If Mashed Potatoes Could Dance (27 page)

“I don’t recognize the wrappers,” Jake said as he picked one up. “Whatever they ate, it wasn’t from Bunny’s.”

The floor was dusty and dirty but had clearly seen lots of traffic. There were no real distinct footprints, but scuffs everywhere.

“Squatters?” Jake said.

“Must be, but I think I’d rather squat in the great outdoors than in here,” I said.

“Here, look in here,” Sally said. She was inside one of the skinny alcoves. “This is the box I was talking about. There’s one under each window, but this is the one I think I sat beside most of the time.”

“Over here, Jake. Sally said for us to look in the window box down that alcove.”

He and I stood together as he aimed his phone into the short and claustrophobic space. Under the window was what appeared to be a small window seat.

“Lift the top. It’s a lid. Please,” Sally said.

“There’s a lid,” I said.

Jake and I looked at each other. I was sure we were both wondering about the seemingly real possibility that a more-than-one-hundred-year-old diary lay hidden in the window seat. It would be an amazing find and the kind of thing Jake lived for, but it seemed way too good to be true.

“I think we should open it,” I said.

“Absolutely,” Jake said.

The space was too tight for us to walk together. I let Jake lead the way, but I peered over his shoulder as he crouched down. Sally kept her spot next to Jake, so close that they partly overlapped each other. It was an odd sight, but I didn’t tell him about it.

He took a deep breath. “Ready?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Yes!”
Sally said.

The window seat or box wasn’t any newer than the house. The wood it was made of was old and dry, despite the Missouri humidity that sometimes warped walls and furniture. It wasn’t an obvious box, which was the good news; there was an excellent chance that whenever the house had been emptied, this particular storage spot had been ignored.

Jake gave me his phone and then put his fingers under the lip of the lid. “Here we go.” He glanced up at me for one more moment of dramatic effect.

“Oh for goodness’ sake,” Sally said.

“Jake,” I said.

He lifted. The lid came off with little fight. Jake moved it out of the way, and I aimed the light inside. There was most definitely stuff in there.

“Oh,” Sally said anxiously.

“Hand me the phone,” Jake said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to just reach inside and mess things up. Whatever is in here is probably really old.”

There was no book. The only things I could see were some sort of folded fabric and a few pigeon feathers. The reds and yellows on the fabric were faded but reminded me of a paisley print.

“Look at the dust pattern on the material,” Jake said.

Unlike the rest of the attic, the inside of the box was free of grime, but a thin coating of dust had settled on its contents. However, one area of the folded fabric was dust free, as though it had been, until recently, covered by something else.

“Yep,” I said, “it’s kind of square, kind of rectangular. Actually, it looks like a book could have been there.”

“Someone took it?” Sally said. “Recently?”

“We don’t know what was there. It just looks like it could have been a book,” I said. “I’d love to know, though.”

“Me, too,” Sally said.

When what happened next happened, even I was surprised that I didn’t scream or at least involuntarily gasp.

A voice said, “No one else can see or hear me, dear girl. Please don’t be afraid, but I do think you can, and I’ve been trying to talk to someone for so long.”

Instead of jumping, I froze for an instant as a million thoughts ran through my mind. I wondered who was speaking, if there really was someone or if I’d started hearing random voices not attached to anyone, dead or alive. And, of course, I wondered fleetingly if the distinctly male voice was attached to Jerome, but I knew it couldn’t be. It didn’t sound like him.

Finally, as my mind quit churning and my heartbeat slowed to a closer–to–normal rhythm, I looked back at the other end of the alcove, hoping with every cell in my body that I’d see someone really there. I did.

The ghost of Edgar O’Brien smiled at me, crinkling his friendly eyes underneath his glasses in the process.

“They can’t see me,” he said. “Neither of them. In fact, I was downright thrilled and flummoxed when you seemed to see me wave at you the other day. I found that delightful, just so delightful. I’ve been trying to chase you down and talk to you, but it wasn’t working. I’m so pleased that you’re here now.”

I couldn’t talk without Jake and Sally hearing, so I just forced an awkward smile and nodded.

“Ah, yes, to be able to communicate is the biggest gift of life, the greatest gift of all. I’m so, so pleased.”

Edgar was a talker.

“Jake, Sally,” I said, “while this is going to be even harder to believe than the fact that Gram and I can see ghosts, I need to tell you something. There’s another ghost in the room. I can see him, but neither of you can. Don’t know why that is, but I’m pretty sure he’s really here, because I not only hear him, I smell him. He smells like ink.”

“Ink?” Edgar laughed. “Oh, that’s delightful, too. Ink! I loved ink and running the press. I even enjoyed setting it up. How wonderful!”

“Okay,” Jake said. Sally just looked at me doubtfully.

“Pretty sure it’s Edgar O’Brien,” I said.

“The reporter?” Sally asked.

“You are so lucky,” Jake said.

“I’m going to talk to him for a minute, just so you don’t think I’ve lost my mind completely.”

“Oh yes, of course you had to tell them. How else would you talk to me? I understand. I’m rambling. I’m kind of a rambler anyway, but especially since you can hear me. I am indeed Edgar O’Brien,” Edgar said.

“I recognize you. Was there something you wanted to tell me?” I said.

“You recognize me? Wonderful! Yes, of course.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to tell you that Sally didn’t kill her parents and the killer’s name, I do believe, is in her diary.”

The legend of Sally Swarthmore had been an integral part of Broken Rope’s tourist economy for as long as I could remember, surely long before I was even born. I didn’t know
Broken Rope without its summer actors and fake gunfights. We’d all been raised right next to our history, and a big part of that history was Sally’s brutal murder of her parents.

“That’s…great news,” I said. It was great news, but it also meant we’d have to rework a skit or two. “Where’s the diary?”

“I do believe it was in there.” Edgar pointed at the window box. “Is it not there now?”

“No.”

“That is so very disappointing. When you could see me I thought we were closer to exposing the truth.”

“We couldn’t get in the other day. The construction guys kept Jake and me out, and for some reason Sally couldn’t make her way in either. Something wouldn’t let her. Do you know what that was?”

“Something bad, that I’m sure of. I’ve never not been able to roam this old place. Until recently, that is. Something bad has been in here, something evil. They aren’t who they are portraying themselves to be. They’re bad, but I’m not sure I understand how. They left just before you got here tonight. I could come in when they left, but not before, no, not before.”

“Were they holding people against their will?” I said as I looked around at the lawn chairs in the musty attic. It would be a great place to keep the kidnap victims. No one would think to look for them here.

“I don’t have any idea.” Edgar peered around me, not the least bit interested in the current crimes. “Are you certain the diary’s not in there?”

“Jake, we need to see if the diary’s hidden within the fabric. Can you feel?”

“Sure,” he said doubtfully. “I don’t want to damage anything, but I understand we need to know.” A moment later, he said, “No, there’s no book in here, diary or not.”

“But something that could have been a book looks to have been taken. There’s a dust print,” I said to Edgar.

“Excellent! Then there might still be a diary. You must find it. We must let the truth be known.”

“I think we’d all like to find it, but I don’t think we know where to search next.”

“Maybe those men? Although, they seem quite dangerous. I’m not sure I’d want to cross them. Maybe have the police ask them?”

I tried to picture Cliff’s reaction when I asked him to take time out of his murder and kidnapping investigation to ask some guys about an old diary. I’d have to find another way.

“I don’t know, Edgar.”

“What is he saying?” Jake asked.

“He said Sally’s innocent and that he’s been waiting here a long time for someone he could communicate with to find the diary. The killer’s name is in the diary, he thinks.”

“I didn’t do it?” Sally said weakly.

“That’s what Edgar says,” I said.

“Oh.”

I was so curious about whether ghosts could cry that, for an instant, I peered at Sally’s face, looking for tears. There weren’t any. She didn’t cry. Instead, she suddenly smiled big, and in Sally fashion, slapped her thigh silently and said a big, “Yippee!”

I smiled, too. Jake saw me and said, “She’s pretty happy about that news, isn’t she?”

“Yes. Sally’s pleased,” I said.

“Well, we need to find the diary,” Edgar reminded me.

The distinctly familiar sound of a car door shutting did three things at once: (1) Without warning, Edgar disappeared. (2) Without warning, Sally disappeared. And (3) Jake and I
remained in the dusty, hot attic with only a cell phone as a weapon.

“Uh–oh,” I said. “Did you hear that?”

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Jake said.

“Yes we do, and
we
is just you and me. The ghosts are gone.”

Jake flipped off the phone, which left us in splotchy darkness; a little light from the moon and stars shone in through the small windows, but not enough to help much.

“I can’t see anything,” I said.

“Me either, but I didn’t want them to see the light and figure out we’re up here. Come on, I know which way the stairs are. Hold my hand.”

Jake led the way confidently. Before long we were at the top of the stairs, but we froze as we heard voices below.

“It’s a good thing that restaurant is open twenty-four hours. I was starving. Is there a reason no one brought us food?”

“Hell, he’s got his hands full with everything else. He told us we were on our own. Had to wait until this idiot woke up from his beauty nap.”

“We’re watching this damn place twenty-four hours a day—just like the damn restaurant.”

“But we don’t seem to need as much sleep as you do.”

“Hell with you both.”

The voices turned into rumbles as it seemed the men moved to the back of the house. They were probably going into the kitchen, which was a relief. With the lawn chairs and the food wrappers, they must have eaten at least one meal in the attic.

“Do you suppose they’re just here to watch the house, protect it?” Jake whispered. “Maybe from people like me? People who don’t want it torn down?”

“I have no idea. Why would they be here all the time? It’s weird, Jake, but I really don’t think we should trust them with the fact that we’ve trespassed. I don’t know how they’d handle it. Edgar said they were mean men. I don’t know what he meant exactly, but I think it’s wise to be extra careful. Let’s see if we can get out the front door.” I knew my car was right out front, but I didn’t know if the men had checked it. We needed to get to it quickly, but it suddenly seemed very far away.

“Remember, these are narrow stairs,” Jake said as he held my hand tighter.

There was probably not a board in the old house that didn’t creak, but the stairs seemed especially noisy. We took each step slowly and with gradual weight, but still the old wood screamed,
There’re two people on the stairs. Go find them and be mean to them!

I didn’t think or breathe as I counted the twenty-three steps. When we made it to the bottom and across the second-floor landing to the main staircase, my heart was pounding and I sucked in a couple big gulps of dusty stale oxygen.

From the landing, I saw a spit of light coming from the back of the house. The voices were muffled, yet deep and somehow unfriendly.

“Do we hurry and run out the door, or do we go slowly down this flight, too?” Jake asked.

“I think they’re more likely to hear us if we hurry. They’re talking so much they might not notice the squeaks. They’d probably notice thuds if we ran though,” I said.

Once again, down twenty-six steps this time, we moved slowly but with no less noise.

When we reached the bottom floor, we didn’t need to discuss whether or not it was time to hurry. But just as we went through the front doorway, we heard a voice say, “Did you
see a car across the street? I just realized I saw a car.” A chair scooted and heavy footsteps came our way.

Jake tried to shut the ineffective door behind us. I had no idea if we’d been seen or heard as I looked around. There was no place to go, and it didn’t take much calculation to think that the man might catch us before we could reach the Nova.

“Under the porch,” Jake said, thinking the same thing I was.

We ignored the next set of five stairs and flung ourselves off the porch. Just as we both hit the ground, the front door opened again. I still didn’t know if we’d been seen.

The porch was elevated, the part underneath probably at one time hidden by lattice board but now there was an open three-foot-tall space we could both roll under easily. Well, that is, if you considered rolling through sticky, feathery-feeling spiderwebs and other unknown items in the dirt
easy
.

I didn’t take the time to ponder the possible presence of black widows or rats or something even worse. These men were dangerous. I didn’t believe for an instant that they’d have a sense of humor about our explorations. Hiding was most definitely a better option than facing them, even if we got bit by a venomous insect or rabid animal. As the men tromped around on the front porch and grumbled about the Nova parked across the street, I pulled out my cell phone and called Cliff. It was what we should have done from the attic, when the men had first come back. It hadn’t even occurred to me then. We had been trespassing, and my sense of right and wrong got in the way momentarily, but not anymore.