by Peg Kehret
“It would be more peaceful to live at the airport,” Ginger said.
“I like all the commotion,” Karie said. “It’s interesting.”
Ginger carried the rest of the carrot tops down the hall to her bedroom, followed by Karie.
Flopsy, Ginger’s pet rabbit, hopped out from under the bed and began chewing on Ginger’s shoelaces.
“That is not bunny food,” said Ginger. She filled his food bowl with the carrot greens. Flopsy munched.
“Who is Queen Victoria?” Karie asked.
“It’s our nickname for Victoria Vaughn, Polly’s mother,” Ginger said. “We call her that because she thinks she’s better than everyone else. She’s Laura’s best customer, but she’s hard to work for.”
“I like Polly.”
“So do I, but her mother’s a real pain. Once when Laura hired me to help her, I tripped and spilled veggies and dip on the carpet. Queen Victoria had a fit. The party hadn’t started yet, and she yelled and called me clumsy and told Laura she wasn’t paying for the tray of spilled food.”
Ginger petted Flopsy as she talked. “While I was cleaning up the mess,” she continued, “the first guests arrived, and Mrs. Vaughn miraculously became this kind, forgiving person who explained that she hires local students because she wants to encourage them to work but, of course, young people sometimes make mistakes. She actually had the nerve to smile at me and say, ‘No harm done, my dear.’”
“What a two-face,” Karie said.
“There I was, crawling around on my hands and knees, picking up broccoli and cauliflower while she put on her good citizen act. I wanted to bite her in the ankle.”
“Did she pay for the spilled tray?”
“No. She didn’t give Laura a tip that night, either. I couldn’t let Laura pay me the ten dollars we had agreed on when it was my fault that she didn’t get all her money, so I got humiliated for nothing.”
“Why doesn’t Laura say she’s busy when Mrs. Vaughn calls?”
“Most of Laura’s catering business comes from people she meets at the Vaughns’.”
“Ginger!” Laura called from the kitchen. “Can you and Karie help me load the van? I’m running late.”
They carried out the platter of cream puffs, plates of fresh fruit, and trays of veggies and dip. “She tells people that B.A. Catering stands for Beautiful Appetizers,” Ginger told Karie as they worked, “but it really means Broccoli Always.”
“Broccoli is healthy, colorful, and easy to prepare,” Laura said. “The perfect munchie.”
Ginger paused once, fighting back the now-familiar feeling that someone was watching her. A quick glance showed that Mr. Colberg had taken Fluffy home; Brett was now riding her bike; the Lawtons still had company. Tipper and his friend, Marcus, were playing catch in front of Marcus’s house. Nothing odd in the neighborhood. No spies. No strangers.
You’re getting paranoid, Ginger told herself. One little incident in a restaurant, and you’re nervous for life.
After Laura left, Ginger and Karie decided to walk to the park to play tennis. When they told Mrs. Shaw they were leaving, she said, “Would you bring in the mail first, please? I’m expecting a check for a wedding.”
As the girls started toward the door, Mrs. Shaw added, “And bring the Lawtons’ mail, too.”
“Aren’t the Lawtons home?” Ginger asked.
“They left yesterday to visit their son in Denver.”
Then who is parked in front of their house? Ginger wondered.
The girls walked across the street to the cluster of neighborhood mailboxes.
The car was gone from in front of the Lawtons’ house. And so was Ginger’s feeling that she was being watched.
Ginger handed the mail to Karie. “Will you take this to Mom for me?” she said. “I’ll be right back; I need to ask Tipper something.”
She walked to where her brother and Marcus were playing catch. “Did you see the car that was parked in front of the Lawtons’ house?” she asked.
“The white one?” Tipper said.
“Yes.”
“No. I didn’t see it.”
Marcus laughed. Tipper looked pleased with himself.
“When it drove away,” Ginger said, “did you happen to notice who was driving?”
“It was your boyfriend.”
Marcus laughed again. Tipper grinned.
Ginger sighed. “This is important,” she said. “Be serious for once.”
“He was cute,” Tipper said, “and he had a sign that said Ginger, will you marry me?”
Tipper and Marcus collapsed on the grass in a fit of laughter.
“I don’t know why I bother talking to you,” Ginger said.
As she went back home, she heard the two boys singsonging, “Ginger’s got a boyfriend; Ginger’s got a boyfriend.”
If I ever do have a boyfriend, Ginger thought, I won’t introduce him to my little brother, the stand-up comedian. Forget about the mysterious car, she told herself. It is gone now, so why worry about who was driving it?
• • •
Joyce stayed well behind the van. The last thing she wanted was to arouse suspicion and scare the girl off, like the last time.
As she drove, she pretended to talk to the doctors and nurses at the state mental hospital. In her mind she went back ten years, to the first time she had been hospitalized. She could still see their faces clearly.
“You see?” she said. “I was right and you were wrong. I told you my baby lived and was adopted by good parents.”
Joyce did not understand why all the doctors and nurses had lied to her. Why would they say her baby had died?
Joyce had never believed them. Not for one minute. After five months of being hospitalized against her will, she had finally pretended to agree with them because she realized it was the only way they were ever going to let her out.
So she had said yes, she knew the little girl she had tried to take out of Wal-Mart when the child got separated from her family was not Joyce’s daughter and that it had been wrong to try to take her. And no, she would never again try to take someone else’s child. Yes, she understood that her own baby had lived only an hour.
She said it, but she didn’t mean it.
After three months of agreeing with everything the medical staff said, they pronounced Joyce cured, and discharged her. The next day, she had begun searching for the girl again.
It had taken seven years to find her, and then the girl had escaped at that freeway rest stop. Now, through an incredible piece of good luck, Joyce had found her again.
Joyce had been hospitalized in different institutions three times in the years since those first doctors had tried to help her, but it was those early faces she remembered best. They were the first to try to trick her by saying her baby had died.
“What do you say now, you know-it-all doctors?” Joyce muttered.
The van pulled into a long circular driveway in front of a large brick house. Joyce parked on the street and waited. Maybe the girl would come out by herself. If not, Joyce would go in.
Chapter
Three
WHEN THEY GOT BACK from playing tennis, Ginger said, “Let’s watch the video you gave me.”
She opened the video: Secrets of Successful Sports Broadcasting. “This looks great,” she said.
“Since you’re going to be a professional sports announcer someday,” Karie said, “I thought you would like it.”
“I videotaped the boys’ basketball practice yesterday afternoon,” Ginger said. “It was my eightieth play-by-play.”
“No kidding! You’ve done eighty pretend broadcasts?”
Ginger nodded. “I’ve done all the girls’ volleyball games, most of the girls’ and boys’ basketball games, some baseball games, a couple of swim team matches, and one track meet. Plus a lot of volleyball and basketball practices.”
“How can you afford all the blank tapes?” Karie asked.
“I don’t save my broadcasts. I erase
them and use the tapes over and over. Mom and Dad would never let me buy new tapes for every game or practice. As it is, they think my announcing is a waste of time.”
The girls made popcorn, watched the video, and looked at all of Ginger’s birthday gifts again.
“I’m starving!” Tipper’s voice echoed from the kitchen. “When are we going to eat?”
“Since we had such a big meal this noon,” Mrs. Shaw said, “you’re on your own tonight. There are plenty of leftovers in the fridge, or fix yourself a sandwich. Laura will be home soon with the extra party food.”
“Mrs. Vaughn never keeps the leftovers,” Ginger told Karie, “but her guests always eat the best stuff.”
Ginger, Karie, and Tipper were making sandwiches when Laura got home.
“Are there any leftover cream puffs?” Tipper asked.
“Nope. Just some stuffed celery sticks and a little fresh pineapple.”
“I’ll take the pineapple,” said Tipper as he added a pickle to his peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich. “Marcus and I are going to give burping lessons. Do any of you want to sign up?”
“I’ll pass,” said Ginger.
“It’s only ten cents a lesson,” Tipper said, “and we can teach you to burp really loud.” He took a big gulp of air and demonstrated.
“Guess who came to the party,” Laura said as she washed the trays.
“Batman,” said Tipper.
“The woman who was at the restaurant,” Laura said. “The one who stopped at our table and wished Ginger a happy birthday.”
A shiver ran down Ginger’s arms and legs. She swallowed hard. “Did you find out her name?”
“No. It was the strangest thing. She arrived in the middle of the party, when it was really busy. I noticed her because she looked out of place. She was wearing that same blazer and slacks, while everybody else wore evening gowns and tuxedos. She came straight over to the table where I was serving, and guess what she said.”
“Hand over the cream puffs,” said Tipper.
“She said, ‘This is the happiest day of my life.’”
“Did she say why?” Karie asked.
“No, and I was too busy to ask her. She hung around for a couple of minutes, and then she said, ‘Where is she?’ I thought she meant Mrs. Vaughn, so I pointed across the room at her, and for some reason that made the woman angry. She glared at me, took one of my business cards off the table, and left the party.”
Ginger picked up her plate. “Let’s eat in my room,” she said to Karie.
They carried their plates into Ginger’s room.
“That woman is giving me the creeps,” Ginger said.
“Nothing has really happened,” Karie said.
“Doesn’t it seem strange to you that, on the same day she stared at me all through lunch, she suddenly appears at a party Laura’s catering? She takes a business card but doesn’t ask Laura about her rates or available dates. And who did she mean when she said, ‘Where is she?’ The woman’s a weirdo.”
“She can’t be too much of a weirdo if she was invited to Mrs. Vaughn’s house for a party,” Karie said.
“Maybe she wasn’t invited.”
“What do you mean?”
“Laura said she wasn’t dressed like the others. Maybe she did follow us when we left the restaurant. She might have driven a couple of cars back, so I didn’t notice her. Maybe she parked down the street and watched our house. There was a white car in front of the Lawtons’ house, but the Lawtons are out of town. Maybe it was her.”
“Someone could have parked there and visited one of your other neighbors.”
“It’s possible,” Ginger admitted, “but not likely. Guests on this block usually park in front of the home they’re visiting.”
“Maybe it was a salesman, going door to door.”
“No salesman came here,” Ginger said. She picked up her sandwich, then put it down again without taking a bite. “From where that car was parked, she had a perfect view of our house.”
“You sound like Tipper. The woman is a spy.”
Ginger wasn’t listening. “When our van left again she followed it. That’s why the white car was gone when we went out to get the mail.”
“Why would she do that?” Karie said.
Ginger was too busy imagining what might have happened to stop and figure out why. “Maybe she waited at the Vaughns’ until a lot of people had arrived, and then she went in and talked to Laura. She found out where I live.”
“If she followed your van home and parked in front of your neighbor’s house,” Karie said, “she already knew where you live. Besides, if she was watching you, why would she follow Laura?”
“She saw us loading the van and thought all of us left together.” Ginger pictured Laura’s business card in her mind. “Now she knows my last name,” she said. “And my phone number.”
“She probably saw Laura in the restaurant and tried to think why she seemed familiar.”
“She stared at me,” Ginger said. “When she came to our table, she put her hand on me. She talked to me.”
“It was your birthday.” Karie began peeling an orange.
Ginger hoped Karie was right; the woman only wanted to hire Laura to do some catering. She hoped it, but deep down, she didn’t believe it.
She didn’t watch Laura, Ginger thought. She watched me. And she was looking for me at the party.
“I think you’re making a tornado out of a rain cloud,” Karie said.
Ginger said nothing more about the woman or the white car because she could tell her worries annoyed Karie.
The next day, Sunday, Ginger saw no sign of the woman. No unfamiliar white car parked on the Shaws’ street, though Ginger checked several times. She had no feeling of being watched.
Karie was right, Ginger decided. My imagination was doing double-time yesterday, and I scared myself over nothing. She was glad she had not said anything about the white car to the rest of her family.
On Sunday Ginger and Karie hung the poster that Ginger’s parents had given her. It said: LIVE WITH PURPOSE AND HONOR.
“When I first saw this,” Ginger said, “I thought, yuck, another of my parents’ inspirational mottos. But the more I think about this one, the better I like it.”
“I like it, too,” Karie said. “Especially the first part, ‘live with purpose.’ Too many kids whine and complain about what’s wrong in their lives, but they never do anything to change it.”
“Mom and Dad are always telling me to set goals,” Ginger said.
That afternoon, the girls experimented with the makeup kit that Laura had given Ginger for her birthday and went for a bike ride. By the time Karie went home, Ginger was relaxed, her fears forgotten.
• • •
Joyce Enderly looked again at the business card for B.A. Catering. She longed to dial the number and ask to speak to Ginger, but she wouldn’t let herself do it. Not on Sunday, when the whole family would probably be home.
She wouldn’t go back and park on their street again today, either. No, she would figure out how to talk to Ginger alone. Before school, perhaps.
Yes. Tomorrow morning, Joyce would find out which school served the Shaws’ neighborhood, and what time classes began and ended.
She would watch and wait until she could talk to Ginger alone. Then later, after Ginger knew the truth, Joyce would get a little apartment somewhere, California maybe, and they would start a new life together. Just the two of them. Just the way Joyce had always wanted.
Chapter
Four
AFTER SCHOOL ON MONDAY, Ginger climbed to the top row of the bleachers in the gym to videotape the girls’ basketball game. She was eager to try some of the tips from her new video.
Karie sat beside her. “I promise not to yell into the microphone,” Karie said.
“Roosevelt should win this one,” Ginger said. “Elk Grove is bottom in the league.”
“I’m going to try out again next year,” Karie said. “Now that I ru
n every day, I’m a lot faster than I used to be.”
“By next fall you’ll be so fast Mr. Wren will be begging you to be on the team.”
“Not likely. But it was nice of him to suggest that I start running. It’s really helped me.”
“I would try out myself if I weren’t so short.” Most of the girls in her grade were two or three inches taller than Ginger, and the ones on the basketball team were the tallest of all. “Too bad I didn’t inherit Mom and Dad’s height, the way Laura and Tipper did.”
“You can’t be both a player and an announcer,” Karie said, “and you’re going to be a great announcer.”
“I hope so.” Ginger had wanted to be a sports announcer ever since she could remember. Her parents thought her interest would pass as she got older. Neither of them cared about sports, nor did Laura, so they didn’t understand Ginger’s determination to be a broadcaster.
Ginger loved to listen to radio broadcasts of sporting events; she liked how the announcers used words to create a picture in the listeners’ minds. But she always used a video camera to do her broadcasts. That way when she replayed the tapes at home, she could check to see how closely her descriptions matched the action. She could see only half the court at a time through her viewer, but the school games moved slowly enough that she rarely missed a play.
The game started. Ginger aimed the camera at the basketball court and began her play-by-play description.
The lead seesawed back and forth between the two teams. Despite her promise, Karie was soon yelling like crazy, but Ginger didn’t move away from her. She continued speaking softly into the mike.
“Susan Fields carries the ball down court. She pumps, fakes, and passes to Jessica Andrews. Andrews dribbles to the far side and passes back to Fields. Fields is double-teamed. She hands it off to Polly Vaughn, who goes in for the layup. The shot is good, and Roosevelt regains the lead, twenty-two to twenty-one. Rebound by number fourteen for Elk Grove.”
At the start of the fourth quarter, the score was tied. Karie said, “So much for Elk Grove being at the bottom of the league.”
“It’s anybody’s game, at this point,” Ginger agreed.