All That's Missing (31 page)

“Sounds like a good reason not to buy it, then,” Ida said.

They stared at each other for a moment. Arlo covered his mouth to keep Mr. Garringer from seeing him laugh. Then Mr. Garringer moved from wall to wall, inspecting Ida's art collection.

“You won't find anything of great value,” Ida said, following behind him. “Slocum and I bought those prints when we were in Greece.”

“Very nice,” Mr. Garringer said, though he'd already moved on to a small engraving hanging beside the bookshelves in the alcove under the staircase.

“Lovely home you have here,” Mr. Wolfe said.

“Thank you,” Ida said curtly. “I like it.”

Mr. Garringer stared at Arlo. “I keep having this feeling we've met before,” he said.

Arlo kept his mouth shut.

Mr. Wolfe looked at Ida. “Maybe you could show us around?” he said.

“Of course,” Ida said. “That's why you're here, isn't it?” She turned to her left. “As you see, that's the living room you just walked through.” Then she pointed to a door on the river side of the living room. “There's a screened porch through there,” she said. “And this door in front of us opens onto a path to the river.”

Mr. Wolfe tapped on the wall beside the door to the river. Arlo gave Ida a questioning look. She made a slight movement with her shoulders in reply, indicating she had no more idea than he did what the man was up to.

“What's this?” Mr. Wolfe asked when the tapping sound turned hollow. “Is there something behind this wall?”

“A powder room,” Ida said. She pulled open a door that had been carefully concealed with wallpaper.

“Must have been added recently,” Mr. Garringer said.

“My husband and I put that in fifteen years ago,” Ida said.

“What about over here?” Mr. Wolfe tapped on the walls around the bookcase on the opposite side of the center hall.

“There's no bathroom over there, if that's what you're asking,” Ida said.

“But there's a funny sound to the plaster here,” Mr. Wolfe said.

“Must be something to do with the bookcases,” Ida said. “Slocum and I never changed anything over there. And his family was always very careful about preserving things the way they had been.”

“Mmmm,” said Mr. Wolfe, still tapping. “Do you have any blueprints?”

“I'm afraid they went missing around the time of my husband's uncle's death,” Ida said. “He passed away quite suddenly, and there were things that were never found. The plans for the house were among them.”

Mr. Garringer and Mr. Wolfe exchanged glances.

“Interesting,” Mr. Garringer said. “Isn't it, Wolfe?”

“Very interesting,” Mr. Wolfe said.

“Perhaps you'd like to see upstairs?” Ida glared at Mr. Wolfe as he continued to tap on the walls around the bookcase.

“Yes,” Mr. Garringer said. “We want to see it all.”

They made their way up the staircase, into the master bedroom with the window seat that overlooked the river. Ida ushered them through the adjoining bath, frowning as Mr. Wolfe tapped on every wall and Mr. Garringer inspected each picture.

“That's a birthday card my son made for me when he was a child,” she said in a sharp voice. “I had it framed to hang in my dressing room.”

“Forgive me,” Mr. Garringer said. “You see, I'm a bit of a collector and I can't help noticing art.”

Mr. Wolfe tapped the walls in the walk-in linen closet in the hall. “When did you say this house was built?”

“In the twenties,” Ida said. “Nineteen twenty-three, I believe it was. It's quite solid construction.” She frowned again at his tapping.

“Yes. Yes, I can see that.” Mr. Wolfe inspected the crown molding in the open hallway.

Finally,
they walked into Arlo's room. Arlo slipped over to his closet and opened the door for them to look inside. When they were finished, he pulled the door closed as loudly as he could without slamming it. Mr. Wolfe gave him an odd look, but then turned and followed Ida into the hall.

“We'll look at the kitchen next,” Ida was saying, “and then I'll show you the garage apartment.”

“Garage apartment . . . ah, yes. I'd very much like to see that,” Mr. Garringer said, trading glances with Mr. Wolfe again.

A dragging sound overhead interrupted them. Mr. Garringer raised his eyes.

“What's up there?” he asked.

“Just the attic,” Ida said.

“Is someone living in it?”

“Of course not. Must be a tree branch scraping the wall,” Ida said.

Arlo sucked in his cheeks to keep from grinning. Maywood was right on cue.

Nobody noticed Arlo inching over to the vent in the side wall. He gave the metal a swift tap and counted silently in his head until a clatter came from the floor above them. You could see the wheels turning in Mr. Garringer's mind as he played back the story about the Union soldier. He tilted back and stared at the ceiling. Then he looked at Ida.

She looked back at him.
Blink, blink, blink, blink.

“Who's up there?” he asked.

“Nobody,” Ida said. “A squirrel maybe.”

“It would have to be an awfully large one,” Mr. Wolfe said, “to make a noise like that.”

Mr. Garringer took two giant steps to the window, threw open the sash, and stuck his head outside, twisting his neck to get a look upstairs.

It was at that moment something happened that Arlo hadn't planned on. A cloud passed over what little sun was left. The sky turned black for a few seconds and then there was a boom of thunder.

“Goodness,” Ida said, jumping back from the window. She glanced uneasily at the sky. “Better close that,” she said. “We're about to have a storm.”

“I'm well aware of what's going on outside,” Mr. Garringer roared, with his head still sticking out the window. “What I'm trying to figure out is, what's going on in your attic?”

Thunder crashed again, shaking the walls. There was a soft tapping noise coming from above. And then a flash of lightning struck a tree limb in the neighbor's yard.

Mr. Garringer yanked his head back in the house.

“You're lucky you didn't injure yourself,” Ida said.

Mr. Garringer glared at her. “Confound it, woman,” he said.

Thunder boomed even louder, jarring the house so hard that glass rattled in the windows.

“I don't see what you're so angry about,” Ida said. “It's just a storm.”

Mr. Garringer screwed up his face. “Someone's in your attic,” he said.

Ida stared at the ceiling as though she thought there might be something up there, too. “One of Judge Doerr's cats got up there years ago,” she said. “Maybe that's happened again.”

Mr. Garringer threw up his arms. “I've had enough of this,” he said. “I'm going up for a look.”

Ida looked totally perplexed. Arlo was disappointed. The noises were supposed to scare Mr. Garringer, not make him angry. But right now there were more important things to worry about. Maywood. He needed to give her the emergency signal.

“Steamboat?” he yelled.

Ida turned pale. “He's not outside, is he?”

Meanwhile, Maywood commenced a low moaning. At least, that's what it sounded like. Either that, or the wind whistling through a narrow, enclosed space. It started with a soft murmur and then grew. Arlo wondered what was going on. That wasn't part of their plan.

“Steamboat!”
Arlo yelled again, louder. He didn't mean to worry Ida, but he had to warn Maywood.

“Good grief, kid, you trying to call clear to the next county?” Mr. Wolfe shot Arlo a dirty look.

Steamboat, naturally, came running from downstairs. He was panting by the time he reached Ida. She sank to her knees and threw her arms around him.

“Thank goodness, you're safe,” she said.

The moaning sound came again. It lasted only a moment this time and then stopped abruptly. Mr. Garringer straightened his back and glared at the ceiling.

“I'm getting to the bottom of this,” he said. Then he stormed out of the room.

Arlo prayed that Maywood had slipped out of the attic. She must have made the moaning sound on her way down the stairs. He hoped so, anyway.

When they reached the attic, Mr. Garringer went from rafter to rafter, checking every nook and cranny.

“Kitty, kitty, kitty,” Ida called.

Mr. Wolfe scowled at her. “There's no cat up here,” he said.

“You never know,” Ida said. And she went back to calling for the invisible feline.

Out of the corner of his eye, Arlo noticed movement on the far side of the attic, that section that ran over the top of the kitchen on the left side of the tiny garret window. But it wasn't Steamboat. In fact, on second thought, Arlo wasn't even sure it was movement. But there was something. A trick of the light? A cloud passing over the sun?
Something.

After a few seconds, there was more light — a pale shimmering. Arlo caught Mr. Wolfe staring at it, too. The man removed his glasses, polished the lenses, and then set them back on his nose. Meanwhile, the wood carving thrummed in Arlo's pocket. He put his hand around it and felt it warming against his palm.

Ida was looking at the same spot, too. Arlo wondered if she was thinking about the apparition in the blue sweater. Was that the spot where she'd seen the ghost of his father?

Arlo moved over to the window. What he saw outside caused the hair on his neck to stiffen. It was Maywood. She was on her bicycle, and she was already halfway down the driveway of the house next door.

But how could she be that far away already?

Arlo's nose prickled at the wet-metal smell that accompanied the rain, which was just beginning to tap the roof.

“There aren't any closets up here, are there?” Mr. Garringer asked.

Ida rolled her eyes. “Why on earth would a person put a closet in an attic this size?”

Mr. Garringer's face was hard. “I don't know what you're trying to pull, lady.”

Ida cut him off midsentence. “You're the one who demanded to see the house,” she said.

Arlo lost count of her eye blinks. She moved quickly across the attic and shook a finger in his face.

“I resent your tone, sir,” she said. “In fact, I resent your very presence in my house. It's time for you to leave.”

Arlo stared at his grandmother, marveling at the way she stood up to Mr. Garringer, who was falling in line behind her as she stomped down the staircase. When they reached the kitchen, she turned to Mr. Wolfe.

“And don't you dare tap on that wall,” she snapped.

Mr. Wolfe froze with his hand raised halfway to do that very thing. He gave her a sheepish look.

“I beg your pardon,” he said.

She sniffed. “I'm sorry I ever let either one of you set foot on my property.”

Mr. Garringer looked pained. “But we haven't seen the kitchen or the basement.”

“Or the garage apartment,” Mr. Wolfe added.

“You're standing in the kitchen this very moment,” Ida said. “So, you've seen it now, haven't you?”

“Please,” Mr. Garringer said. “I'm a student of old houses and I'd hate to miss seeing the rest of this extraordinary property.”

“The tour is over,” Ida said.

Mr. Garringer's demeanor shifted. “Look, lady,” he said. “You signed a contract that says you have to make a good-faith effort to sell, or pay a penalty.”

Ida narrowed her eyes. “That contract is none of your business,” she said. “In fact, it's privileged information that you have no right to know about.”

“Nothing's privileged these days, lady.” Mr. Garringer laughed. “All it takes is knowing the right people. I'm a qualified buyer, and you're going to show me your house.”

The air grew thick in the room. Mr. Garringer glowered at Ida, and she glowered right back at him.

“Arlo, would you please show these men to the door?” she said firmly.

Arlo's feet felt light as he bounced down the six steps to the kitchen door and held it open.

“Very well,” Mr. Garringer said. “We're leaving.”

“Finally,” Ida said.

“But you haven't heard the last of this.” Mr. Garringer shook his fist at her. “Mark my words, woman. You're going to be sorry.”

Outside, in the driveway, Mr. Garringer yanked open the door to his Cadillac and jumped inside. Gravel flew as he tore down the driveway.

“Good riddance!” Ida murmured, as she watched the car disappear.