by Hodder, Beth; Ore, Florence; Zoellner, Guy; Vekkos, Maria
“Why would someone do that? Hey, I bet it was the ghost. There seem to be more and more unexplained things happening all the time.”
“You really starting to believe in all that ghost business?”
I felt a little embarrassed. Covering my tracks, I said, “Not really, but what else could it be?”
“I don’t know. Guess we should tell Dad and Don. Looks like there’s one more mystery to add to their list.”
T H I R T E E N
The Snack
Plane after plane, most holding two to four people, landed on the airstrip as Jed and I returned from our ride to Lodgepole Mountain and put Rocky and Red in the corral. Yellow, red, blue, and green planes colored the ground. So many came in that I didn’t think they’d ever stop. The next day the pilots’ association work weekend would start.
“Hey, Jed,” I said, watching yet another airplane land. “Do you think it might cause a problem with so many planes coming in for the weekend?”
When we first got to Schafer, Rosie, Dad’s boss, said only a few airstrips exist in any wilderness in the whole country. “We have a limit we try not to exceed,” she had said, “and if we ever get to the place where we have too many planes flying in, we may have to either allow only so many to land at Schafer or close the airstrip.” I wondered if having this many planes at one time might cause the airstrip to eventually close.
“I asked Dad about that,” Jed said, “and he said they keep close tabs on how many come in, but so far they haven’t gone over the total number of aircraft allowed in a year.”
Pilots tied their planes just off the runway. It looked like a mini airport. Some pilots pitched tents next to their plane and others put theirs up in the campground. Smoke from campfires rose to the sky. A makeshift kitchen covered by tarps took up one end, and gas camp stoves sat on the ends of tables. Steaming pots smelled of chili and stew. I wandered around with Mom and Dad, meeting people and eyeballing the food. There was a ton of it. There must have been at least forty people there, and they weren’t going to starve over the weekend.
The next day was the 4th of July, and, except for eating ourselves to death, I wasn’t sure how we would celebrate. Fireworks aren’t allowed in the wilderness.
I kept looking for kids my age, but there weren’t any. It didn’t matter much, though, because the trail crew was back. Celie, Cody, and Mandy had come back to help the pilots with their work projects. Mom and Dad talked with the pilots and Oriole and I visited with Don and Casey. For once the two dogs were content to just sit together and watch people.
I was so engrossed in all the food that my favorite plane landed without me knowing it. Not until I heard my name did I realize that Jim had returned. Oriole jumped up, leaving Casey and wagging her way over to Jim in hopes of gaining his affections and a treat. It worked.
Jim held out two paper bags, letting her sniff them. “Pick your bag carefully,” Jim told Oriole. “Whichever one you choose is yours to keep.”
Oriole’s tail worked overtime as she smelled the bags. Casey came up and wanted a piece of the action, too. Oriole ignored one bag and nosed the other. Jim opened it and gave her a rawhide bone. She bounded off with her prize.
Jim kept the bag open. “Who’s Oriole’s friend?”
“That’s Casey. He belongs to Don Lightner.”
Jim whispered. “Oh, yeah. The law enforcement officer who has the law dog. He flew in the other day right before I left. I didn’t recognize Casey. Guess I’ll have to get better acquainted with those two. Starting with this good dog.”
He reached into the bag, pulling out another rawhide bone. He handed it to Casey who grabbed it and raced off in search of Oriole.
Jim handed me the other bag. “This one’s for you. Well, it’s for you and Oriole.”
I opened the bag and pulled out a red collapsible dog bowl.
“Thought you could take this for Oriole when she travels with you. I hear these are great for the backcountry. And it’ll fit right into your backpack or Red’s saddlebags.”
“Oh, Jim, this is really neat! Her bowls have been old margarine containers. Now she’ll be the envy of all backcountry dogs. I just hope she doesn’t get a big head.” I gave him a bear hug and we went to find Mom and Dad.
They were sitting at a picnic table talking with Don. I showed off Oriole’s new bowl. We were about to go meet some more people when Mandy stormed up, her face beet red and her usually neat bushy brown hair sticking out everywhere.
“Who’s been messing with my stuff?”
“What do you mean?” Dad said. “What stuff?”
“Cody, Celie, and I went into the bunkhouse when we got back from our work project and I found some of my things moved around in the bathroom.”
“Did it look like anything was missing?”
“No. We all carefully checked our clothes and other gear but it didn’t look like anything was gone”.
“Are you sure some of your belongings were moved?”
“Sure I’m sure. I hung my towel and a bunch of laundry above the woodstove to dry the day we left for our work project. And I placed my shoes under a chair next to the stove. I’m sure because I sat there to take them off and put my boots on before we left. When we got back I found all my clothes on the other side of the room, tossed in a pile in a corner. And somebody threw my shoes into the other room where we sleep. I found one on a bed and one clear across the room on the floor. I don’t like people going through my personal property.”
“Did anybody else have things moved around?”
“No, just me. But nobody else had left anything by the stove.”
Dad stared at the ground, thinking. “I don’t know what to say, Mandy. Someone’s been around the station the whole time you’ve been gone, and Pete’s the only one who’d have a reason to go into the bunkhouse. I don’t know who might have gone into the bunkhouse or why they would move your things around in the bathroom. And it’s strange that they’d throw your shoes into the other room.”
“Well, I’m telling you they did.”
Don stood and walked over to Mandy, introducing himself. “Why don’t you take me to the bunkhouse and we’ll see if we can figure out what happened.” He nodded to Dad. “And Tom, why don’t you come, too.”
They walked off to the bunkhouse. Mom and I sat stunned at the table. We couldn’t imagine anyone going through her things while she was gone. It didn’t make sense.
Unless.
I thought of the ghost. As far as I knew, no one had seen it but me since we came to Schafer, but there had definitely been things happening out of the ordinary. First, the ghost visited me in my room. Then I saw the light moving in our house that one night. Next Mom’s CDs were moved around the day Jim and I flew to Spotted Bear. Then the ghost came to my room again. And what about the spilled grain in the barn? Jed was so sure it had been stored so it wouldn’t fall. Maybe the ghost had been more active than any of us realized.
What was I saying? I didn’t believe in ghosts. Did I? But then, how could these things happen?
All of this thinking and all of the food smells coming from the campground made me hungry.
“Come on, Oriole. Let’s go to the cookhouse and find us a snack.”
******
The kitchen inside the towering log cookhouse was empty. I hunted in the refrigerator for something to eat. Stale air blasted out, and carrots, cold mashed potatoes, and leftover soup didn’t appeal to me. I decided to scavenge in the basement and hurried down the white-painted wood stairs.
When I reached the last step, I didn’t know where to start. I’d never really looked around before. The basement was like a food warehouse. Two walls with white cabinets ran from the cold concrete floor to the wood-beamed ceiling. A thick wooden sliding door between the cabinets stood open to the outside where Packer Brad unloaded his mules when he supplied the cookhouse with food. A cool draft of air blew in, and I heard the cottonwood leaves shiver. After the discussion with Mandy about people mo
ving things around, I wasn’t about to close the door in case one of Celie’s crew members or Charlie had left it open on purpose.
I looked in the cabinets. They were chock full of rice and sugar and nuts and individual boxes of pasta dinners and cookies and candy bars and energy bars. Under a window on another wall rested a long low freezer filled to the brim with vacuum-packed chicken, beef, and pork. Next to it was a refrigerator overflowing with cheese, veggies, tortillas, and whatever other foods wouldn’t fit in the refrigerator upstairs.
The wall at the bottom of the stairs contained a thick white door with a heavy wooden arm. I lifted the arm and pulled the door open. It led into a room giving off the musty smell of earth. It was a giant root cellar, used to keep fresh food cool and away from sunlight.
“Whew. It’s dark in there,” I said. “Kinda creepy.” I reached for Oriole, who had walked just close enough to the door to stick her nose inside. A flashlight hung from a holder by the door. I thought about taking it inside to see better, but my eyes had already started to adjust to the darkness. I left the flashlight and went in with Oriole at my heels.
A dirt floor dampened the sound of my feet. I slowly looked around. All four walls contained canned goods and glass jars full of pickles, spaghetti sauce, salsa, and other things, all marked with the year they were purchased. Some with dusty tops went back to 1998.
The center of the room had a small square wooden bench loaded with boxes that smelled of apples and oranges and soft grapefruit that needed to be eaten soon. Wire baskets hung from the ceiling, filled with eggs and cheese. Boxes on the floor were heaped with potatoes. Large round bins held flour. Oriole’s little nose worked overtime, sniffing everywhere.
“Cool,” I said. “I don’t think we’ll find a snack here, but this is sure fun to explore.”
Just then the darkness closed in. I turned around in time to see the door close, cutting off all light. I heard the arm of the door slide slowly into place.
“Hey! What’s going on?” I shouted. Oriole and I were in the farthest corner from the door. No one responded.
“Hey, it’s not funny!”
No response.
I remembered that the door to the outside had been open when we had come downstairs. Had someone been in the basement and slipped outside when they heard us come down the stairs, only to sneak back in and lock us in the root cellar? No. No one would do that to me. It had to be the ghost!
Panic took hold of me. I grabbed Oriole’s collar.
“Take me to the door, girl.”
Oriole walked slowly through the darkness with me in tow. I walked gingerly along one wall with my free hand out, feeling cans and glass jars as we moved on. Finally finding the door, I pushed. It didn’t open. I pushed harder, but nothing happened. I pounded on the door.
“Help! Anyone!”
The heavy concrete walls and dirt floor must have muffled my voice. Although we had plenty of air it seemed like I couldn’t breathe. It felt like the walls were closing in on us. Desperately I searched the door again, running my hands up and down, feeling its dimensions. My fingers touched a piece of metal near the edge of the door.
A latch.
Of course.
They wouldn’t build a room where someone could smother. Unlike the heavy wooden arm outside, this one jutted into the room and could be grasped easily.
I lifted the latch. It moved. This time when I pushed the door, it opened with a whoosh. I exploded from the root cellar with Oriole by my side. The outer room was empty, but the outside door that had been open when we entered the basement was closed. Could the ghost still be nearby? I grabbed the handle to the heavy sliding door and pulled with all my strength. It slid open. Scared but determined, I looked both ways, but no one was outside. No sound came from upstairs, either.
Forgetting my snack and the open root cellar door, I bolted up the stairs and raced through the kitchen, thoughts of the Schafer ghost chasing me all the way.
F O U R T E E N
The Storm
When we burst out the cookhouse door, I nearly ran right into Mom and Dad, who were walking back from the campground with Charlie, Don, and Casey. One look on my face told them something had happened.
“What’s wrong, Jessie?” Mom asked. “Come to the picnic table and talk to us.”
I grabbed Oriole and held on tightly. “No. I don’t want to be anywhere near the cookhouse.”
We went to the house, where I blurted everything out.
“I don’t like this,” Don said, sitting on the living room couch with his legs crossed. “Too many things are happening at once. Nobody working here would play a joke like that on Jessie. They know she wouldn’t think it was funny. And I can’t believe anyone here would toss Mandy’s things around the bunkhouse.”
He looked at me. “I’m sorry, Jessie, but I just don’t believe a ghost did this. We do need to find out who did, though, and it’s going to be tough this weekend because of all the people here.” Don uncrossed his legs and sat forward with his arms resting on his knees and his hands clasped.
“Okay, here’s an idea. I think it’d be best if we all work together. To keep my cover, I’m going to have to spend a lot of time working with the pilots.” He looked at Dad. “Tom, can you go back and forth between the pilots and the campground?”
Dad nodded. “Sure. I can make it look like I’m helping wherever a hand is needed.”
“Good. Kate, I could use you to help watch the campground, especially when Tom can’t be there. Will that work?”
“No problem,” Mom said. “I’m sure the cooks will be glad for some help.”
“Okay, then. Charlie, can you keep tabs on the cookhouse and the ranger house?”
Charlie looked up from the small wooden mule he whittled. “That’ll work. We need someone to monitor the radio over the weekend, especially with all the pilots here. I can do that from the cookhouse and watch the ranger house at the same time.”
“Fine. Then I’ll ask Pete to take charge of the horse camp and let’s have the trail crew stick around just to watch for anything unusual. We’ll see if we can’t figure out what’s happening.”
“What about me?” I said. “I can help. So can Oriole.”
“I don’t want you to get too involved with this, Jessie. Same with your brother, Jed. You can keep your eyes open, but if you see or hear anything, I want to you tell me, your parents, or Charlie right away. You can help me keep my cover by letting Oriole play with Casey. Speaking of which, I’d like Casey to check out the barn, bunkhouse, and cookhouse for smells.”
“Can Oriole and I come with you? I’d like to see how Casey works. Maybe Oriole can learn something.”
“Sure. In fact, that’s a great idea. If someone is watching, we can make it look like you’re taking me on a tour.”
Don and I went off together with Oriole and Casey. The two dogs played as we walked around. They only stopped when they were inside the buildings where no one could see or hear Don give Casey commands to smell the area. Casey didn’t find anything unusual. Once back outside, the dogs were off playing again. When we finished, Don said that was all that we could do unless something else happened.
******
The rest of the day was relatively quiet. Dad, Pete, and Celie met with the people from the pilots’ association to discuss the fence-mending and outhouse-building projects laid out for the weekend. Some pilots and spouses who flew in to work visited the cookhouse where Charlie gave them a cold drink, hot coffee, or tea. Some fished along the river. Still others sat in their lawn chairs by their campsites, laughing and talking.
Les and Doug, the two guys with the tarp in the campground, just sat and sat and sat, smoking and drinking beer.
The pilots invited us for dinner in the campground, so I helped Charlie bake a vanilla sheet cake with white icing big enough to feed 50 people. Oriole slept under the dining room table.
Don had asked everyone helping him to meet briefly before dinner so we could share anyt
hing we might have found. Mom, Dad, Jed, and Celie slowly worked their way into the cookhouse. Finally Mandy, Pete, and Cody came in, followed by Don and Casey. We met around the table, keeping the door open in case anyone came by. Don wanted this conversation to be private. Charlie whittled his mule while half facing the door so he could see anyone coming our way.
“So. Before we begin, I want to tell all of you that what happened to Mandy and Jessie is inexcusable,” Don said.
I thought about my experience with Oriole in the basement root cellar. It made my scalp tingle again just thinking of it. Mandy must have felt awful having someone go through her belongings and throw them around.
“Living together at Schafer means respecting each other. We all know that none of us did this, so who did? And why? We’ll figure it out, but we all need to help. Now, does anyone have anything to report?”
The only one who did was Pete, who said three more groups arrived at the horse camp. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary with them, though.
“Well, let’s keep close watch tonight and over the weekend. And be careful. I don’t want any of you doing anything that could get you into trouble or make someone suspicious. If you have reason to believe something is wrong or there could be danger, drop what you’re doing and find me right away.”
After that, we sat around the table listening to the crew tell tales about what happened on their first trail project. Then someone asked Don if he’d heard if the jewel robbery from the Kalispell mall had been solved. Don said the police were still hunting for the thieves. They had few leads.
One of the pilots came to the door, saying dinner would be served in half an hour at the campground. We hurried home to get sweatshirts and flashlights for the evening.
******
Late that night it stormed. The wind howled, rattling the windows in our snug house. Lightning flashed, first far away and then nearer and nearer, until it seemed to be everywhere at once. Some bolts streaked from one cloud to another, lighting the night sky, while others shot from black clouds to the ground. Thunder rolled in with the lightning. Loud booms shook our home as lightning bolts nearest the house hit the ground. Sheets of rain battered the roof and hammered the windows.