnes to consciousness. Wild, earthy.

Where am I? Straw tickled her cheek. I must be in a barn.

Why hadn’t her abductor tied her up? He’d knocked her unconscious and used chloroform.

She would have to rely on her brilliant crime-fighting faculties if she was to get out of this alive. She struggled to sit up and put her hand to her head. Still dizzy, but clearing.

Brrrumm… Brrrumm

What was that sound? She shivered in the chill air and tilted her head to listen. It sounded almost like something scratching in the corner, like someone… or something… moving around in the darkness.

The light from the moon revealed the faintest outline of something vertical near her face… She reached and closed her fingers around a steel bar. A quick movement seven inches to the left and her hand smacked into another steel bar. She was in a cage! An animal cage? A stab of panic shot through her chest. She could almost see the front page of tomorrow’s Newbury Daily Gazette now. It is with a heavy heart we announce that Agnes Odboddy, almost regular attendee at The First Church of the Evening Star and Everlasting Light, exemplary citizen and unparalleled volunteer for causes both large and small, was eaten alive by a wild animal.

No one would think she was kidnapped and foully murdered. Maybe someone would wonder why she had willingly entered an animal cage, but knowing the daft stunts she had pulled in the past, they would not wonder long.

Now, how to defend herself against a wild animal? She pulled a silver chopstick from her hair. Stainless steel and sharp, it would be a lethal weapon against a human, but wasn’t very effective against a wild beast.

Brrrumm… Brrrumm…

That noise again from the corner! She scrambled to her feet, holding the chopstick in front of her. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Waves of dizziness threatened to send her spinning again. Not now. Stay strong, Agnes. Don’t give up! She took a step forward, ready to fight to the death, but her wretched body defied her best intentions. Which way was up and which down? Her legs felt like noodles. Not now! Not now! The strong smell of animal urine assailed her nostrils. And then, the edges of her consciousness turned to black.

Slurp…  Slurp…

The ringing in her ears subsided. The blackness faded, consciousness returned… then panic as she became aware of a sandpaper-like sensation rasping across her neck… her cheek… her mouth. Instantly awake, her hand flew to her wet face.

The clouds had thinned and in the ensuing moonlight, the faint outline of a giant tiger, not six inches from her face! The knot in her throat tightened. Sure that her life was measured in seconds, the prayer of every Christian at the moment of death came to mind. Lord, forgive this sinner and open the pearly gates.

She scrabbled through the straw, searching for the chopstick she had dropped when she fainted. Unable to locate the chopstick, she scrambled to her feet. What good would the tiny scrap of metal do, anyway? If she was destined to be the beast’s dinner, he’d accomplish the deed whether standing with a chopstick in her hand or on her knees, mumbling in prayer.

Brrrumm… Brrrumm…

Why did it sounded so content? Was the tiger tickled at the prospect of chasing down a live meal, instead of finding it on the end of a stick?

She’d have to fight the beast bare-handed.

The creature moved forward, and threw back his head. RRROWWW!!

****

Amazon  $3.99 e-book http://tinyurl.com/yx72fcpx

Feral cats lived in the bushes next to my worksite. I watched the Mama Cat grow heavy with kittens. She eventually came to me, knowing she would be fed.

And then I saw them—three skinny, hungry little waifs, with sticky eyes nearly closed with infection. I crawled under the bushes, trying to catch them. “Here kitten, kitten.”

And the rose-colored kitten came to me. I placed her in a box and went back for the other two.

“Here, kitten, kitten.” I crawled further under the bramble bushes.

How could they know how different their lives would be if they came to me? How could they know there would be catnip toys, three meals a day, no fleas, and a warm bed.

"Here, Kitten, kitten."

I had the tortoiseshell kitten by the scruff of her neck and placed her in the box next to her sister. The box trembled as they scratched toward the top. Their mewing became more insistent as I crawled further into the bushes, trying to reach the black baby. Lord knows I tried, but I couldn't catch him. My fingers brushed the tips of his soft fur as he disappeared into the bushes. I had to leave him behind.

Months have passed and the rose-colored kitten and her tortoiseshell sister scamper through the house, frolic up and down the cat pole, sprawl across my lap and kick and fight each other in mock battle. At night they curl together on a soft bed with tummies full of kitten Friskies and dream of catnip mice.

“Here kitten, kitten.”

They hear my voice and run to me, reaching their little feet up my leg, begging to be picked up, purring with delight as I rub their little heads. They don’t remember the day I left their brother behind. But I do.

And I think of him, living in the bushes, perhaps hungry, perhaps sick, never knowing the joy of a human touch. And I think about the moment he chose to run from me. How could he know that running away would alter his life?

He’s still there, they tell me, those who catch a glimpse of him. He’s a feral cat now, hungry, ragged, one of the untouchables, frightened at the sound of a human voice.

That little black cat represents all the suffering in the world I have no power to change. I think of all the sick bodies I cannot heal, the hungry mouths I cannot feed, those living in oppression I cannot free.

That little cat has a body I could heal, a mouth I could feed, and a life I could make joyful. And, so, from time to time, I return to the bushes, and call, hoping one day he will respond.

“Here kitten, kitten. Please come to me. Let me change your life…”

****

How like that kitten we are, when our Lord calls and we turn away and run, searching for something, not knowing what we seek. Like the black kitten, frightened of what we don’t believe or can’t understand, we run, unwilling to surrender.

Jesus promises to forgive our sins. He promises eternal life and comfort in time of sorrow. He offers a personal relationship with our Him and His Heavenly Father.

Jesus calls, “Come to me, Kitten, Kitten. Trust me and I will show you a better life. Follow Me, and I will fill your life with joy and peace.”

Many hear His call but turn away. And still Jesus calls. “Here Kitten, Kitten. Please come.”

My latest published novel, Spirit Woman Legends and Lies is now available at Amazon for just $3.99 (e-book). (https://tinyurl.com/ym2t37yy)

The Spirit Woman and her mountain lion companion are once again sighted in the hills near Lockleer Mountain.

Shortly after Joe and his brother, Cyrus, quarrel over the ownership of a winning million-dollar lottery ticket, Cyrus’s mutilated body is found in the mountains, ravaged by the local wildlife.

When stolen hospital drugs are found in the dead man’s home, murder is suspected. Sighting of the Spirit Woman and her mountain lion are once again seen in the nearby mountains. Has she returned to aid the troubled town? And, surely there is enough trouble to warrant her return.

Lou Shoemaker, owner of the local sewer truck, the Pooper Scooper, befriends Rosita Ramirez, a transient with two children, who came to Lockleer Mountain to sell tamales. Soon, gossip erupts about Rosita and the local Baptist pastor. The church deacons fear the gossip will discourage the membership and destroy the church. Deputy Nate and Sheriff Peabody must find and expose a killer and track down the perpetrator of the gossip, or the pastor will be forced to leave the church.

Will the Spirit Woman and her companions resolve the troubles that plague the rural community?

We quarreled this morning. I threw his favorite blue cup across the room and it shattered on the hearth. I screamed “I hate you!,” and ran out the door. I kicked the tires on my car.

I was angry all morning. Every time the phone rang, I was sure he was calling to apologize. Why didn’t he call? I wasn’t about to call him. He was wrong, right?

The afternoon dragged by. Now it’s 5:00 P.M., and I left the office. … The traffic was terrible and I was anxious to get home. It’s not that I was sorry. It’s his fault we quarreled, but it’s too tiring to stay mad. I want things to be the same between us.

The cars crept along the freeway and I checked my watch.

He should be home by now, waiting for me, listening to music, drinking a glass of red wine. I’m sure he bought me flowers. I can’t wait to see what color he chose. If they’re red, I know he still loves me.

Rain and leaves swirled across the highway and gathered on the edge of my windshield. My eyes stung with tears as I remember saying, “I hate you.” The wind shield wipers swished, and seemed to repeat, “hate-shoo, hate-shoo, hate-shoo.” I didn’t mean it. I reached in my purse for my cell phone and touched a melted chocolate candy kiss, his gift to me. I licked the chocolate off my fingers and smiled, remembering the night not so long ago and his words, “This kiss signifies my love.”

How I yearn to tell him I’m sorry, even if he was wrong. I want his arms around me. I want his lips to caress my throat. I want everything to be as it was before we quarreled.

I pull into the driveway, but I don’t see his car. It must be parked in the garage. I know he heard me pull in, and even now, I imagine him rushing to the door with a glass of wine and the flowers. In a minute, I’ll be in his arms. He’ll kiss me and whisper, “I’m sorry…”

I turn the handle on the front door. Why is it locked? I pull my key from my purse  and unlock the door. The room is empty. I call his name. Where can he be?

A gust of wind rushes in, slamming the door behind me. My heart pounds as my gaze is drawn to another chocolate candy kiss as it rolls off the table. A single sheet of paper flutters in the air and settles to the floor...

                             Elaine Faber

Did you ever hear what happened at the Leger Hotel in Mokelumne Hills? Probably not, because I doubt there was anything in the papers about it. Nobody cares much about ghosts anymore. Well, it happened sort of like this.

Mom was Dad rented a room at the Leger Hotel the week before Halloween. The Hotel brochure said the place was haunted, Of course, they took Sissy and me along because we were still too young to stay home alone. Mom had some idea that kittens would enjoy the cultural experience.

Sissy and I stayed in the room while they went exploring. How did mom think we could have a cultural experience from the hotel room? I think it was an excuse because she couldn’t be away from us.

Sissy and I spent the first hour exploring every nook and cranny, looking out the window onto the 2^nd floor balcony where the prostitutes used to sit, advertising their wares. I didn’t make that up. That’s what we heard the maid say. We crawled in the fireplace and under the claw-foot tub in the bathroom. We felt “something”, but we couldn’t exactly figure out what it was.

That’s when I heard the voice. My hair stood on end and my tail fluffed up. I just made out the faint wispy outline of an old guy on the sofa, wearing an old miner’s hat. His face was covered with gray whiskers and he was missing a few teeth. He looked pretty scary!

Sissy was sleeping. She’s not like me. She’s all quiet and prissy. I’m usually awake and looking for trouble. So this old guy waves a gnarled hand and says, “Can ya’ help me? I need help to move on.”

There wasn’t anyone in the room, so I figured he must be talking to me, so I says, “Are you talking to me? I’m a cat.”

“I can see that. Maybe you can help me more than anybody, you bein’ a cat and all.”

“Are you a ghost?”

“Yeah. Guess so. Name’s Joe Harrigan. I died in 1876. My partner and me had a little mine nearby and we usta' come to town on weekends. They hanged me for killin’ my partner, but I didn’t. I shoulda’ gone on to whatever comes next, but since I was innocent, they couldn’t send me to Hell, but bein’ convicted for murder, all official-like in a Court a’ Law, Heaven said they couldn’t take me neither. I’ve been stuck here in this room ever since, tryin’ to get somebody to help me clear my name so's I can cross over.”

“Why hasn’t anyone helped you before?”

“Some folks can see me, but I can’t make them hear me. They run off yellin,’ “I seen a ghost! I seen a ghost!” and change rooms. Sometimes there’s a dog stay in the room. They can see and hear me, but they growl or hide under the bed. Maybe cats is more understandin’?”

Sissy was awake now. She puffed her fur up, and her eyes got all big. “Whaaat’s going on?”

“Calm down, scardy-cat. It’s just an old ghost. They hanged him so he can’t move on. He wants us to help him.”

“What can we do? We’re cats!”

I was about to agree when Mom and Dad came in. The ghost melted away, so we couldn’t ask any more questions.

“What’s up with Sissie Amber? She looks like a porcupine!” Mom said.

“Maybe she’s seen a ghost!” says Dad, and both of them fell down laughing on the bed and got all kissie. Sissie and I tossed sand from the litterbox onto the hearth, to let them know what we thought about such nonsense.

A while later, Mom and Dad went to dinner and locked us in the room. We waited for the ghost to come back again but he didn’t. Mom and Dad came back and went to bed. We could see ghostly shadows all over the room and chased them around for the next three hours until Mom tossed us into the bathroom.

About 6:00 AM, I clawed the door and woke up Dad. He hasn’t needed an alarm clock since we came to live here. I just claw the door and howl, and like Pavlov’s dog, he’s out of bed, opens the door, and feeds us. Just three or four days of repetition and humans are fairly easy to train.

Mom and Dad went off to breakfast and left us in the room. So much for day two of our cultural experience. The old guy showed up about 9:00 AM. His aura faded in and out, much fainter than the day before. His hands trembled when he spoke. “Look, girls, I think I’m about at the end of my rope…no pun intended… If I don’t get some help movin’ on pretty soon, I don’t think I’ll ever make it.”

“But, you never said how we could help you,” I exclaimed.

“There’s a secret panel in the back of the old armoire in the corner. I hid a paper inside the panel. My partner writ out his will, tellin’ how he accidentally shot hisself’ cleanin’ his gun. After I buried him, I was grieving’ his death and come to town to get drunk. I hid that Will in the armoire before I went to the bar. I told um’ my partner was dead and they thought I kilt’ him to get the mine all to myself. One thing led to another until someone got a rope. They had a trial, but I was so drunk, I plumb forgot to tell um’ about that air’ Will in the armoire. So they hanged me.

“Bein’ dead sorta’ cleared my head and I remembered the Will, but it was too late. I’ve been ‘ahoverin’ ever since, hopin’ someone would find the Will and clear my name, so’s I can get a crack at Heaven, which it’s doubtful I deserve, but I’d like to give it a try!”

Sissy and I jumped off the bed and clawed at the door of the armoire. We got the door open and began clawing at the back wall of the paneling.

“That’s it!  Right there!  Give it all you got, girls. If you push on it, it sorta’ slides in. There! You can see the paper stickin' out?”

“You can do it, SissyAmber! Go for it!”

Amber had plenty of practice pulling thumbtacks out of bulletin boards and pulling papers off the wall. She grabbed the paper with her teeth and pulled it out.

Old Joe was pretty excited. Mom and Dad came into the room about then and saw us pawing at the paper.

“What have you girls been doing? What’s that?” Mom picked up the faded paper with teeth marks in the corners… I was quick to explain that if anybody was in trouble, I didn’t have anything to do with it... Mom read the paper.

Joe, he didn’t shoot me. I done it kleenin my gun.  I got no fambly and my frend Joe Harrigan otta have my shar a the mine. Sined July 1876  George Wales

“Where did this come from?” Mom asked.

“It looks like they were inside the armoire,” Dad said. “The door’s open and the paneling on the back wall is pushed in.”

“Let’s take it down to the manager and see what they make of it.”

Mom and Dad put on our collars and leashes and carried us downstairs to the manager’s office. At last, our cultural experience!

“Our girls found this in the armoire up in Room two. This old paper looks like a handwritten Last Will and Testament. Your Historic Society should see this,” Mom said.

“My goodness, yes. I know the name, Joe Harrigan. He was hanged for killing his partner, old George. They say Joe haunts Room two. Indeed, the Historic Society will be very interested! Poor old Joe. So, he was innocent after all. He’s buried up on boot hill. Folks go up to see his headstone. Your cats are heroes!”

Mom and Dad drove us to the cemetery and found old Joe’s headstone. Poor old guy. I guess The Leger Hotel added a postscript to their brochures about the ghost of the miner who was hanged by mistake at the hotel. I don’t think anybody in the news media paid much attention. Hopefully, someday, the courts will clear his name.

We never heard about old Joe’s ghost again. I think he must have been able to move on. I expect St. Peter gave old Joe a fair trial when he got to Heaven. He sure never got one at the Leger Hotel in Mokelumne Hills!