All That's Missing (22 page)

“Arlo's grandfather.”

“Oh, right. That Satarini person.”

“
Sabatini,
dear.”

“Sorry. Go on.”

“I called him yesterday while Arlo and Maywood were having lunch with Aurelia.”

“You talked to him?”

“I did.”

“Well?”

Ida sighed. “Physically he's in good condition. At least that's what the doctors tell me. But his mind comes and goes.”

“Comes and goes?” Augusta asked.

“Mostly goes, I'm afraid. He's not likely to improve.”

There was a brief pause before Augusta started speaking again.

“What are you going to do?” she said.

“I don't know. They've asked me . . .”

“Who has?”

“The social worker at the hospital asked . . .”

“Asked you what?”

“Well, you can imagine, can't you? Arlo needs a place to live. He needs someone to take care of him.”

“How are you going to do that in a retirement complex?”

“I don't know, Augusta. That's why I made the appointment with Nathan.”

“Does Arlo know?”

“About what?”

“Mr. Satarini.”

“For heaven's sake, Augusta. The man's name is
Sabatini
! Can't you get that straight?”

“Sorry. You're awfully touchy today.”

“Arlo knows some things, but he seems to think that Albert will get better. I'm not sure how much he understands.”

Another pause. Longer this time. Then Augusta spoke. “You should never have signed that contract.”

“It's too late to talk about that now.”

“They tricked you. They never told you about that dog thing.”

“What dog thing?”

“That you couldn't take Steamboat with you.”

“I wish I could remember if I'd asked them about dogs.”

“But surely you did. Tell that horrible Garringer person you're not interested in selling.”

“Nathan says I have to show him the house.”

“Nonsense. You never even advertised the property.”

“Careful, Augusta. Your tea's spilling.”

“They're getting up,” Maywood whispered. “Scoot back from the edge so they don't see us.”

“They're not going anywhere,” Arlo said. “Ida's just getting a fresh napkin.”

“Shh. She's saying something.”

“Mr. Garringer wants to come next week,” Ida said. “He's bringing along a contractor to see about tearing down a few walls.”

“Heavens. He hasn't even seen the house and he already wants to tear it down?”

“I'd rather not have him come through the place more than once. The real estate agent suggested that this way we could kill two birds with one stone.”

“What you need to do is talk to your lawyer.”

“Go, Gramma,” Maywood mumbled.

“Mr. Garringer says he needs to make sure that the house would suit his needs.”

“Suit his needs. Honestly! The nerve of some people. Cancel the contract on the condo and tell the Realtor you have no interest in selling. Tell them you have
ex-ten-uating
circumstances.”

“Nathan's working on it.”

“You have responsibilities now.” Augusta looked up toward the tree house, causing Maywood to yank Arlo away from the edge again.

“I've made a mess of things, haven't I?” Ida said.

“I've seen worse.” Augusta poured the last of her tea from a small china pot. “But I'll admit your situation is not without its challenges.”

That night they ate dinner later than usual.

“Can we still call Poppo?” Arlo asked when they were putting the dishes away.

“It's awfully late,” Ida said. “Are you sure you want to? You know he gets tired in the evenings.”

“Please?” Arlo said.

“All right. Let's finish putting the dishes away, then I'll make the call.”

Arlo was careful to line the glasses up so they made neat rows in the cabinet. His grandmother was particular about that. Then he found the dish towel and hung it on the hook under the sink, making sure the cloth did not catch in the door. He walked through the dining room and made the turn toward the middle hall that separated the living room from the dining room. Ida was sitting on the bottom step of the staircase. She handed Arlo the phone.

“Hi, Poppo.”

“Hey there, Grandson. How are things in Edgewater?”

“Fine. I made a friend.”

“That's good. What's his name?”

“Her name. She's a girl. Her name is Maywood.”

“I made a friend, too,” Poppo said. “Well, Eldon's not a new friend. We went to high school together.”

“Where'd you see him?” Arlo asked.

“Right here in the hospital. He had a hip replaced. We have physical therapy at the same time.”

“That's nice,” Arlo said.

“Yup. Eldon's been telling me about this apartment complex for folks like us. He's moving there when they let him out of here. Says I might like it, too.”

Poppo in an apartment? What about the house?

After an extended silence, Poppo spoke again.

“Eldon's probably waiting for me in the lounge,” he said. “I'd better go. We'll talk again tomorrow. OK?”

“Sure, Poppo. Take care of yourself.”

“You, too,” Poppo said. Then he hung up the phone.

Arlo lay in bed that night thinking about his phone conversation. If Poppo moved into an apartment, what would happen to their house? He watched clouds pass over the full moon. He wondered about the view outside Poppo's hospital window. The mountains in Marshboro were so close together, a person couldn't find a wide-open vista like the views across the river in Edgewater.

Shoot. You'd have to drive all the way to Canaan Valley for that. Everything was different here. But different didn't necessarily mean bad. That was one of Poppo's sayings. Funny how Poppo had a saying for just about every situation. Before coming to Edgewater, Arlo hadn't realized how useful those sayings were.

It didn't take Arlo long to figure out that Maywood was obsessed with ghosts. He had been in Edgewater almost two weeks and already he understood that she loved cemeteries, black cats, full moons, dark roads, and haunted houses. She had a bookshelf full of ghost stories in her room, books with titles like
Hauntings of the Tidewater
and
Civil War Ghosts of the Potomac.
They were right below the shelf with books about architecture.

On the Thursday after the Columbus Day holiday, the two of them were spying on customers in the café after school when Maywood whipped out a new book of ghost stories.

“This just came in,” she said. “I sneaked it out of the box. The stories are really good. Want to hear one?”

“Sure.” Arlo knew better than to say no. When Maywood was excited about something, there was no holding her back.

She read in a slow dramatic voice:

“Ghost horses,” Maywood said. “Isn't that great?”

“Not bad,” Arlo said.

“Not bad?” She swatted him with the book.

“Sorry.” Arlo put down his copy of
Hatchet.
“If you heard ghost-horse hooves outside your window, you'd run screaming for help,” he said.

“No, I wouldn't,” Maywood said. “Not if I was in my own bedroom.”

“What if you were alone in the apartment? What if there wasn't anybody else in the building?”

Maywood put down her book. “As long as the door was locked, I'd be OK.”

Arlo leaned closer to her. “What if there was a storm and the power went off?” he said.

“As long as it was daytime, I'd be fine,” Maywood told him.

Arlo rolled his eyes. “I'm talking about in the middle of the night.”

Maywood rolled her eyes back at him. “I'd still be OK.”

“I don't believe it.”

“Want to bet?” Maywood stuck out her chin. For a split second, she looked exactly like Augusta Stonestreet.

“How are you going to do that?” Arlo asked.

“I'll take you to a haunted house.”

Arlo gave her a look. “Where are you going to find one of those?”

“That's easy,” she said. “There's one on Cemetery Hill.”

Arlo laughed. “Cemetery Hill,” he said. “That figures. How do you know it's haunted?”

“Everybody says it is.”

“That doesn't mean anything.”

“Wait till you see it,” she said.

“If it's really haunted, you'll never go inside.” Arlo said.

“Want to bet?”

“Sure. How much?”

But Maywood didn't answer. She was already on her way down the ladder.

“Wait up,” Arlo yelled.“You want to go right now?”

Maywood climbed back up the ladder. “You have a problem with that?”

Arlo couldn't help smiling to himself. Would it
matter
if he had a problem with going now? Probably not.

“OK. I'm coming,” he said. “But what's the bet?”

“How about that?” She pointed to the book with the story about the ghost horse.

“I thought you were reading it,” Arlo said.

“I've already read all but the last story. And you'd loan it back to me, wouldn't you?”

“Sure.”

“Not that it matters,” Maywood said, as she started back down the ladder. “Because you're going to lose, anyway.”

Arlo smiled. “We'll see about that,” he said. Then he hurried down the ladder and ran to catch up with her.

They walked toward the river and started down the river path.

“Tide's in,” Maywood said as they strolled along the cliff.

Arlo looked over the edge. He still wasn't used to the idea of a tidal river, but sure enough, the water was all the way up to the cliffs now. Last time he'd been here, it had barely touched the shore.

They climbed Cemetery Hill to the small brick office where Hafer and Boyle had met the man in the black car.

“The older graves are up there.” Maywood pointed to a grassy knoll above them.

“What about the house?” Arlo asked.

“It's above the graves,” Maywood said. “Come on.”

They hiked past a decrepit iron fence that formed a rectangle around a field of ancient stones. Some of the inscriptions were so worn that they were no longer legible. But others had survived.

“I've always wanted to check these out,” Maywood said, kneeling before the first stone.

“You mean, you've never been up here before?”

She shook her head. “Shh. I'm reading.”

“She wasn't even three,” Arlo said.

Maywood moved to the next marker.

“Six,” Arlo whispered.

“I feel sorry for them,” Maywood said.

She glanced around the field, her eyes settling on a spot where yellow flowers twined around the fence. She marched over, plucked one, and carried it to Lydia's grave.

“That's better,” she said.

“What about Elijah?”

Maywood looked higher up the slope. At the edge of the woods, she spotted a clump of blue wildflowers. She walked straight to them, picked one, and laid it on Elijah's grave.

“I'll bet nobody ever visits them,” she said. “I'll bet they've been up here for more than two hundred years and nobody even knows they're here.”

Arlo thought about Frankie. Who remembered Frankie now besides Poppo?

A crow's squawking interrupted his thoughts. When Arlo looked up at it, the bird tilted its head and aimed a shiny black eye at him. Arlo shivered.

“Why is that bird staring at you?” Maywood asked.

“I don't know.”

“It's creepy,” she said.

“It's OK. He's gone now.” Arlo watched the crow spread its wings and soar higher up the hill.

“Good,” Maywood said. “We should go, too.”

“I thought you liked spooky stuff.”

She shivered.

“So remind me why we're going to a haunted house,” he said, “if a measly crow scares you.”

She ignored him. “You have to go through the woods first,” she said. “Come on. I'll show you.”

Under the canopy of pine, the air was cool. Arlo slowed his pace, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. They dodged tree stumps and lumpy hillocks until they were on the other side of the woods, in a clearing where a gloomy house stared down at them.
Leered,
actually. As if it were daring them to step inside.