Mystery of the Runaway Ghost

by Gertrude Chandler Warner

  “It’s a present for Mrs. McGregor,” Benny added. “She makes the best cookies in the world! Right, Violet?”

  But Violet didn’t answer. Something had caught her attention.

  Benny followed his sister’s gaze to a dented old bell hanging on the side of the counter. “Hey, that’s just like Buttercup’s bell!” he said. “Except, Buttercup’s had the number one on it.”

  “That old cowbell’s quite beaten up,” Cora said, as she slipped the cookie cutter into a bag. “But it still rings. Go ahead and give it a try.”

  Violet picked up the bell. She was surprised at how heavy it was.

  Clang, clang. Clang, clang, clang.

  She recognized that sound! It was the same clanging she’d heard in the middle of the night! Is it possible the runaway ghost has returned? Violet wondered. Then she had a thought. “Do stray cows ever wander into town?” she asked Cora.

  “Never heard of it.” Cora shook her head.

  Violet had little time to think about it. They were soon waving good-bye and filing out the door.

  Fran looked at her wristwatch. “It’s almost lunch time,” she said. “There’s a restaurant just down the street. Why don’t you go on ahead and get a table for us? I want to pop in to see my son for a moment.” She nodded toward the Cedarburg Insurance office across the street. “We had a silly squabble recently, and I’d like to patch things up.” With a little wave, she hurried off.

  The Aldens headed toward the restaurant. They’d passed a bookstore and a pottery shop when Jessie stopped. She peered through the big plate-glass window of a gallery. “Oh, look,” she said. “There’s Lottie. This must be the gallery where she works.”

  They all looked through the window. Sure enough, Lottie was sitting at a small table in a corner of the gallery, talking to a man the Aldens didn’t recognize. While Lottie talked, the man tapped his chin thoughtfully. He had broad shoulders and a beard, and his dark hair was slicked back.

  Benny was about to rap on the window to get Lottie’s attention, but Jessie stopped him. “Hold on, Benny,” she said. “I don’t think we should bother her while she’s working.” With that, they set off again.

  After settling into a table on the restaurant’s patio, the Aldens watched the tourists coming and going along the sidewalk. Then they turned their attention to Fran’s mystery.

  “I don’t get it,” said Benny, scratching his head.

  “What don’t you get?” asked Jessie.

  Benny looked around at them. “The riddle says, ‘The thing you hold/Is the thing you seek.’ ” A frown crossed his round face. “Why should we look for something if we’ve already got it?”

  Jessie had a thought. “I bet we’re supposed to look for more shadow elephants.”

  “Or maybe we’re supposed to look for another shadowbox,” Violet offered. “Like the one with the elephants in it.”

  “I have a hunch we should figure out why their trunks are pointing up,” insisted Henry, thinking that was some kind of clue.

  “You might be right, Henry,” Jessie told him. “But that’s a tough one to figure out.”

  Henry couldn’t argue. “It’s a mystery, that’s for sure,” he said.

  “I just hope Lottie’s wrong about the treasure,” Benny added as the waitress brought the menus. “She says it’s long gone.”

  “What I can’t figure out,” said Jessie, “is how she can be so sure.”

  “Maybe she just wants us to believe there isn’t a treasure,” suggested Benny.

  “But … why?” asked Violet.

  “So that she can find it herself.” Benny looked around at his brother and sisters. “She needs money for school, remember?”

  Just then they noticed Fran coming down the street. She appeared to be having a heated talk with a tall, sandy-haired man in a business suit. The Aldens didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but they couldn’t help overhearing what they were saying as they drew closer.

  “I’m quite capable of making my own decisions,” Fran told the man. “Why can’t you respect my choices?”

  The man was shaking his head. “You never have two pennies to rub together as it is! How can you keep pouring money into that old house?” He sounded annoyed.

  “That old house is my home,” Fran said crossly. “And that means more to me than all the money in the world!”

  “I can see I’m wasting my breath, Mother!” The sandy-haired man threw up his hands and stormed away.

  “Wow,” said Benny keeping his voice low. “That must be Fran’s son.”

  “I guess they didn’t patch things up after all,” Violet said with a sigh.

  “Just wait till we find the treasure,” added Benny. “Fran will have lots of pennies to rub together then!”

  “I hope so, Benny,” said Henry. “I hope so.”

  As Fran stepped onto the patio, she spotted the children immediately and walked over. She smiled as she pulled up a chair, but it wasn’t much of a smile. “Sure feels good to take a load off my feet,” she said with a sigh.

  Henry could see that the argument with her son had upset Fran. He was trying to think of something cheery to say, when Jessie spoke up.

  “Cedarburg is a beautiful town,” she remarked. “No wonder you love living here, Fran.”

  “I can’t imagine living anywhere else, Jessie.” Fran let out another sigh.

  They were all quiet for a while as they studied the menus. When the waitress came back to the table, Fran ordered a cheese sandwich and an iced tea. Henry chose fish and chips, and orange juice. Jessie and Violet both ordered corned beef sandwiches, cole slaw, and milk. Benny decided on a hamburger, French fries, and chocolate milk.

  “Tell us more about the artist who painted the runaway ghost,” Violet said, turning to Fran. “Did he ever become famous?”

  Fran laughed. “Oh, no. I’m afraid that painting isn’t worth much to anyone but me. The artist was a friend of Selden and Anne’s. His name was Homer and that’s about all we know about him. I don’t even know what his last name was!”

  “How do you know his first name?” Benny asked.

  “Well, he signed it on the painting,” Fran replied, “and my great-great-grandfather mentioned him a lot in the diary he kept. They were very close. So many of the entries say ‘Homer and Anne and I did this and, Homer and Anne and I did that.’ They had great fun together!”

  “Well, he was a wonderful artist,” Jessie said.

  “You know, there’s an old photograph of Homer around somewhere,” Fran informed them. “He’s standing with Selden and Anne on the front lawn of Shadowbox. They’re all holding croquet mallets.”

  “What’s a croquet mallet?” Benny wanted to know.

  “It’s for croquet, an old-fashioned game, Benny,” explained Henry. “The mallets are used to hit wooden balls through little arches called wickets.”

  Benny grinned. “Sounds like fun.”

  Fran smiled at the youngest Alden. “As I recall, there’s an old croquet set up in the attic. If you don’t mind rummaging around for it, you’re welcome to give it a try.”

  The Aldens didn’t mind at all. As soon as they got back to Shadowbox, they hurried up to the attic. “Whew!” said Benny. “It sure is hot up here.”

  Henry nodded. “Like an oven,” he said as he glanced around at the clutter of dusty books, cardboard boxes, broken toys, and lumpy old chairs.

  “Let’s split up,” Jessie suggested in her practical way. “Then it won’t take so long.”

  Benny sat down to poke around in a box of comic books and jigsaw puzzles. Henry opened the drawers of a dusty old dresser. Jessie sorted through a hamper filled with odds and ends. And Violet searched in a trunk covered with faded stickers from faraway places.

  It wasn’t long before Benny let out a cheer. “I found it!” he said, holding open the lid of a wooden box. “At least, I think I did.”

  Henry went over to take a look. “Way to go, Benny!” he said, glancing down at the box filled wit
h mallets and balls and wickets.

  “Omigosh!” Violet was still standing over the old trunk, her eyes wide.

  “Is anything wrong?” Jessie asked her sister.

  Violet stammered, “It’s a … a trunk!”

  Jessie, Henry, and Benny looked from Violet to the trunk and back again. They seemed puzzled.

  “What’s strange about that, Violet?” Benny wanted to know. “Lots of attics have old trunks in them.”

  “But … it’s a trunk and it’s up in the attic!” Violet sounded excited.

  Henry suddenly understood. “The elephants’ trunks were pointing up!”

  “Now that you mention it,” said Jessie, “a trunk can be an elephant’s long nose — ”

  “Or it can be a big chest for storing things,” finished Violet.

  “The thing you hold/Is the thing you seek!” cried Benny. “We were supposed to seek another trunk! That’s where the next clue must be.”

  “Got to be,” agreed Henry.

  Violet, Benny, Henry, and Jessie searched carefully through the trunk. It was filled with old-fashioned clothes that smelled of mothballs. But when they were finished, all they’d found was an envelope bulging with old photographs. Jessie tucked the envelope into her back pocket to show Fran.

  “Looks like we struck out,” Violet was forced to admit.

  “I don’t get it.” Jessie looked down at the trunk. “According to the clues, this should be the spot.”

  “Then where’s the next riddle?” Benny wanted to know.

  The Aldens looked at one another. How were they ever going to solve such a strange mystery?

  CHAPTER 5

  A Pile of Rubbish?

  The Aldens found Fran sitting in her workroom, a basket of flowers in front of her. Newspapers had been spread over a long table, and there was a thick phone book nearby. When Jessie tugged the old photographs from her pocket, Fran’s face broke into a smile.

  “Well, you’ve made my day, Jessie. I knew I’d put these pictures somewhere for safekeeping, but I’d forgotten exactly where.” She slipped the envelope into her apron pocket with a happy sigh.

  “And I found the old croquet set,” Benny reminded everyone.

  Fran turned to him with a warm smile. “That was very helpful, too, Benny.”

  The Aldens glanced around the sunny workroom. Metal file cabinets lined one wall. Wooden shelves filled with neatly-labeled shoe boxes stood against another wall. By the curtained window, there was a large desk cluttered with papers. In the corner, half hidden by a potted plant, phone books were piled high.

  “I’ve never seen so many phone books!” Benny’s eyes were wide.

  Fran threw her head back and laughed. “Folks in town save them for me, Benny. The pages are perfect for pressing flowers. They soak up all the moisture.” She looked around at the Aldens. “Anybody interested in pressing flowers? I’d be happy to show you how.”

  “Oh, yes!” said Violet, her eyes shining. The others nodded eagerly.

  Fran handed out wicker baskets. “For starters, you’ll need to gather some flowers,” she said. “If you see anything in the garden that strikes your fancy, just help yourselves. Oh, and don’t forget about wildflowers,” she added. “Even weeds have charm.”

  “I think I’ll pick buttercups,” Benny decided as they headed for the door. “They’re my favorites.”

  Outside, Jessie and Henry followed the stepping-stone path through the garden, while Violet and Benny searched for wildflowers on the banks of the creek. Their baskets were soon bursting with summer colors. Fran nodded approvingly when they came back into the room.

  “That’s the ticket!” she said. “You’ve got a real mix of colors there.”

  The Aldens sat down at the table. Fran showed them how to spread the flowers out on the newspapers, then carefully place them, spaced apart, on the pages of a phone book.

  After they’d been working for a while, Benny looked up. “This is so cool,” he said.

  Henry agreed. He was holding a morning glory under Fran’s magnifying glass. “The flowers are all so different.”

  “That’s true, Henry,” Fran said. “As Reese would say, there are no boring bits. Every leaf and tendril is special.”

  “Oh, does Reese press flowers, too?” Violet asked.

  “Yes, I’ve been teaching her everything I know.” Fran’s lips curled up in a smile. “She really is the dearest child.”

  Jessie was wondering about something. “How did you get started, Fran? Pressing flowers, I mean.”

  “It’s a family tradition, Jessie.” Fran gestured to the framed verses hanging along the back wall. “Those were my great-great-grandmother Anne’s creations. She didn’t write the verses, but she decorated each one with a border of pressed flowers. Anne loved making everything beautiful. Apparently she even painted buttercups all over the walls of the old mudroom.”

  “The old mudroom?” Jessie gave Fran a questioning look.

  “It used to be just off the kitchen,” Fran explained. “A place for dirty boots and coats. After Anne decorated it, everybody called it the Buttercup Room. But it was torn down long before my time.”

  Jessie glanced at Henry. If Anne pressed flowers, wasn’t it possible she’d decorated that mysterious box? It was clear she loved buttercups. Was Lottie right? Was it all just a parlor game? That would explain why they hadn’t found any clues in the trunk. They were probably long gone — just like the treasure.

  Violet, who was taking a closer look at the framed verses on the wall, suddenly turned around. “There’s one called A Little St. Ives Rhyme.”

  “Anne was very fond of her hometown, Violet,” Fran said. “She even named the old tree house Little St. Ives.”

  That got Benny’s attention. “Tree house?”

  “Selden built it for his sons,” Fran explained. “But the tree was struck by lightning long ago. The tree house was destroyed.”

  “Oh, that’s sad,” said Benny.

  Fran nodded. “We get some terrible thunderstorms here in Wisconsin.”

  They all bent to their work again. A short while later, Benny placed his last flower in the phone book he was sharing with Violet. “So, is that it?” he asked Fran.

  “Not quite, Benny. The flowers need heavy weights pressing down on them.” Fran walked over to the closet. She threw open the door to reveal stacks of bricks. “I find these work quite nicely.”

  Following Fran’s instructions, Henry stacked the phone books on the floor of the closet, then placed the bricks on top.

  “Nice job, Henry,” Fran praised. “The flowers take a few months to dry. But I’ve got a ton of them already pressed. If you’re interested in making your own greeting cards later, you’re welcome to use whatever flowers you want.”

  Violet’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

  Fran winked. “I don’t see why not.”

  Violet was thrilled. She clapped her hands together excitedly.

  Jessie said, “Thanks so much for the lesson, Fran.” The others thanked her too.

  “If you keep at it, you’ll get the hang of it soon enough.” Fran glanced at her watch. “I guess I’d better get a move on. My chores are waiting.”

  When she was gone, the Aldens set to work cleaning up. They were just finishing when they noticed someone standing in the doorway. A tall, sandy-haired man, his suit jacket over his arm, was watching them through narrowed eyes.

  “Who are you?” he demanded. “And how’d you get in here?”

  The children were so surprised by his harsh tone, they were speechless. Finally, Henry recovered his voice. “You must be Fran’s son, Nelson,” he said with a friendly smile. “We’re the Aldens. I’m Henry. This is my brother, Benny, and my sisters, Violet and Jessie.”

  “Fran invited us to stay with her for a few days,” added Jessie. “She’s a friend of our grandfather’s.”

  Shaking his head, Nelson muttered, “Might as well add a revolving door out front with so many people staying
here.” He sounded annoyed.

  “But we’re here to help,” Benny protested. “We’re going to solve a mystery and find a treasure for Fran.”

  Nelson did not look happy to hear this. “Give me a break! My mother told me all about the riddle she found. Don’t worry, there’s no treasure. That mystery is just a pile of rubbish.”

  “Fran doesn’t think it’s rubbish,” Jessie said quietly.

  Nelson cut in, “Just don’t get my mother’s hopes up for nothing.” He shifted his suit jacket impatiently from one arm to the other. “She works so hard, she never has time for me anymore. We used to have good times together. We used to — ” He stopped abruptly as if realizing he’d said too much. “I just want her life to be a bit easier. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Maybe Fran wants a happy life,” Violet offered, “not an easy one.”

  Nelson opened his mouth as if about to speak, then closed it again. He wheeled around and hurried away.

  Henry shook his head in astonishment. “Nelson sure thinks he knows best.”

  A few minutes later, Fran poked her head into the room. “I thought I heard Nelson’s voice. Is he here?”

  Henry said, “He left already.”

  “I don’t think he likes us very much,” added Benny.

  “Oh, you mustn’t think that,” said Fran. “Nelson’s a good man, but he places too much importance on money. Ever since his father died, he’s been worrying about me because I’m on a tight budget. He doesn’t seem to realize I can take care of myself.”

  “Maybe he just wants to be a part of your life,” Violet suggested, softening a little toward Nelson.

  Fran looked at Violet in surprise. Then she quickly changed the subject. “Any thoughts on the mystery riddle?”

  “We were pretty sure we had a lead,” said Henry. “But it fizzled out.”

  “Oh!” Fran looked disappointed.

  “Don’t worry,” Benny said. “We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  Jessie didn’t say anything. She couldn’t help wondering if Nelson was right. Were they getting Fran’s hopes up for nothing?

  CHAPTER 6