The Ghost in the Big Brass Bed (7 page)

Either Chris had forgotten the woman's snappishness or she didn't care, because she asked, “Is it true that he went mad?”

I waited for Ms. Bond to blast her with one of those looks, but she just nodded. “Quite mad,” she said softly.

I decided she must have considered my Saturday questions pure nosiness. Now that Chris and I were trying to get some culture, curiosity was all right.

“Was it because he lost his legs?” pressed Chris.

Ms. Bond looked a little startled. “You two
have
been busy, haven't you?”

I was afraid Chris was going to get smart-alecky again, but she just said, “We learned about it in the library.”

Ms. Bond relaxed a little. “Well, I can only approve of such diligent research. Of course, there was much more to it than that. But the family kept the story to themselves. People weren't so public with their tragedies in those days.”

“But you know what happened, don't you?” persisted Chris.

She had pressed too far. “Whatever happened, it was long ago,” snapped Ms. Bond. “If the family didn't want it talked about, I don't see that people need to dig it up now.”

That was pretty much the end of our conversation with Carla Bond. Chris blushed a little, Ms. Bond calmed down a bit, we talked some and then got out of there as quickly as we could.

It was almost time to meet my father anyway. The quickest way to our meeting point was back across Columbus Circle.

Since we had a few minutes and since it was only a week or so after Columbus Day, we stopped to take a look at the statue. While I was staring at it someone grabbed my arm from behind.

I felt a surge of panic. “Hey!” I said, trying to pull free.

“Listen, missy,” hissed a scratchy voice. “People who hang around with artists have to be careful!”

CHAPTER TEN

Dark Vision

Yanking my arm free, I spun around. I found myself face to face with a skinny old man who had stringy hair, bad teeth and about two days' worth of gray stubble on his chin.

Before I could say anything, Chris shouted, “You leave her alone!” I could tell she was ready to kick the old guy.

“Wait, Chris,” I said. “It's okay. I know him.”

“You
know
this guy?”

“I see him on Saturday sometimes,” I said. “Don't I, Jimmy?”

“That's right, missy,” he wheezed. “Saturdays. But
I
seen
you
this Saturday. Yes, I did. You, too,” he added, pointing to Chris. “You were up to the Watson place. You want to be careful when you go up there.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why do we need to be careful, Jimmy?”

“There's something terrible up there.” Shaking his head, he backed away from me. “Something terrible, something wonderful. And folks who hang around up there best be careful.”

“What is it, Jimmy? What's in the house?”

The old man's eyes got big, and he put his finger on his lips. “Never did tell,” he whispered, “never will tell. What kind of a guy do you think I am?”

“Jimmy!”

“Never did tell, never will tell,” he repeated. Then he turned and moved away from us as fast as he could.

Chris started after him.

“Don't bother,” I said. “He won't tell us anything now.”

“How do you know?”

“I've seen him like this before.”

“Well that's another thing I want to know. How come you know that old coot?”

“He comes to the feeding program where Dad and I work.”

Chris nodded. I'd been telling her about the program just a few weeks before. One of the downtown churches serves a daily meal for the kinds of people my grandmother used to call down and out. Only now they're called homeless and hungry. Anyway, during the week a professional runs the program. But on weekends it's handled by volunteers from different churches around town. My father and I like to go help when it's our church's turn.

To tell you the truth, I was a little nervous about it the first time I went. But I found I really enjoyed the work. It feels good to do something that helps, even if only a little.

“How can you stand it?” asked Chris with a shudder. “Guys like that give me the creeps.”

“He used to scare me until I'd handed him his lunch a few times. Then I realized he's just a lonely old man.”

“Lonely and
weird!
What was that all about anyway?”

“You've got me.” I was trying not to sound too shaken up. I don't know why, but I felt some odd sense of loyalty to Jimmy. Maybe when you feed someone you start to get attached to him.

Even though I tried to hide it, Jimmy's words had spooked me. What was going on up at Phoebe Watson's house? And what did Jimmy know about it?

“I don't have the slightest idea what this is all about yet,” Chris said, as we walked toward the corner where we were supposed to meet my dad.

“That makes two of us. Right now we've got more mystery than we have clues.”

“I keep thinking about those shutters,” Chris said. “Who—or what—was slamming them?”

“I suppose the main candidate is the little girl in the bed.”

“Do you really think so?”

I paused. “No, not really. It's just that she's the only ghost we saw. Could it have been some kind of trick? You know, someone trying to scare Phoebe?”

Chris shrugged. “Possible. But my guess is that there's another ghost kicking around Phoebe's house.”

“Then we've got two ghosts—”

“Not to mention a mad genius.”

“Well, he could be one of the ghosts.”

“He probably is. But what does he want?”

“He doesn't want Phoebe to sell the house, that's for sure. At least, that's what she seems to think.”

Chris paused to stare at a pigeon. “You'd think he'd be more interested in having her keep the picture,” she said.

“I don't know. If that's the family home, he might want her to stay there.”

“But we don't know if it is the family home,” Chris said. “Phoebe has a different last name, so she must have been married at some point.”

I nodded. “So the other ghost could be her husband.” I sighed. “This is getting too complicated. We need more information.”

Chris tugged at a strand of her reddish hair and said, “We could just forget the whole thing.”

I knew she didn't mean it. We had to go on with this. Seeing ghosts is special, and it gives us a special responsibility. I was trying to figure out how to say that without sounding stupid when my father drove up in the GC.

GC stands for Golden Chariot, which is what my dad calls his car, an ancient yellow and white Cadillac with huge fins. I don't want to say it's overgrown, so let's just say that if cars were dogs, this one would be a Saint Bernard on steroids.

“Expedition successful?” asked Dad, as Chris and I climbed into the front seat, which easily holds all three of us with no crowding.

“Well, we learned a lot,” I said. “It just doesn't make much sense yet.”

Taking turns, Chris and I filled him in on the information we had picked up from Ms. de la Pena, Marcus, and Ms. Bond. By the time we were finished, we had reached Chris's house.

“Bus stops here,” said my dad, pulling up to the curb.

“Call me if you get a flash of inspiration,” Chris whispered as she stepped out of the car.

“Okay,” I said. “You do the same.”

I sighed as she ran up to her front door.

“She's a good kid,” said my father.

“I
hate
it that she lives way over here,” I replied.

He nodded. He didn't say much as we drove home.

I decided to take a walk before supper. I had a lot to think about. (Besides, I'm trying to keep from putting on weight.)

As I strolled down Westcott Street, I spotted Norma kneeling on the sidewalk, talking a mile a minute. At first I thought she was talking to the ground. As it turned out, she was encouraging some daffodil bulbs she had just planted.

“Now you kids listen,” she said, patting the soil. “I'm expecting to see you come spring. So you have a nice sleep, then just bust up and bloom so bright it hurts my eyes. You hear?”

“Do you always talk to the things you plant?” I asked.

Norma shrieked, then turned to look in my direction. “Nine!” she cried, putting her hand on her chest. “For a minute I thought one of those bulbs was talking back to me.”

Then she laughed that huge laugh of hers.

“I'm glad you came by,” she continued, climbing to her feet. “I was meaning to give you a call. Come on—let's go have a cup of coffee.”

I made a face.

Norma made a face back. “I forgot you have unenlightened taste buds. Well, come on up and chat with me while
I
have some.”

I followed Norma up the walk to her porch, wondering what she wanted to talk about. We settled onto the swing, where I decided I could easily forgive a coffee addiction in someone who could make the kind of chocolate chip cookies she now handed me.

I felt happy as I looked out on our neighborhood. The sky was filled with dark clouds, but it was so late in the afternoon that the sun was below them, shining in from the side. The light was strong and dramatic, the trees draped in scarlet and orange. The still, quiet air was warm enough to be comfortable, cool enough to feel fresh and exciting.

Norma took a sip of coffee and said, “I have bad news.”

I looked at her nervously. “What's wrong?”

“Phoebe Watson is in the hospital.”

“What happened?” I cried.

“Heart problem. Fairly mild, I think, but she'll be in for several days. I went to visit her this afternoon. She asked if you would mind going over to her house on a mission of mercy.”

“What do you mean?”

“She wants you to take care of General Pershing.”

I must have looked blank because Norma laughed and said, “Her cat. Remember? I'd do it myself, only I'm allergic, and Phoebe wants someone to make a fuss over the obnoxious little beast.”

I hesitated for a moment. The idea of going back to Phoebe's house by myself was frightening. On the other hand, it was hard to say when either Chris or I would have another chance to visit the place.

“I'd be glad to,” I said. “How do I get in?”

“Phoebe keeps a key under a flowerpot on the back porch. The cat food is in the cupboard next to the refrigerator.”

I wanted to sit and talk to Norma, but if I was going to feed the cat, I had to get moving. I hurried home to work things out with my father. We decided I would ride my bike over to Phoebe's, and he would come get me about forty-five minutes later.

The reason I was riding my bike
over
was that he was in the middle of cooking supper. The reason he was going to drive me
back
was that he doesn't want me out on the streets alone after dark. He says he's afraid the bogeyman will take me away.

Actually, I know he has good reasons not to want me out after dark. But it makes me mad that I can't walk a mile or so through our own neighborhood by myself.

I thought about calling Chris. But she wouldn't be able to get to my house in time to go with me, so I decided I should just get moving. I knew she would be annoyed that I had done this on my own, but I couldn't figure any way around it. Phoebe had asked me to feed the cat, and it needed to be done that night.

By the time I got my bike to the top of Phoebe's hill, I was panting. The light was almost gone—you could just see the sun setting beyond Phoebe's house. The shadow of the tower stretched toward me like a long finger of darkness. Each of the jagged stones from the broken wall cast a little shadow of its own. I remembered that one of the Fletcher pictures we had seen in the museum was called “Stones Can Break Your Heart.”

The flagstone path that led from the street to Phoebe's house was too steep to ride up, so I got off my bike and walked it to the porch, where I discovered that I had forgotten to bring my lock. To be safe, I took the bike around back.

The shrubs and bushes in the backyard were overgrown and tangled. It looked as if it had been years since anyone had really taken care of the place. The yard stretched down the far side of the hill.

I realized how isolated Phoebe's house was.

As I leaned my bike against an old tree, the sun, which had almost set anyway, disappeared behind some clouds. It was getting hard to see.

The wind began to blow harder, swirling the dead leaves around my feet.

Nice setting for a haunted house
, I thought.

Back on Norma's porch this trip had seemed like a good idea. Now I wasn't so certain. It suddenly hit me that the fact I had never met a ghost who was actually bad didn't mean there was no such thing. And even a ghost that isn't nasty is pretty scary when you're on your own.

It's interesting how you can explain to yourself all the reasons why you shouldn't be scared, and have your body completely ignore the fact. I could feel my stomach start to twist. The hairs at the back of my neck were beginning to prickle. And I hadn't even gone inside yet.

I found the key and unlocked the door. As I turned the knob, the storm began.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Footsteps in the Dark

Lightning ripped across the sky. Raindrops exploded around me, pelting down so hard you would have thought they were coming from guns instead of clouds. I dashed inside and slammed the door shut to get away from them. I stood in pitch darkness, the rain racket making me feel as if I were trapped inside a drum.

Suddenly I felt something rub against my leg. I jumped and yelled, then laughed when I realized it was only the cat that I had come to feed.

“You lonely, kiddo?” I asked, scooping the mass of black and white fur off the floor.

General Pershing opened his mouth and hissed at me.