Gilda Joyce, Psychic Investigator

by Jennifer Allison

  Gilda Joyce:

  Psychic investigator,

  novelist, woman of style

  Summer Plans

  —Develop psychic abilities

  —Vacation at long-lost, creepy

  relatives’ Victorian mansion

  — Find out what’s wrong with

  gloomy, weirdo cousin Juliet

  — Invent occasion to wear blond wig

  Packing list

  Dad’s typewriter, Ouija board (just

  in case), The Master Psychic’s

  Handbook, fishnet stockings, blond

  wig, evening gown (for séances)

  “Gilda’s earnest and wacky personality accompanied by her dry wit make this an amusing as well as suspenseful mystery. Surprisingly spooky.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

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  GILDA JOYCE

  Psychic Investigator

  JENNIFER ALLISON

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)

  Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), Cnr Airborne and Rosedale Roads, Albany, Auckland 1310, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published in the United States of America by Dutton Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2005

  This Sleuth edition published by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2006

  9 10

  Copyright © Jennifer Allison, 2005

  All rights reserved

  THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE DUTTON EDITION AS FOLLOWS:

  Allison, Jennifer.

  Gilda Joyce, psychic investigator / by Jennifer Allison.—1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Summary: During the summer before ninth grade, intrepid Gilda Joyce invites herself to the San Francisco mansion of distant cousin Lester Splinter and his thirteen-year-old daughter, where she uses her purported psychic abilities and detective skills to solve the mystery of the mansion’s boarded-up tower.

  ISBN: 0-525-47375-0 (hc)

  [1. Cousins—Fiction. 2. Suicide—Fiction. 3. Fathers and daughters—Fiction.

  4. Ghosts—Fiction. 5. Psychic ability—Fiction. 6. Family problems—Fiction.

  7. San Francisco (Calif.)—Fiction. 8. Humorous stories.]

  I. Title. PZ7.A4428Gi 2005 [Fic]—dc22 2004010834

  ISBN 0-14-240698-8

  Printed in the United States of America

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  For Michael, who always makes me laugh,

  and in memory of Paul and Louise Allison

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I am grateful to stellar editor Meredith Mundy Wasinger for her editorial insight and outstanding work on numerous aspects of book production; to assistant editor Margaret Woollatt for her astute suggestions; to Richard Amari for his stunning design work; to Dutton Children’s Books president and publisher Stephanie Owens Lurie; and to Diane Giddis and others at Dutton for their copyediting efforts. I owe a special debt of gratitude to literary agent Doug Stewart. His expertise, hard work, and ongoing support are immensely appreciated.

  I would also like to thank my talented friend Carolyn Parkhurst, whose encouragement made all the difference. The outstanding writers and teachers I met at American University’s M.F.A. program deepened my understanding of the writing process, while my husband, Michael, who loves books more than anyone I know, inspired me to keep writing even during times when he was my only reader. The girls at Connelly School of the Holy Child deserve thanks for their vibrant personalities and for their enthusiasm about this book and good stories in general. Finally, I would like to acknowledge baby Max for thoughtfully waiting to be born after my manuscript was complete, and just for being the cutest thing I’ve seen in diapers.

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  1 It’s Not a Lie If It Comes True

  2 The Magic Typewriter and the Bold Letter

  3 Juliet Splinter

  4 Mrs. Frickle’s Wigs

  5 The Invitation

  6 A Dismal Progress Report

  7 Never Turn Down an Adventure

  8 The Splinter Mansion

  9 Meeting Juliet

  10 The Footsteps Behind the Wall

  11 Melanie’s Ghost

  12 The Hidden Truth

  13 The Locked Door

  14 Chinatown

  15 A Disturbing Theory

  16 Going Undercover

  17 The Psychic Pendulum

  18 A Suicide Gene

  19 Contacting Melanie

  20 The Message

  21 The Key

  22 Inside the Tower

  23 Mr. Splinter’s Discovery

  24 The Good-bye Letter?

  25 Beach Bunnies

  26 Going Home

  GILDA JOYCE

  Psychic Investigator

  PROLOGUE

  by Gilda Joyce, Psychic Investigator

  If you’ve ever been in a real haunted house (not one of the fake ones with recorded screams and ghosts projected from cameras), you know that they’re actually very quiet.

  Mr. Splinter and his daughter, Juliet, lived in just such a haunted house: a house where a Gothic tower rose up from the back garden like a witch’s hat; a house of ponderous draperies, dark wood, and long, silent hallways lined with locked doors; a house where fog stalked the neighborhood like a serial killer pursuing a busload of cheerleaders. It was a house that concealed a terrible secret.

  Like many people who live in haunted houses, Mr. Splinter and his daughter didn’t want to believe in ghosts.

  They needed my help. It was the first case in my illustrious career as Gilda Joyce, Psychic Investigator.

  1

  It�
�s Not a Lie If It Comes True

  In the back row of Mrs. Weinstock’s eighth-grade English classroom, Gilda Joyce chewed on a lock of her dark hair and pretended to listen as her classmates described their plans for the summer on the last day of the school year. Gilda paid little attention to the discussion, because she was secretly absorbed in reading a small, dog-eared book called The Master Psychic’s Handbook: A Guide to Psychic Principles and Methods. Ever since she’d found the book at a garage sale, Gilda had been a big fan of the author, Master Psychic Balthazar Frobenius, who had grown up in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Detroit and who claimed to have used his psychic gifts to help detectives solve numerous crimes.

  As the other students chattered about visiting places like Lake Michigan or Florida or the caves of Kentucky, Gilda perused a chapter entitled “Following Impulses, No Matter How Illogical,” in which Balthazar Frobenius explained how psychics sometimes get distinct physical sensations:

  … impulses that seem arbitrary at the time, but which actually lead to some fortuitous event or crucial piece of information. For example, a psychic might suddenly experience a craving for an unusual food that leads her to a neighborhood that she would never visit under normal circumstances. What does she discover in this neighborhood besides food? Most likely a person seeking the help of her psychic abilities or a clue leading to the resolution of an unsolved crime.

  For the psychic, it is often the unexpected impulse that leads her to people in need of help, clues that solve crimes, and even spirits seeking her attention.

  Over time, you will recognize your own physical cues: you may have headaches, itches, aches, twitches, or other physical sensations that become your own personal signals—a kind of psychic radar that helps you perceive important information.

  As she read the passage, Gilda felt an unusual itch in her left ear. She wondered whether this might be one of her own physical signals that she was about to have a paranormal experience.

  Gilda glanced up from her book and realized that Mrs. Weinstock was looking at her.

  “Gilda, how about you? What are your plans for the summer?”

  At the moment, her only specific plan was to spend much of the summer spying on a strikingly unattractive young man she had nicknamed “Plaid Pants” who worked at a nearby convenience store, but she didn’t want to admit this to Mrs. Weinstock. Remembering that her mother had recently spoken of her eccentric cousin who lived in California, Gilda blurted the first idea that came to mind. “I’m going to San Francisco,” she said.

  Everyone in the room turned to gaze at her with a combination of surprise and curiosity, causing Gilda to immediately regret the impulsive lie.

  “And what will you be doing there? A vacation with your family?”

  “I’ll be writing a novel.” Why did she tell Mrs. Weinstock that?

  Gilda’s pale, freckled complexion turned pink with embarrassment, and Mrs. Weinstock peered at her suspiciously. Gilda had been known to make up stories in the past, and she knew Mrs. Weinstock regarded most of her comments with a degree of skepticism. “Writing a novel is a pretty ambitious plan for a girl your age.”

  Mrs. Weinstock obviously didn’t want to believe that an eighth grader could write a novel, even if it was Gilda, who had a unique talent for writing in a voice well beyond her years. In fact, because Gilda had used vocabulary words like specious and trenchant in some of her assignments, Mrs. Weinstock had unfairly hinted that she thought Gilda had plagiarized on several occasions.

  “I’ve already written a few novels,” Gilda replied, “so it’s no big deal.” This statement was partly true; her bedroom closet was stuffed with bizarre stories that she hoped would someday make her famous.

  “How interesting,” said Mrs. Weinstock, crossing her arms over her chest. “Do tell us more.”

  Gilda chewed on her pencil, trying to think of something to say that would make Mrs. Weinstock and the entire class stop looking at her as if she were a toad that had suddenly explained it enjoyed singing opera.

  After a few agonizing seconds, Gilda was saved by the last school bell of the year, immediately followed by the clatter of students rushing toward the door and fleeing the building.

  As Gilda trudged down the hallway, she felt irritated with herself. Was her impulsive idea of traveling to San Francisco the product of a genuine psychic impulse, or was it merely a compulsive lie? Lately, Gilda had been making a genuine effort to tell the truth. At least, she had promised herself that if she did tell a spontaneous lie, she would do everything possible to make the lie actually come true. In order to maintain this resolution, she would now have to find a way to get herself from Michigan to San Francisco for the summer—a plan that suddenly seemed entirely impossible, given the fact that she had no money and that her mother would almost certainly veto the idea.

  “Hey, since when are you going to San Francisco?!” Gilda turned to face her best friend, Wendy Choy, who was struggling under the weight of an enormous blue backpack.

  “Look, Wendy, you’re going to music camp, right? Do I ask you a million questions about that?”

  “Yes, you do. And I’m only asking because—well, you know how you are.”

  “If you don’t believe I’m going to San Francisco,” said Gilda, “just call my mom and ask.” Gilda knew that Wendy would never call her mother. Wendy hated getting stuck in conversations with Mrs. Joyce.

  “But just yesterday you told me that you were planning to spend a few months spying on Plaid Pants at the convenience store,” Wendy persisted. “You said you thought he might be a serial killer.”

  “I wouldn’t waste my time doing something that dumb,” Gilda lied. In truth, Gilda had been looking forward to spying on Plaid Pants, particularly since she had just made two interesting discoveries: (1) Plaid Pants had a real name—Hector Flack (a name Gilda found far more scandalous than the nickname she had given him), and (2) Hector/Plaid Pants had recently gotten in trouble for eating candy on the job. Gilda thought he might be in danger of getting fired.

  Lately, however, Gilda sensed that Wendy had lost interest in the “neighborhood surveillance” project they had started after reading Harriet the Spy back in elementary school. Wendy also seemed uninterested in the business she and Gilda had been planning to start—Psychic Investigations Inc. While Gilda had been diligently working to develop her psychic abilities, Wendy seemed increasingly skeptical about the whole enterprise. Besides, Wendy would be spending three months at a music camp in northern Michigan, leaving Gilda on her own all summer for the first time.

  “Do you want to come over and spy on Plaid Pants just one last time before the summer?” Gilda ventured. “Or how about conducting a séance? We haven’t done any psychic investigations for ages—”

  “I can’t. I’ve got to start packing for camp, and I haven’t practiced piano nearly enough this week. We can’t play these games forever, you know. We’re almost in ninth grade!”

  “Wendy, they aren’t games; they’re careers.”

  “Maybe for you, but some of us have to live in the real world.”

  Gilda felt deflated. Wendy was abandoning her, and the real world was such a bore.

  As Gilda exited the front doors of the school, she vowed that she would find a way to get herself to San Francisco. Maybe there was a reason I blurted out that idea of going to San Francisco, Gilda thought. Maybe it really was a psychic impulse.

  2

  The Magic Typewriter and the Bold Letter

  Mrs. Joyce rushed down the hallway of the hospital and grabbed the telephone from her supervisor’s hand.

  “Sounds like your daughter again,” said the head nurse irritably.

  “Hi, Gilda!” Mrs. Joyce’s voice rose to a high, nervous pitch over the phone. She always braced herself for either terrible news or requests for favors when one of her children called during her nursing shift. “How was the last day of school?”

  “Boring.”

  “Have you put that meat l
oaf I made in the oven?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Gilda, that meat loaf needs to go in the oven now.”

  “Okay,” said Gilda, poking the loaf of uncooked ground meat with her finger.

  “Boy, my feet are killing me tonight,” said Mrs. Joyce, lowering her voice so that the head nurse wouldn’t overhear her complaint. “They want me to work a double shift again this evening. The hospital’s just been swamped, so I’m afraid it’s going to be another late night for me.”

  “We’ll be fine,” said Gilda. She and her brother were used to their mother’s erratic work schedule and had learned to prepare dinner for themselves some time ago. “Mom, I was actually calling because I need to get in touch with a cousin of yours—that strange one who lives in San Francisco?”

  “You mean Lester Splinter?”

  “Isn’t he the one whose sister jumped off the roof of the house?”

  “Yes—such a tragedy. It must have been ten years ago at least.”

  “Could you give him a call?”

  “May I ask why you want me to call him?”

  “I need to go somewhere exciting this summer, and I’d really like to visit him.” Gilda decided not to bother trying to explain the psychic impulse that was pulling her toward San Francisco and the fact that she needed to make a lie she had just told her English class come true.

  Mrs. Joyce sighed. “Gilda, Lester and I are not close. He’s my second cousin, and I used to see him at family reunions when we were kids, but we haven’t spoken in ages. I’m sorry, but it isn’t realistic to ask if you can visit him in San Francisco.”

  “But he’s family, isn’t he?”

  “Why don’t you just go spend some time with Grandma Joyce if you want to visit one of your relatives?”

  Grandma Joyce lived only a few miles away, in a tiny house downriver in Detroit. She was the only person Gilda knew who actually owned a black-and-white television and who liked baking prune pies.