The Ghost and Mrs. Hobbs (4 page)

“How about ‘When were you born?' ” suggested Brad.

Pam shook her head. “It's rude to ask people how old they are,” she proclaimed.

“Not in an interview. Right, Mr. Henry? Besides, we already know they're old or we wouldn't have picked 'em for Elders Day.”

Mr. Henry looked around at the class. “What do the rest of you think?”

Finally it was decided that it was okay to ask, and if the person didn't want to answer, that was okay, too.

Mr. Henry added that he wasn't too concerned
about the actual age of the subjects. “I'd rather you choose someone you're interested in, regardless of age,” he said. “Your parents are your elders, too, you know.”

“That makes you an elder, too!” said Joey. “Good thing you have us to keep you young, huh, Mr. Henry?”

“I don't know what I'd do without you, Joey. Now, what else might you want to ask in your interview?”

“How about asking if there's a certain day or event they remember for some reason?” suggested Wendy.

“Great idea,” Mr. Henry said.

As her classmates threw out other possible questions, Allie found her mind wandering. There was nothing she could do to stop it, even though she probably needed help more than anyone else in planning her interview. After her brief encounter with Mrs. Hobbs that morning, she was having a hard time even imagining how the conversation might go. Once she had asked about Mrs. Hobbs's promotion, what then?

“Mrs. Hobbs, all the students are scared to death of you. Rumor has it that you hate kids. Is this true?”

No.

“Mrs. Hobbs, a ghost made me pick you for my class project. Do you have any idea who it might be?”

No way.

“Mrs. Hobbs, your nickname is the Snapping Turtle. Would you care to comment?”

No, no, no.

“Allie?”

Startled, she looked up at Mr. Henry. “Earth to Allie,” he said with a little smile. “Were you able to see Mrs. Hobbs?”

“Yes,” she answered sheepishly.

“Did she agree to talk with you?”

“Yes. She wants me to come back at two o'clock tomorrow.”

“Well, that's fine,” said Mr. Henry. “You keep an eye on the clock tomorrow, and just leave when you need to.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

Allie's classmates were looking at her, their expressions showing sympathy mixed with relief that they were not in her shoes. All except for Karen, who smirked triumphantly at Allie's obvious unhappiness.

“Speaking of Mrs. Hobbs,” said Mr. Henry, “it's time we headed down to the cafeteria.”

Allie rose along with the others and got her lunch bag from her backpack. Mr. Henry caught her eye and said, “Allie, could I speak to you for a moment?”

As the class began walking down the hallway, Allie joined Mr. Henry at the end of the line.

“I was wondering if I could hire you this weekend,” he said.

“Sure,” Allie answered. “What do you want me to do?”

“Some friends and I got tickets to a Broadway show, so I'll be going to the city for the weekend. It was kind of a last-minute thing, and I need someone to take care of Hoover.”

“I'll do it!” Allie said eagerly. “And you don't have to pay me!” She was enchanted by Mr. Henry's big, gentle golden retriever, and would have loved a dog of her own. Unfortunately, Michael was allergic to them. “But I can't keep her at my house.”

“Oh, you won't have to,” Mr. Henry assured her. “All I need you to do is stop over in the morning and again around dinnertime to feed her and check her water dish. Maybe play with her a little.” He made a sad face and added, “She'll probably be pretty lonely.”

“Poor Hoovey,” said Allie. “Sure, I'd be glad to do it, Mr. Henry.”

“She has a doggy door that goes from the house to her fenced-in yard, so she'll be able to get out any time she needs to. I'll leave the bag of food up on the counter to make sure she can't get into it.”

“How much should I give her?”

“Two cups in the morning and one at night.”

“Okay,” said Allie. “But won't the house be locked? How will I get in?”

“Same way as Hoover,” said Mr. Henry, his face absolutely straight. “Doggy door.”

“Mr. Henry!”

“Okay, okay,” he said, laughing. “I'll leave a key under the flowerpot to the right of the door.”

“Gee, thanks,” said Allie, smiling back at him.

“Thank
you
, Allie,” he said. “It'll be a big load off my mind, knowing you're watching Hoover.”

“Don't worry, Mr. Henry. I'll take good care of her.”

“I know you will. Hey, can you tell me more about Mrs. Hobbs? How did things go?”

Allie hesitated. “All right, I guess,” she said. “She doesn't seem to like me very much, though.”

“She will, when she gets to know you,” Mr. Henry said.

Allie wished she felt as sure about that as he did. At least, she reminded herself, Mrs. Hobbs
had
agreed to the interview. She could have said no. Maybe she hated kids, but hated Allie a little bit less than all the others.

When they reached the cafeteria, Mr. Henry left the class to go to the teachers' room, and Dub fell in beside Allie as they walked to their table. “Well,” he said, “how bad was it?”

“The worst! First of all, she hardly talks at all. And when she does,
she sounds like this
.” Allie spoke in a low croak in imitation of Mrs. Hobbs's creepy voice.

“Wow,” said Dub, impressed. “But if she doesn't talk, it's going to be a tough interview.”

“No kidding,” replied Allie.

When they were seated at their usual table in the cafeteria, Allie found herself facing the lunch counter. She tried to avoid looking in that direction. But once, she glanced up and saw Mrs. Hobbs staring her way with a flat, penetrating gaze that took in everything and gave away nothing. Allie shivered and looked down at her hands.

“What am I going to say to her tomorrow?” Allie asked Dub. There was a touch of desperation in her voice.

“Weren't you listening in class just now?”

“Sort of.”

“Well, you can ask when she was born,” Dub said. “Then ask about her family—”

“Yeah,” Karen chimed in from the other end of the table. “Ask if her mother was a snapping turtle and her father a warthog, or was it the other way around? And ask her if she auditioned for the movie
Bride of Frankenstein
.” Karen's laughter rang through the cafeteria, and her face was flushed with pleasure at her own wit.

“Hilarious,” muttered Allie.

“Oooh, looks like someone's got a secret admirer,” Karen said then, pointing toward the cafeteria line. Before Allie could stop herself she looked up, and once again, her eyes met those of Mrs. Hobbs. She forced herself to turn away.

“Would you quit it, Karen,” she said furiously. “Don't make her think we're talking about her.”

“But we are,” Karen said, acting innocent. “What's wrong with that? And tomorrow you'll be having a cozy little conversation with her all by yourself. Won't
that
be fun?”

Allie put the rest of her sandwich back in her lunch bag. For some reason, she didn't feel hungry anymore.

All that afternoon and evening, and all through school the next day, Allie waited for a sign from her ghost. She hoped that soon he'd let her know what it was he wanted from her. Ghosts, she was learning, had their own ways of doing things. At the moment, she wished he'd give her some clues about how to get through her interview with Mrs. Hobbs.

At ten minutes to two she had just about given up, when the face of a young man appeared in her mind's eye. He was very handsome, with a shock of unruly black hair and large, dark, sorrowful eyes. Her heart began to beat rapidly, as she felt those eyes looking right into her soul. They seemed to be imploring her to do something. But what?

“Ask her about the fire.”

It was the voice again—
his
voice, sad and pleading and filled with some terrible knowledge. It had come
with a suggestion for the interview, just when she needed one.

Ask about the fire? The fire! Immediately Allie's dream came rushing back to her. She felt again the desperation of knowing there was someone behind the door, someone who would die unless she got there in time.

A horrible thought gripped her. Was that how
he
had died? Maybe
he
had been the one behind the door, the one who hadn't been saved. Her mind raced on, picturing it, and a sick feeling spread through the pit of her stomach.

A glance at the clock told her it was three minutes to two. Time to go. Filled with dread, she reached into her desk for her notebook and a pen, and rose from her seat. Mr. Henry looked at the clock. He gave her a brief nod and a smile as she left the room.

The cafeteria was deserted. Allie was accustomed to the usual hubbub that went on at lunchtime, and the utter silence was oddly disturbing. She stepped through the door to the kitchen. “Mrs. Hobbs?” Her voice quavered, and the words echoed back to her. She cleared her throat and called again. “Mrs. Hobbs?”

This time Mrs. Hobbs appeared from behind a bank of large coolers. She didn't speak but walked toward a small table and sat down. The table was covered with piles of papers and order forms. There
was another chair pulled up to the table, but Mrs. Hobbs didn't offer it to Allie. She simply sat, looking down at her lap.

Allie had the crazy thought that Mrs. Hobbs looked like a kid who'd been sent to the principal's office, waiting to hear her punishment. But that was ridiculous. Allie was the one who had reason to be nervous, and Mrs. Hobbs wasn't helping her to relax one bit.

“Mrs. Hobbs?” she began tentatively. “Could I sit down? It'll be easier to take notes.” She gestured toward the empty chair.

Allie wasn't sure, but she thought Mrs. Hobbs nodded her head slightly. Taking that as permission, Allie sat down. She'd rehearsed her opening remarks over and over in her head. Trying to keep her voice slow and steady, she briefly explained again that her assignment was to interview an interesting or special person for Elders Day and that she'd prepared a few questions. She flipped open her notebook to the short list of questions she'd managed to come up with and said, “Is it okay if I begin?”

Mrs. Hobbs might have nodded again, very slightly.

“Maybe we could start with your job here at school. I understand you were recently promoted.” Allie sat back in her chair, pleased with this opening.
She had tried to make her voice smooth and soothing, like the voices of the reporters on TV, and thought she sounded quite professional.

Mrs. Hobbs just sat there without speaking. Was that mistrust Allie saw in her eyes? Apprehension, definitely. The woman's hands clenched and writhed fretfully, and Allie had the impression she might stand up and bolt from the room at any moment. Why, Allie wondered, did Mrs. Hobbs seem so nervous?

Please, just answer the question, Allie prayed silently. But then she realized with dismay that she hadn't actually asked a question. Her opening comments, designed to put Mrs. Hobbs at ease and get her to start talking, hung in the air. Mrs. Hobbs was staring at her, and as before, Allie had no idea what the woman might be thinking.

“So,” she said, trying to sound upbeat, “what exactly is your new job?” There. A direct question.

There was a pause. Then Mrs. Hobbs cleared her throat and said in a low voice, “Cafeteria manager.”

This was going to be harder than Allie had dreamed. She had never really thought before about the way a conversation required two people, with both of them making an effort. But, she reminded herself, this wasn't a conversation, it was an interview, and she was the one who had requested it. So
she asked another question, one to which she already knew the answer, hoping it would get Mrs. Hobbs talking.

“So now you're in charge of the high-school cafeteria, too, not just ours?”

Mrs. Hobbs nodded.

Uh-oh. Allie could see that asking yes or no questions was not going to work. The subject of Mrs. Hobbs's promotion didn't seem to be going anywhere. Allie consulted her list.

“How old are you?” she tried. Then she added quickly, “You don't have to answer that question if you don't want to.”

But Mrs. Hobbs spoke. In the same low, tentative voice, she said, “Forty-one.”

Allie tried to hide her astonishment. Forty-one? But that wasn't very old. Allie's mother was forty-two! And Mrs. Hobbs looked twice as old as Mrs. Nichols! Allie must have heard wrong.

Carefully she repeated, “Forty-one?”

Mrs. Hobbs nodded.

Allie was amazed, and relieved that Mr. Henry had said people her parents' age qualified as elders. “Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath and glancing down at her notepad.

The next question on her list was a safe, easy one that would be certain to get Mrs. Hobbs talking. “Can you tell me about your family?” Allie asked
brightly. Most older people she knew loved talking about their families. Pretty soon, Allie figured, Mrs. Hobbs would be digging in her pocketbook for a photo album.

But Mrs. Hobbs's head snapped up at the question. Eyes glittering, she looked at Allie as if she'd been struck. Her mouth moved, but no words came out.

When she'd written that question, Allie had tried to imagine a Mr. Hobbs and little Hobbs children, but she'd been unable to picture them. Still, there
had
to be a Mr. Hobbs, she'd reasoned, or there wouldn't be a Mrs. Hobbs.

Yet here was the woman, staring at Allie as if she'd never heard the word “family” before. Things were turning out even worse than Allie had expected. Feeling quite unnerved by now, she tried to think of something to move the conversation along.

“A husband?” she asked quietly. “Children?”