Stacey And The Haunted Masquerade (10 page)

"One, and two, and three," Haley said, raising her arms as if conducting an orchestra. She and Charlotte sang in unison while Matt signed emphatically, three verses and two choruses of the Ghostbusters song, ending with a shouted "Who you gonna call? GHOST-BUSTERS!"

Mary Anne and I applauded loudly. Then we looked at each other solemnly. "I guess they're ready," I said.

"Sure looks like it," Mary Anne agreed. "Okay, kids, where are you going to start?"

Haley rolled her eyes, as if the question were a ridiculous one. "In the attic, of course," she replied. "That’s the most likely spot for ghosts. Then we'll work our way down through the house, checking in every closet and under every bed."

"If we find any slime, I'm all ready to take a sample," said Charlotte.

Matt signed something quickly, and Haley

translated, "And Matt says he's all set to take readings."

"Let's go, then," I said, leading the way toward the attic stairs. I gave Mary Anne a Look over the kids' heads, one that said, "Don't forget, we're searching for signs of Elizabeth Connor." She nodded, and I knew she'd understood.

Up in the attic, a single bare bulb cast a little light in the center of the room, but the rest of the attic was in shadow. The kids went wild. They poked into every corner, shouting for any hidden ghosts to come out and face their fate. Charlotte aimed her flashlight into every nook and cranny, while Matt followed her with a serious look on his face and the ghost detector at the ready. Haley stood by, waiting to hear that somebody had found a ghost so she could collect it.

Meanwhile, Mary Anne and I quickly searched the attic. I was checking lor any boxes or trunks that might have been left behind by previous occupants, while Mary Anne peered into the spaces between the eaves, looking for, as she told me in a whisper, "letters or notes or anything Elizabeth might have left."

Unfortunately, the Johanssens' attic is one of the neatest, tidiest attics I've ever seen. We didn't find a thing.

Apparently, the kids didn't either. "I think we can declare this area free of ghosts," said Haley, after they'd toured the entire attic. "Do you agree, Dr. Braddock?" She was looking at Matt, and she signed as she spoke. Matt nodded vehemently. "How about you. Doctor Johanssen?" she asked Charlotte.

"The readings show no signs of ghosts," agreed Charlotte. "And there's no sign of any slime. I think we can move on."

Charlotte led the way down the stairs, and her two friends trooped behind her as she headed into her bedroom. "I've checked this area before," she said, "but you can't be too careful." Her "colleagues" agreed. Again, the kids went over every square inch of the room.

So did Mary Anne and I. Only we weren't looking for ghosts. We were looking for — what? I wasn't even sure. What kind of signs might Elizabeth have left behind? I puzzled over that problem as I poked around near Charlotte's bookcase.

"Psst!" I heard Mary Anne hiss, and I turned to see her waving me over to Charlotte's closet door. "Check it out!" she said, pointing to the doorframe. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks were pink. Obviously she'd found something very interesting.

"Check what out?" I asked.

"The doorframe" she said.

"What about it?" I asked. I gave it a quick look, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary.

"Look closer," she said. "See the marks?"

I bent to examine the wood more closely. Just then, somebody tapped me on the shoulder, and I jumped. But it was only Charlotte. "We're moving on to the next room," she said. "Meet you there?"

"Sure," I said. "Find any ghosts in here?"

She shook her head. "Nothing so far. But we will. I'm sure of it." She headed off, followed by Matt and Haley.

I turned back to the doorframe and inspected it carefully. Then I saw what Mary Anne had been talking about. "Awesome," I breathed. "So she really did live here." There, on the wood, covered lightly with one coat of white paint, were height markings for "Elizabeth." One for each year, from the time she was only tall enough to reach my belly button to the time she was just about the same height as Mary Anne is now.

"We're on the right track, anyway," said Mary Anne, "even if this doesn't tell us much about her."

"Let’s keep looking," I said. "You never know what we might find."

After that, we trailed the kids through the house, always staying about one room behind as they checked for ghosts and we sought signs of Elizabeth Connor. As far as I could tell from what I overheard the kids saying, they weren't finding much. Neither were we.

The last place we all checked was the basement, and the kids swept through it quickly. Finally, Charlotte gave up. "I guess I've scared all the ghosts out of this house already," she told Mary Anne. "Can we go to the kitchen and have some cookies? Mom said I could have two for dessert."

"Sure," said Mary Anne. "Go on up. We'll be there in a second."

The kids thundered up the stairs, leaving Mary Anne and me alone in the dimly lit basement. "This is our last chance," she said. "Let’s look carefully."

Five minutes later, I was ready to give up too. "There's nothing here," I said. "We'd better head upstairs and make sure the kids are all right."

"Hold on, hold on," said Mary Anne, bending to look at a spot on the floor. "What's this?" She brushed away some dirt and looked more closely. I joined her, and saw a place where the cement floor had been patched with a lighter-colored cement. Etched into the

patched place were these letters, inside a heart:

"L.C. and Mister?" Mary Anne said, in a puzzled voice.

"No!" I cried. Just then, I felt as if one of those cartoon light bulbs was flashing on over my head. "Liz Connor and Mike Rothman."

Chapter 13.

Liz Connor and Mike Rothman. Mike Rothman and Liz Connor. Could it be true? Maybe I was going nuts. After all, I was taking some pretty wild guesses. I had no idea, really, whether or not Elizabeth Connor was known as "Liz." In fact, I knew next to nothing about Elizabeth Connor. Still, I couldn't help thinking that she was the key, and that solving this twenty-eight-year-old mystery would help us figure out what was happening at SMS now. And it sure was a mystery. For example, what about those other initials? Did MR really stand for Mike Rothman? And was that Mike Rothman the same Mike Rothman I knew?

These were the questions chasing each other through my mind on Wednesday afternoon as I stood in the middle of the gym, holding one end of a roll of red crepe paper while Todd walked away from me, unfurling it to its full length. The dance was only two days away,

so Todd and I and the rest of the decorations committee were finally starting our real job: decorating the gym.

So far, it was hard to tell whether our theme was going to work. The gym, in broad daylight, is hardly the most romantic spot in the world. The floors are squeaky, there's dust everywhere, and a certain . . . odor hangs in the air, reminding you of the thousands of basketball games that must have been played there over the years.

It was hard to imagine the transformation that would have to take place by Friday night. Still, I had high hopes. I'd seen the gym transformed before, for other dances, and it’s always amazed me how magical the place can look. Magical and, yes, even romantic.

I let myself daydream a little about Friday night. Robert and I hadn't had much time for dating recently, so I was really looking forward to spending the evening with him. We'd decided to go as Morticia and Gomez Addams, because of the theme of the dance. I knew I would look bewitching in a long black wig and a form-fitting black dress, and I was sure Robert would look handsomer than ever, dressed as the dashing Gomez.

I tried to picture us together, having a terrific time at a terrific dance. We would drink punch and laugh with our friends. We'd dance wildly

to the fast songs, and then hold each other dose for the slow ones. It would be wonderful — wouldn't it?

I wasn't so sure. I couldn't ignore the fact that something was wrong. I had a bad feeling about this dance. It was almost as if someone had put a curse on it. And I couldn't shake the idea that unless I solved the mystery in time, the dance was going to be a disaster. Even the decorating committee was under the curse. Not only had our stuff been vandalized, but now Grace and Cokie weren't speaking to each other. Grace had found out that Cokie didn't believe in Ted and they'd had a huge fight. As a result, our meetings were a little more tense.

"Stacey! Heads up!" I looked up just in time to see Grace, who was standing on a stepladder, toss me a roll of purple crepe paper. I caught it with my free hand and held onto my end while she fastened the other end to a rafter. Meanwhile, Todd was securing the other end of the red roll to the wall over the main entrance. Rick and Cokie were setting up tables under one of the scoreboards, for punch and cookies. Mr. Rothman walked around, supervising and offering suggestions.

I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, trying not to be caught staring. Was he the Mike Rothman from the yearbook? If so, why hadn't he told us he'd attended SMS way back

when? Was he trying to hide something? "Mr. Rothman, Mr. Rothman!" Todd called.

"Can you help me over here?" "Sure, Todd. What can I do?" I watched as

Mr. Rothman walked to where Todd was

standing. "Take this end of the roll," Todd directed,

handing Mr. Rothman a new roll of red paper,

"and attach it up there." He pointed to a spot

on the other side of the gym. Grace had left

the ladder set up beneath it. "I'll hold this

end."

"Um, okay," said Mr. Rothman^ He started to walk toward the ladder, and then he

stopped. "Tell you what, Todd," he said.

"How about if you attach it?"

"Sure, no problem," said Todd. "You stand right here, then." Todd walked away from Mr. Rothman, unrolling the paper as he went. I looked back at Mr. Rothman just in time to see him wipe his brow. But it wasn't hot in the gym, not at all. In fact, it was downright chilly. Why was Mr. Rothman sweating?

I kept an eye on Mr. Rothman as he watched Todd climb the ladder, and suddenly, everything clicked into place. I saw the look on Mr. Rothman's face, and I knew why he hadn't wanted to climb that ladder. It was because he was afraid — make that terrified — of heights.

Just like the Mike Rothman whose file I'd seen in the basement.

That’s when I knew for sure that this Mike Rothman was the very same Mike Rothman who had been in the yearbook. And then and there, I decided it was time to find out more about what Mike Rothman knew.

I walked over to him. My mind was racing, but I couldn't figure out a clever way to bring up the subject. "Hi, Mr. Rothman."

"Hello, Stacey," he answered, smiling at me. "What’s on your mind?"

"Liz Connor," I said, without thinking. "Liz Connor is on my mind."

Mr. Rothman turned pale. For a second, I thought he was going to pass out. He let go of the crepe paper he was holding. "Liz Connor?" he said. "How do you know about Liz?"

That’s when I knew I had guessed right. He didn't try to deny anything, or make up ties about who he was. I was on my way to learning the truth. I took a deep breath, and explained what I knew so far. It didn't take long, since I didn't know much. I told him how I'd figured out his past, and then how I'd learned that a girl had been involved in that tragic dance long ago, and how my friends and I had figured out who the girl must be. (I sort of fudged the part about our explorations in the basement.) Then I told him about finding his

initials in the heart at Charlotte's house, and I saw him dose his eyes as if he were in pain.

'"That's it," I concluded. "That’s all I know. Now I need you to fill in the blanks."

He sighed. "I suppose it’s time," he said. "This story has been haunting me for twenty-eight years. Let’s go sit down, and I'll tell you all about it." He led me to a spot in the bleachers, away from everyone else. We sat together, and then he was quiet for a long time. I was about to ask him some questions, but finally he began to speak.

"I was on the football team," he said, in a faraway voice.

I pictured him in a helmet and uniform. That had been him in the yearbook.

"I was one of tile most popular kids in school," Mr. Rothman continued. "I was good-looking, I was fun to be with, and I was an excellent athlete." He looked at me. "I don't mean to sound stuck up, but it’s true. That’s just the way it was." He smiled a bittersweet smile. "The girls were crazy about me, but I didn't take advantage of that, the way some guys on the team did. My mother brought me up to be a gentleman, and that’s what I was. I dated, sure, but there was nobody special. And I treated all the girls with respect."

"What about Liz?" I asked. When was he going to answer my question?

"Liz," he said with a sigh. "Liz Connor was a shy girl. Quiet. Not giggly like the other girls. She wasn't popular. In fact, when she was noticed at all, it was only because somebody was making fun of her."

"But you noticed her," I prompted him.

"I was nice to her," he said. "I was nice to everybody. But since nobody else was nice to Liz, I guess it meant a lot to her. She developed a big crush on me — at least, according to the other kids. She didn't know they knew. She thought her crush was a secret. But it wasn't. It was a big joke to everybody."