Chance’s expression darkened. “Are you perhaps referring to this?”
He opened his mouth and uttered a deep, guttural moan, followed by a series of strangled cries. The effect was, at the very least, startling.
There was a long silence as everyone took a moment to recover.
Then Rolly said, “You sound sick. Are you going to throw up?”
“Can a ghost throw up?” Will asked the room.
“They don’t eat or drink,” said Henry. “I’d say no.”
Will nodded, conceding the point, then said, “Maybe they vomit ectoplasm—”
“I am not sick!” Chance snapped. “That was my gibbering ghost, just one of the many varieties of apparitions I have played in my career. Picture it!” He held out his hands as if sketching the scene in midair. “I step onto an empty stage. All is dark but for a single candle sitting on a table, stage right. I give a hollow groan, followed by a demonic laugh!” He dropped his hands and bowed his head, as if acknowledging a wave of applause. “The audience is gripped with terror!”
“Uh-huh,” said Henry. “Of course, they might have been terrified that you were going to throw up on them.”
The other ghosts burst out laughing.
“I’ll have you know that I had audiences too frightened to speak when I played Neville Snively in A Murderer’s Revenge,” Chance said through clenched teeth. “Not to mention a brief turn as the Ghost in Hamlet, of course, and Banquo in the Scottish play—”
“Don’t let him get started or we’ll be up all night, listening to him talk about every play he’s ever been in,” Bertha warned Poppy. “Now, I would love to take a quick peek at your kitchen, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Yes, we’ll just take a quick look around,” Agnes said. “I promise, we won’t touch a thing.”
They glided down the hall and through the kitchen door. They heard Agnes exclaim, “Oh my, just look at that stove!” and then the door swung closed once more.
Peggy Sue floated gaily toward the upstairs landing. “I saw the bathroom as soon as we got here,” she said with delight. “I can’t wait to take a real bubble bath again! I don’t even mind sleeping in the bathtub!”
Franny’s mouth dropped open. “But you can’t,” she protested. “That’s our only bathroom.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t be long,” Peggy Sue called over her shoulder as she drifted out of sight. “Ta-ta!”
Travis slid down the banister, jumping off at the end and landing next to Will. “I figured we could share a room,” he said brightly.
Will’s mouth opened, as if he were about to say something, then closed.
“You don’t mind, do you, Will?” Travis asked.
Will tried to speak again, then gave up and closed his mouth again.
“Stop doing that,” Poppy whispered. “You look like a fish.”
She turned to face Chance head on. “You said that if we cleaned up the cemetery, you would let us film you. In the cemetery. Not here, in our house.”
“Ah well, plans change, you know,” he said airily. “They evolve. We must all adapt to changed circumstances—”
“But how did you even get here?” demanded Poppy. “I thought you couldn’t come unless we called you. That’s what Travis said. And we were very, very careful not to touch your headstone or invite you to follow us or anything like that.”
“Ah yes, I’m afraid we played a bit of a trick on you,” Chance said, trying not to look smug and failing. “As it turns out, there’s more than one way out of a graveyard. You avoided one trap, but we had another.”
Poppy narrowed her eyes. “You fooled us?” she said. “How?”
“Come now.” Chance glided down the rest of the stairs and looked at himself in the hall mirror, smoothing his hair with both hands. “A ghost has to have some secrets.”
“Hmm.” Poppy gave him a narrow look. She was thinking hard. “Well,” she finally said. “I guess things could be worse. At least we won’t have to bike out to the graveyard every time we want to film you. And Mom and Dad will be thrilled to meet some actual ghosts—”
Chance’s hand dropped from his tie at the same moment his smile vanished from his face.
“No,” he said firmly. “You must not—must not—tell your parents.”
“Why not?” Will asked. “They’ve spent their whole lives searching for ghosts. They’d really like being able to talk to you—”
“Oh, sure they’d like it,” Travis said in a jeering tone. “Right before they banished us to some kind of crazy limbo!”
Poppy exchanged puzzled looks with Will, Franny, and Henry.
“Why would they do that?” she asked.
“That night you came out to the cemetery and set up all your cameras and stuff,” Travis said, “your mother said that if they wanted to get rid of a ghost, they had some special way of doing it.”
Poppy narrowed her eyes as she thought back to their stakeout at the Shady Rest Cemetery. Her mother had said something about a banishing ritual, but surely—
“Are you talking about the Gliffenberger Technique?” she asked.
The ghosts all shuddered.
Will grinned. “You mean you took that seriously?”
“You’d be serious, too,” Buddy said earnestly, “if you thought you weren’t going to exist anymore.”
“But Mom was just trying to make Rolly feel better,” Poppy tried to explain. “She thought he was scared.”
“Ha! A nice try, but your little brother is not afraid of anything that I can see,” said Chance. “I’m afraid you can’t fool us with a flimsy story like that.”
Poppy sighed. “Listen—”
“No.” Chance held up a commanding hand. “If you tell your parents, you will never see us again—in this house, in the graveyard, or anywhere in between!” He turned a flashing eye on her. “And your only chance of getting evidence that we exist will be gone … forever.”
When Mr. and Mrs. Malone returned home, it was almost midnight. Poppy thought that she might have to explain why they were all (including Rolly) still awake or why every light in the house was on. She thought her parents might wonder why the shower was running or why the kitchen smelled like cinnamon or why the porch swing was swaying gently to the sound of a guitar.
But when Mrs. Malone walked up to the porch where Poppy and Franny were standing, she merely said, “Oh, I am so glad to be home! Honestly, I’m sure I’m going to develop rheumatism from spending hours sitting on the ground in that dreadfully damp little cave.”
Mrs. Rivera got out of the car and walked toward the house. Unlike Mr. and Mrs. Malone, who were clearly drooping, she still seemed full of energy, her eyes bright and her step lively as she came to the door.
“We made wonderful progress tonight, don’t you think?” she asked Mr. Malone.
“Well, progress is a relative term, of course—” he began.
“I feel certain that we came close to discovering the location of the vortex,” Mrs. Rivera said. “And once we do that, it will be the work of a moment to open the portal to another dimension!”
“Er, yes,” Mr. Malone said, casting a nervous look at Mrs. Malone, who had moved on to neck rolls. “Although you know, when one doesn’t get results immediately, sometimes it’s best to cut one’s losses and move on to a new investigation....”
Mrs. Rivera gave him a sympathetic glance. “Oh, you’re talking about your ghosts, aren’t you? You know, I could help you with that little case of yours if you’d like....”
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Malone through gritted teeth. “No.”
“But it would be so easy for me,” said Mrs. Rivera, opening her large brown eyes even wider. “I told you, I talk to spirits all the time! It would be child’s play for me to contact a few for you. They all seem to feel so at home with me.”
Buddy grinned at that and played a few mocking chords of “Home on the Range.”
Poppy held her breath, but Mrs. Rivera and her parents di
dn’t seem to hear a thing.
“So kind of you,” Mrs. Malone said insincerely. “But we don’t think that case is going to work out for us after all.”
“But I’d be glad to offer any assistance,” Mrs. Rivera pressed on. “After all, what are neighbors for? Ah, there you are, Henry. Did you have a nice time?”
“Yes.” Henry said this in the tight-lipped manner of a spy undergoing interrogation. Poppy could see that he was using all his willpower not to glance in her direction.
Poppy felt a little nervous herself. After all, Mrs. Rivera claimed she could communicate with ghosts, although she did say she had never seen one.
But Mrs. Rivera just said, “Well, that’s good, but I’m sure you’re ready for bed now, aren’t you?”
Henry paused, as if trying to determine the safest response, and settled for what had worked before. “Yes,” he said.
“I think we all are,” Mrs. Malone said. “So I think we should all say good night....”
A few minutes later, Poppy and Franny were climbing the stairs behind their parents. When they reached the second floor, Mrs. Malone steered Rolly into his bedroom and Mr. Malone wearily climbed the stairs to the attic to put away the equipment case.
“Psst!” The door to the bathroom opened and Will appeared, motioning for Poppy and Franny to come closer. “Look at this!”
They crowded into the bathroom, which was filled with raspberry-scented steam. Will pointed to the foggy mirror.
A message had been written there with a ghostly finger. The bath is wonderful, it said. But can you please get more of that lovely soap?
Franny gasped. She grabbed the bottle of her special bath oil (which Mrs. Malone insisted that she buy with her own allowance, since it was ruinously expensive). The bottle was empty.
“I just bought this last week,” Franny wailed. “And she used up every drop on just one bath! I can’t believe it! I simply cannot believe it—”
“Franny, why in the world are you making so much noise?” Mrs. Malone stuck her head through the door, frowning. “Your little brother is trying to sleep.”
“Look!” Franny thrust the empty bottle in front of her mother’s face.
Mrs. Malone sighed. “I do wish you wouldn’t insist on spending so much money on things like bath oil,” she said. Her gaze moved on to take in the rest of the bathroom. She pursed her lips with annoyance. “Honestly, who is responsible for this mess? Sopping wet towels on the floor, the bath mat tossed in the corner, and all this steam! If certain people in this family don’t stop taking such long showers, they may find that their allowances are cancelled to pay for the water bill.”
“But, but—” Franny stammered. “It wasn’t my fault! Look!” She pointed at the mirror. “There was a ghost in here!”
“Honestly, Franny,” Mrs. Malone said, exasperated, but she leaned over to look in the mirror.
She saw only her own face staring back. The condensation—and the message—had evaporated.
“This is not the time to play jokes,” said Mrs. Malone crossly. “It’s been a very long day and we’re all tired. Franny, clean up that bathroom and then, all of you—go to bed.”
With one last stern look, she disappeared inside her bedroom.
“That is so unfair,” Franny began. “Why should I have to clean up a mess I didn’t make? And now I’ll have to buy another bottle of bath oil from next week’s allowance—”
“Oh, would you, hon? I’d really appreciate it.” Peggy Sue materialized in the hallway, rosy and sweet smelling.
Franny glared at her. “No, I will not! I’m not going broke so that you can loll around in our bathtub!”
Peggy Sue’s green eyes narrowed. “Well then, I guess I won’t be able to help you make your little movie,” she said sweetly. “After all, I certainly can’t appear on camera without looking my best.”
Franny opened her mouth to argue, but Poppy kicked her sharply in the ankle and she closed it again.
“We’ll all chip in for the bath oil,” Poppy said quickly. “Won’t we, Will?”
Will looked mutinous, but nodded. “Sure,” he said. “I can always get that new video game later. Like when I’m twenty.”
“Oh, thank you! You are sweet,” Peggy Sue said. “I’ll see you all tomorrow, ready for my close-up! Ta-ta.”
She twinkled out of sight.
“This is a nightmare,” Franny said. “An absolute nightmare!”
“We’ve got to get rid of them,” Will agreed.
“How?” Franny sounded on the verge of hysterics. “They’re settling in! They’re taking over! We’re going to end up being haunted for the rest of our lives!”
“Shh,” Poppy hissed. “Don’t panic. We’ll think of something.”
She only wished she felt as confident as she sounded.
Chapter SIXTEEN
The next morning, Poppy overslept and woke to a house that was suspiciously quiet.
Somehow, she knew that wouldn’t last.
Before getting out of bed, she checked the video camera by reaching over to the bedside table where she had placed it the night before. Carefully and methodically, she made sure the calibrations were balanced, the battery was charged, and the lens was clean. Then she swung her feet out of bed and got dressed. Even though she was just wearing shorts, a T-shirt, and sandals, she put on each item as if she were donning armor to go into battle.
Then she grabbed the video camera and headed toward the bathroom to brush her teeth, only to find the door shut and the sound of the shower running coming from inside.
“Franny?” Poppy knocked on the door. “Quit hogging the bathroom—”
There was no answer. She put her ear against the door. Underneath the sound of the water, she could hear humming. Then a light soprano voice broke into song.
“I love you dearly,” the voice warbled, slightly off-key. “You know I do-o-o …”
Poppy’s shoulders slumped as she recognized Peggy Sue’s voice.
“I just wanted to brush my teeth,” she muttered forlornly as she trudged down the stairs.
She wandered into the kitchen, where she found Bertha and Agnes poking around in the cupboards and a note on the table from Mrs. Malone. In her round, loopy handwriting, she had written:
I think the vortex is simply a figment of someone’s overactive imagination, but your father insists that we explore it further, so we are heading to the library for the day. Well, perhaps the Library Angel will come through again. We mustn’t lose hope! Franny and Will took Rolly to the park for the morning. They’ll be back for lunch—there’s salad in the fridge and cans of soup in the pantry. Please keep a close eye on Rolly and that imaginary dog of his. Don’t let him do anything that will end up involving animal control, the fire department, or the National Guard.
XOXOXO, Mom.
PS: Or the FBI. Remember Tampa.
“Will you look at this?” Bertha held up a box for Agnes’s expression. “This is called instant cake mix. You just add water and an egg!”
Agnes made a tsking sound. “That can’t be as good as baking something from scratch. And just look at what I found?” She held up a can of spaghetti.
“Shocking.” Bertha shook her head, then said to Poppy, “No wonder you children look so pale and weak. Lack of nutrients, that’s your problem.”
Poppy scowled at her. “Weak? It took a lot of strength to clean up your graveyard,” she pointed out.
The two ghosts exchanged secretive smiles.
“Yes, that’s true,” Agnes said. “That was so helpful of you, wasn’t it, Bertha?”
Bertha sniggered. “Oh yes,” she said. “More than you know.”
Poppy frowned. She could tell that there was some hidden meaning to what they were saying. The problem was that she had no idea what it was.
“What do you mean?” she asked bluntly.
Agnes just arched her eyebrows, while Bertha opened the fridge and leaned down to look inside, chuckling to herself.
“Fine. Don’t tell me.” Poppy put her camera on the counter, grabbed a box of baking soda, and irritably cleaned her teeth at the kitchen faucet.
When she was done, she picked up her video camera again. “I’d like to film you now,” she said.
“Now? Oh, I don’t know....” Agnes patted her hair. “I must look a mess.”
“We were just about to mix up some cookies,” Bertha said. “I haven’t been able to bake any treats for more than sixty years! Your movie can wait a little bit, can’t it?”
Poppy hesitated. Bertha and Agnes gave her beseeching looks.
Then Agnes added, “We thought we’d start with chocolate chip. Doesn’t that sound good? And you children can be our tasters!”
The promise of fresh chocolate chip cookies was impossible for Poppy to ignore.
“Okay,” she said, pouring a bowl of cereal. “I can always start with someone else.”
Poppy carried her cereal bowl and camera onto the front porch, where she found Buddy strumming his guitar.
She settled down beside him and listened for a few moments. Poppy thought she had never heard such mournful music. As each note floated through the air, it seemed to remind her of all the saddest thoughts and memories she had ever had. Poppy felt tears welling up in her eyes and a lump in her throat that wouldn’t go away, no matter how many times she swallowed.
“Can’t you play something more cheerful?” she asked, wiping her eyes.
He shook his head. “Whatever I feel is what comes out in my music.”
Buddy played a few more chords. Poppy quickly took a bite of cereal before more tears could drip into the bowl. “So why do you feel so sad?”
“Well, that’s a good question.” Thankfully, he stopped playing while he thought about it. “I guess it might be because of your house.”
Poppy frowned, a spoonful of cereal halfway to her mouth. “What’s wrong with it?” she asked sharply. The Malones’ new house was, in Poppy’s expert opinion, absolutely perfect in every way.
“Nothin’,” Buddy said, surprised. “It’s real nice. It reminds me of the little home place I was planning to build. I’d picked out a few acres by the river with cottonwood trees all around and the sweetest water you ever tasted. I thought I’d put up a house with a porch, just like this, and maybe get a few hens. And a wife, of course.”
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