A Gust of Ghosts (18 page)

“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.”

Poppy raised her eyebrows. “I suppose you just wanted a wife so you'd have someone to feed your hens,” she sniffed.

“No, ma'am,” Buddy said easily. “I'd have been willing to take care of 'em. Hens and I always got along all right. I never had any problem with hens.” He grinned slightly. “I can't say the same thing about ladies. I didn't even have a sweetheart, but I thought, well, maybe if I build the house, I'll find her.”

At that moment, Peggy Sue drifted through the front door.

“Mornin', Miss Peggy,” he said.

Peggy Sue barely glanced at him. “Good morning,” she said as she kept drifting, across the lawn and toward the street.

Buddy began playing again. This time, the song was hopeful and yearning. It would make just about anyone stop to listen, Poppy thought, but Peggy Sue kept drifting. She didn't stop until she got to the street, where she floated in one spot, watching the cars driving past.

Buddy sighed and stopped playing.

“So what happened?” asked Poppy. “With your house?”

“Well, I was heading to town to buy the deed. I had the money in my saddlebag, and I guess somebody got wind of it. They ambushed me on the road and, well, that was that.”

Poppy waited for a few moments of reverent silence before putting down her bowl and picking up her camera.

“That's a great story,” she said. “Would you mind telling it again? For the movie?”

But Buddy shook his head sadly. “Let me come up with a better story than that,” he said, fading away. “I'm sure I can come up with something more cheerful if I just put my mind to it....”

Poppy spent the morning trying to capture a ghost—any ghost!—on film. After Buddy disappeared, she went inside and found Chance in the living room, raptly watching an old movie on TV.

“Amazing,” he murmured. “If only I had been born a hundred years later! What a star I could have been!”

Quickly, she pointed the camera at him. “Why don't you try acting for me, right now?” she suggested.

But Chance simply gave her a startled glance, then floated up from the couch and toward the stairs. “Another time, my dear, another time,” he said. “An actor must prepare, you know. I haven't even done my voice exercises this morning....”

He vanished. Moments later, she could hear him in the attic, nasally chanting “Me-me-me-me-me” to warm up his throat.

Poppy marched toward the kitchen. Surely the cookies were in the oven by now. She could film Bertha and Agnes, then get Chance after lunch and maybe even catch Buddy on the porch before dinner.

She smiled. She always felt better when she had a plan.

When Poppy got to the kitchen, dozens of chocolate chip cookies were cooling on racks. They smelled delicious, but Poppy hardly noticed. She was staring at the kitchen in dismay. The table was covered with flour and sugar and cinnamon. There was a puddle of milk on the floor. Broken eggshells clogged the sink, and there were smears of butter on the countertop.

“Hello, Poppy,” said Bertha. “Have a cookie and let us know how it tastes.”

Poppy nibbled a cookie moodily. “I don't suppose you're going to clean this up, are you?” she asked without much hope.

“I'm afraid we need our sleep,” said Agnes, although her bright eyes and pink cheeks didn't quite match her words. “This has all been more excitement than we've had in fifty years.”

“Could you at least answer a few questions?” asked Poppy, holding up her camera.

“Later, dear, we promise. After our naps.”

The two ghosts disappeared.

Poppy ate another cookie.

Something's up, she thought. Those ghosts are playing some kind of game. And there's only one way I can figure out what it is....

Even from the kitchen, Poppy could hear Franny, Will, and Rolly riding their bikes back from the park.

Rolly, as usual, was pretending to be a steam engine by imitating a train whistle at the top of his lungs. Poppy glanced out the window and saw Bingo trotting along next to the back wheel of Rolly's bike.

Travis was clearly not feeling as energetic. He was sitting on Will's handlebars, his arms crossed, looking around as if he were a tourist being given a guided tour of the neighborhood. He seemed to be making comments over his shoulder to Will, which Travis found quite amusing (based on his broad grin) and Will did not (based on his scowl).

Poppy cracked the window a half inch to hear better.

“Faster! Come on, you can pedal harder than that!” Travis yelled. “Sorry I can't help you out—the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.”

He chuckled at his own joke.

Even from the third floor, Poppy could see Will's face turn scarlet.

Then Will put on extra speed, made a sharp turn into the driveway, and raced full tilt toward the garage. At the last possible second, he came to a screeching halt with his front tire one inch from the door.

Travis lost his balance and tumbled to the ground.

“Fast enough for you?” asked Will with a challenging stare.

Travis jumped up, grinning. “You bet,” he said. “That's the great thing about being a ghost. You don't get hurt.”

“And you don't get hungry,” said Franny. “I'm going to get something to eat. Come on, Rolly, I'll make you a sandwich.”

Poppy grabbed her video camera and ran down the stairs to the back door. As she stepped outside, she heard Travis say, “So, what should we do next?”

He strolled down the driveway, his green eyes sparkling as he surveyed the neighborhood. “How about throwing water balloons at people out of that big tree by the sidewalk?”

“We'll get in trouble,” Will said in the weary tone of someone who's been repeating the same words over and over.

Travis lifted one impish eyebrow. “It's not fun if you don't get into a
little
trouble.”

“Easy for you to say,” muttered Will. “Ghosts don't get grounded, either.”

Travis wasn't listening. “We could wait until it gets dark, then ring a few doorbells and run away,” he said. “Or we could soap their windows. Or I know! We could do
both!
”

“I keep telling you—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you'll get in trouble,” said Travis, disgusted. “Check your record player, Will; I think the needle's stuck.”

“What?” Will looked baffled.

Poppy stepped forward. “He's talking about vinyl records, Will. You know, like the kind Mom and Dad like to play.”

“Yeah, right,” said Travis. “Sorry, I forgot you don't play records anymore.” He floated up into a tree, flipped over in the air, and hung by his knees from a low-lying branch. “So what do
you
want to do?”

“Eat lunch.” Will headed for the kitchen door.

“Well, I guess that leaves me out.” Sulkily, Travis swung back and forth. “Since I can't eat. Which you know.”

“Maybe I could film you while Will is eating,” Poppy said with a big smile, holding up her camera.

Just as she suspected, Travis looked first startled, then wary.

“I would,” he said, “but I, um, have something to do.”

“Really?” Poppy did her best to look wide-eyed and innocent. “What?”

“Just, um, things. See ya later!”

And with that, Travis blinked out of sight.

“Hmm.” Poppy stood still for a minute, gazing unseeingly at the empty lawn chair until a sharp bark interrupted her thoughts.

Bingo was chasing his tail on the lawn, waiting for Rolly to come back out.

“Hey, Bingo,” Poppy said, raising the camera to her eye. “Do you want to be in the movies?”

His ears perked up. His head swung around so that he was looking right in the lens.

Poppy caught her breath. “Good dog,” she whispered.

Bingo barked again.

And then he, too, disappeared.

T
hree days went by and Poppy still had not managed to shoot a single frame of film. She was getting more frustrated (it was exasperating to have to depend on people who could vanish on a whim). She was getting more anxious (the meeting with Mrs. Farley was only days away). And she was getting more worried (her parents' vortex investigation was going nowhere, so if she failed at getting evidence of ghosts, the grant was definitely gone).

What she needed, Poppy decided, was a quiet place to think where she wouldn't be disturbed, but even that was maddeningly difficult to find, what with Peggy Sue lolling in the bathtub, Bertha and Agnes taking over the kitchen, Buddy playing music on the porch, Travis jumping on Will's bed, and Chance practicing his lines in the attic.

Even her own bedroom wasn't safe. Agnes had a habit of barging in to sweep under her bed or rearrange her bookshelves. And Poppy had awakened that morning to find Bingo sitting on her bed, licking her nose.

Finally, she waited until Franny, Will, and Rolly had gone to visit Henry in his tree house, and she snuck into Rolly's room. Poppy had always found it to be an oddly calming place. She could stretch out on the rug, a deep plush pile that was always handed down to the youngest member of the family and that was still, despite a stained and battered appearance, the most comfortable spot for thinking. She could watch the fish mobile that she remembered hanging above her own bed when she was little turning lazily in a slight breeze. And she could be almost sure that she wouldn't be disturbed (even the ghosts, she had noticed, were nervous about invading Rolly's territory).

She flopped down on the floor and stared at the ceiling, trying to concentrate, but this time the room's usual magic didn't work. Her thoughts kept whirling around from all the
if onlys
(If only Mrs. Farley wasn't so whimsical!) to all the
what ifs
(What if the ghosts never left?) and ending up, most unhelpfully, back at the biggest
what if
of all: What if we have to move?

Even when she closed her eyes and forced herself to focus on just one worry, she kept getting distracted by random noises, like the bee buzzing against the windowpane, the distant jingle of an ice cream truck, and what sounded like Chance's voice rising through the heating grate, saying something about sticking to a plan....

Her eyes popped open. She rolled onto her stomach and peered through the grate at the living room below.