Juliet sensed that something inside each of her friends was pulling away from her just as an animal might back away after catching the faint whiff of poison in a plant or a disease in a fellow creature. They think I’m a freak, she told herself. Now they’ll reject me in order to protect themselves.
“I—I never really knew my aunt,” Juliet said weakly, sensing that in order to keep herself connected to her friends—to the world of the living—she should try to distance herself from the crazy woman who had jumped from the tower window years ago. “She must have been pretty weird.”
All four girls looked at Juliet. With pity? Horror? Contempt? Juliet could no longer read their emotions, but she sensed that she herself had become transparent.
“I know!” said Liz. “Let’s have a séance and talk to your aunt!”
“No—too creepy,” Jenna protested.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Juliet thought of the footsteps she sometimes heard in the house in the middle of the night.
“Liz, the thing about you is that you don’t know when to stop,” said Meghan.
Liz jumped to her feet. “Don’t be a bunch of chickens. Let’s do it!”
“Where are you going?”
“Outside, of course. We’ll do the séance inside the tower!”
“We can’t go inside the tower,” said Juliet. “It’s locked.”
“Then let’s unlock it.”
“I don’t know where the key is—or if there even is a key anymore.”
“Okay. Then we’ll do the séance right next to the tower. We should get as close as possible to the place your aunt died.”
Unable to stifle their nervous giggles, the girls tiptoed down the stairs, then out the back door. Outside, the wind blew more fiercely than usual.
“It’s cold out here!” Jenna complained.
Standing on the patio behind the house, the girls gazed down the steep hill at the tops of palm trees and the lights of houses and restaurants clustered by the dark water below. Juliet crept along behind the others, past the angel statue that seemed to regard the girls mournfully and toward the overgrown vines and flowers surrounding the base of the tower.
“Come on!” Liz whispered loudly, beckoning to the other girls.
Juliet had never been outside in her own backyard at night. She had never looked up at the tower with its boarded windows like bandaged eyes and sinister, pointy tower that looked like a witch’s hat in the moonlight. Juliet had expected to feel terrified, but instead she merely felt that it was now much easier to imagine someone falling—or jumping—from the tower window in the soft darkness, down toward the colorful, twinkling lights and black water far below. In the night wind, it seemed that if you jumped, the sky might pick you up and carry you as if you were a weightless leaf or a witch perched upon a magic broom. Perhaps that’s exactly what had happened. Perhaps, on a night like this, Aunt Melanie had momentarily thought that she might actually be able to turn herself into an owl or a bat and fly over the bay.
“Let’s sit in a circle next to the tower,” said Liz.
“It’s freezing out here!” Jenna complained again.
“Maybe if you wore normal pajamas instead of a baby-doll nightgown, you wouldn’t be so cold!” Liz snapped.
“Are you sure you know how to do a séance?” Juliet asked in a small voice as she sat down on the ground and took Liz’s hand.
“Not knowing how wouldn’t stop her,” said Meghan.
“Of course I know how to do a séance,” said Liz. “I’ve done about ten at slumber parties. First, we join hands like this, and then—all together—we chant something.”
“What do we chant?”
“Something like: ‘Dark forces of the spirit world, grant me the power to speak to Juliet’s aunt!’ Wait—what’s your aunt’s name again, Juliet?”
“M-Melanie.” It sounded strange to Juliet to hear her own voice say the name aloud. Melanie suddenly struck her as a very lonely word.
“You know what?” said Jenna, standing up and breaking the circle. “This is just too creepy. I’m going inside.”
“Suit yourself, but if this were a horror movie, you’d be the one who’d be killed first—because you went back inside by yourself.”
Jenna sat back down.
“Let’s begin,” said Liz quietly.
“Dark forces of the spirit world, grant me the power to speak to Melanie Splinter, who jumped from this tower to her death. Dark forces of the spirit world, grant me the power …”
The girls’ whispering voices vibrated in the air. Juliet felt a wave of dizziness. For a moment, she thought she might faint.
Juliet sensed someone approaching. She opened her eyes and saw a slim shadow moving quickly toward the group. She gasped, causing the other girls to open their eyes.
Screams erupted from all five girls.
Their shrieks were quickly followed by relieved laughter, however, when they realized that it was only Mr. Splinter walking toward them. “That scared the crap out of me!” Liz sputtered.
Emily and Meghan rolled on the ground, giggling. Jenna and Juliet looked as if they might cry.
Mr. Splinter rubbed his eyes and then pressed the palms of his hands to his forehead as if trying to stop a migraine headache. Wearing his pajamas, he looked exhausted.
“Sorry we woke you up,” said Liz, collecting herself. “We were trying to be quiet.”
Juliet stood up. She knew her father would be angry to discover her outside, sitting right next to the entranceway to the tower, but she suddenly didn’t care. She felt a surge of rage. Her father was probably planning to reprimand her. But wasn’t it his fault that she had been humiliated—left to discover the truth about her dead aunt from her friends?
“What kind of shenanigans are going on out here?” said Mr. Splinter, causing Juliet’s friends to stifle giggles at his use of the word shenanigans. Mr. Splinter glared at them. “Juliet,” he continued, “you know you aren’t supposed to be outside in the middle of the night. You also know that you are not supposed to play near that tower. You should have explained to your friends that it’s strictly off-limits.”
“It’s my fault,” said Liz. “Juliet told us not to, but—”
“We were having a séance,” said Juliet defiantly.
Mr. Splinter pursed his lips. “I don’t think you should be outside in the middle of the night. Time for you girls to get back to bed.”
“You’re a liar,” said Juliet in a clear, hollow voice that suddenly cut the air like a piece of broken glass.
Mr. Splinter blinked, unable to respond for a moment. “Juliet, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You lied about how Aunt Melanie died.”
“I most certainly did not—”
“She killed herself on purpose, and you never told me that!” said Juliet coldly. “Apparently everybody knows that except me. You lied.”
Liz, Emily, Meghan, and Jenna watched nervously. This exchange was fascinating, but nearly as scary as the séance. There was something frightening about the icy rage in Juliet’s voice.
For a moment, Mr. Splinter’s mouth moved as if he was trying to find words that wouldn’t come to him. He looked as if he would like to pick up something and break it. Then he turned his attention to Juliet’s friends, who stared at him with blank, stricken faces. “I hope you’re happy,” he said. “Look how you’ve upset my daughter!”
“Don’t blame them,” said Juliet.
The girls remained silent, glancing at one another nervously. There was something mortifying about being reprimanded by someone else’s parent, and they had no idea how to respond. “We’re sorry,” Emily offered in a small voice.
“It isn’t your fault,” said Juliet.
“I think this slumber party has come to an end,” said Mr. Splinter, turning his attention back to Juliet. “I’ll drive your friends home.”
Eyes downcast, Juliet’s friends stared at their manicures.
“But I want them to stay!” Juliet suddenly shouted, her voice echoing over the hillside. “I’m sick of being alone in this haunted house!”
Juliet suddenly felt as if she were falling into a deep crevice in which all of her problems had become cold hands that grabbed at her clothes and hair: her slipping grades, the stepsisters she hated, her father’s secretiveness, and now the probable loss of her friends… . Stop it! she tried to tell herself, but it was too late: she had lost control. Juliet covered her face with her hands, unable to stop herself from sobbing.
The girls stared. Juliet’s outburst was like a tantrum that a much younger girl might throw if she didn’t get the present she wanted on her birthday—a seizure of tears.
Emily, Liz, Meghan, and Jenna watched as Mr. Splinter put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders and led her back inside the house.
At school the next week, the girls had treated Juliet with distant politeness, the way adults might act after witnessing an embarrassing incident that each would rather forget. Juliet wasn’t surprised or even particularly disappointed; the feeling was mutual. Perhaps it’s simpler to have acquaintances rather than bothering with real friends, she thought.
Every now and then, Juliet thought she glimpsed a brief look of sympathy—or was it merely curiosity?—from Jenna or Emily. Every now and then, Liz or Meghan would call to see if she wanted to join them for a shopping spree. Juliet herself did not dare to extend invitations to any of the four girls; she was not one to risk another failure.
I’m not alone, she had told the four girls on her birthday.
But she was. And she guessed she would just have to learn to live that way.
13
The Locked Door
Gilda climbed out of bed and peered out the window. A foggy haze hovered over the neighborhood. At the base of the steep hill behind the house, the bay resembled a giant cauldron of white smoke. Here I am in San Francisco, Gilda told herself, in a house with a real ghost!
In the morning light, the memory of the ghost in the tower and the conversation in Juliet’s room seemed like events she might have dreamed or imagined. But there, lying on the floor, was the lamp she had knocked over the night before—a small piece of evidence that it had all really happened.
Gilda put on a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt that declared SAY NICE THINGS ABOUT DETROIT!, and her sunglasses shaped like cat’s eyes. She clumped downstairs.
On the second floor, Gilda heard the sound of a young woman’s voice coming from one of the rooms. She peeked through the doorway. A suntanned woman in her early twenties, surrounded by piles of unopened mail, waved to her enthusiastically and hung up the phone. “Hey! You must be Glinda!”
“My name’s actually Gilda.”
“I’m Summer—the one who replied to your letter, remember? I can’t believe you’re only twelve; you’re such a good writer! I wish I could write that well.”
“Thanks,” said Gilda. “But I’m almost fourteen.” Summer’s gushy, extroverted personality made her feel slightly shy.
“So did your mom find someone to take care of your brother while you’re here?”
“What? Oh … I think so.”
“Is he doing any better?”
“Well, he’s still having some trouble with potty training, but otherwise great.”
Summer bared her teeth in a look of sympathetic terror at this comment. “That’s so tough,” she said. “He’s lucky to have a sister like you.”
Struggling not to laugh, Gilda pretended to have a sudden coughing fit. Good thing Wendy isn’t here, or I’d really lose it, she thought.
“Uh-oh,” said Summer. “I hope you didn’t pick up some kind of cold on the plane. The air in those planes is so germy!”
Summer and Gilda suddenly fell silent because Mr. Splinter entered the room. In his expensive gray suit, he had the crisp, generic look of a brand-new office building.
“Lester,” said Summer, “this is Gilda.”
“Yes, we’ve met,” said Mr. Splinter, who offered a stiff smile.
Maybe he doesn’t like being called Lester, Gilda thought.
Mr. Splinter began to rummage through some forms on Summer’s desk. “Good morning, Gilda,” he said. “Just let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable.” He spoke with the articulate formality of a gentleman in an old black-and-white movie.
“Sorry about waking you up last night,” said Gilda. “I didn’t mean to knock over the lamp—”
“That’s quite all right,” said Mr. Splinter absently, flipping through a document.
Gilda observed him for a moment. He’s a secretive person, she thought. Gilda had an urge to interrogate him ruthlessly, like a detective on a television crime show, but she sensed that this would prove futile. “Mr. Splinter,” she ventured cautiously, “I still think I heard something strange coming from the tower.” She tried to refrain from blurting several prying questions all at once. “Have you ever noticed anything out of the ordinary in this house?”
“Well, I know Rosa claims that we have some ghosts, but as I said last night, I myself am not superstitious.”
“Oh, I am,” Summer interjected. “I totally believe in ghosts. Wait—there’s a ghost in here?!”
“I believe there is,” said Gilda, attempting to speak in her most assertive psychic-investigator voice.
Mr. Splinter looked up from his papers, surprised by Gilda’s authoritative tone.
“I mean,” Gilda added, now feeling slightly ridiculous as she met Mr. Splinter’s steady gaze, “I’m positive that I did hear something moving around inside the tower. And if it’s been locked for years like you said, that’s rather odd, don’t you think?”
“Gilda, one of the rules in this house is that the tower is strictly off-limits,” Mr. Splinter explained. “That goes for everyone.”
“Okay,” said Gilda, watching as Mr. Splinter turned to head back to his desk. “But—may I ask why it’s off-limits?”
Gilda knew that this question was rude and that her mother would have been appalled if she had been present. At the moment, Gilda didn’t care; she wanted to see how much information she could get secretive Mr. Splinter to reveal. She had a gut feeling that he was hiding something sinister.
Summer’s mouth hung open as if she were watching a particularly juicy soap opera.
Mr. Splinter’s back seemed to bristle. “I don’t feel that the tower is a suitable place for Juliet to play,” he said, ignoring Gilda’s question, “and I expect her friends to abide by the rule as well. Understand?”
Gilda nodded, secretly thinking that she was now more curious than ever to find out what lurked inside that tower. There’s something very strange about Mr. Splinter, she thought. He’s definitely hiding something!
“Wow,” Summer whispered to Gilda when Mr. Splinter was back in his office and out of earshot. “You ask some really good questions! It sounds like you know more about Lester than I’ve been able to figure out in an entire year!”
“That’s because I have a part-time job as an investigator,” Gilda whispered. “A psychic investigator, to be specific.”
Summer laughed, which was not the response Gilda wanted. She knew that the job “psychic investigator” sounded unrealistic to most adults—like a child’s imaginary game rather than a real career. Would she have to be sixty years old before she could tell someone she was a psychic investigator without eliciting chuckles?
“Sorry!” said Summer, perceiving Gilda’s disappointment, but nevertheless unable to completely stifle a few more giggles. “So—you can read minds and stuff?”
“Well, I’m working on that,” said Gilda, “but it’s more like being a detective of the supernatural.”
“Like on The X-Files?”
“I’m not looking for aliens,” said Gilda, annoyed that Summer seemed to think she was mimicking a television show.
“Hey,” said Summer, “you should take a look at a fortune-cookie message I just got last night
.” Digging in her messy purse, she began to chat about a psychic she had recently seen who “seemed to know everything” about her current boyfriend. “Here it is!” she said, handing Gilda a tiny, crumpled piece of fortune-cookie paper.
The fortune said: You will meet a stimulating younger person.
“That must be you!” said Summer, smiling. “Hey, I know! I’ll take you to Chinatown this afternoon! Would you like that?”
Gilda supposed that she would. After all, it was unlikely that Juliet was going to be much of a companion for exploring the city.
“I’m sure Lester will let me take you this afternoon, as soon as I finish my work here. Now—why don’t you ask Rosa to give you some breakfast?”
As Gilda made her way toward the aroma of coffee coming from the kitchen, she felt someone pinch the back of her arm.
“Ow!” She turned to find Juliet grinning at her impishly “Oh, it’s you.”
Wearing black pants that hung loosely from her bony hips and a jean jacket over a T-shirt, Juliet leaned on her crutches. With her translucent skin and pale hair, she looked out of place—like someone visiting California from a very winterish country, or a patient who had just emerged from the hospital following treatment for some wasting disease.
“Wow—you actually left your room!” said Gilda, thinking that it was strange to see Juliet outside her bedroom, wearing something other than her bathrobe. She also appeared to have washed her hair.
“I changed my mind,” said Juliet, who looked more animated than usual.
“Changed your mind about what?”
“You know,” said Juliet. “What we talked about last night. You said you would help me.”
“Help you with what?” Sadistically pushing a person by forcing her to beg was a technique Gilda had learned from her brother.
“Never mind,” said Juliet.
“I’m just giving you a hard time. Of course I’ll help you. In fact, I was just asking your father about the tower.”
“You were?”
“He definitely knows something that he’s not telling.”
Juliet’s small mouth twisted into a mischievous smile. “Look.” She pulled something shiny from a pocket in her jacket. It was a large ring of keys—about a hundred keys of all shapes and sizes. She shook them triumphantly. “Rosa’s key chain,” she said proudly.
Gilda Joyce, Psychic Investigator Page 9